One Night, Nine Months, Forever

Chapter 17

{POV Kitty}

Three months had passed, and I barely recognized my life—or my body.

The woman in the mirror was a stranger.

An enormous belly protruded from my frame, and every time I caught my reflection, my brain short-circuited trying to reconcile "me" with "pregnant woman."

I never saw Christopher again after our kiss.

One day he was there, all brooding attractiveness and moral complexity. The next, I learned from household staff, in that carefully neutral way servants deliver devastating news, that he'd left on a business trip.

Several months abroad. No goodbye. No explanation. No acknowledgment of what had happened between us.

A stupid, shameful part of me couldn't help but wonder: had I driven him away? Was I somehow connected to his sudden departure?

The thought gnawed at me in quiet moments, another item on my growing list of things to feel guilty about, right between "kissed husband's brother" and "actually enjoyed it."

But something else had shifted too. Something I hadn't expected.

The baby no longer felt like an intruder.

Increasingly, I caught myself talking to it. Narrating my day like it could understand. Asking questions that couldn't be answered.

"Your father's being dramatic again," I'd murmur while getting dressed. "Shocking, I know. The man has two emotional settings: sarcastic and more sarcastic."

I was terrified by how much I was starting to care.

We didn't know the sex. Didn't want to know. Not because it was meant to be a pleasant surprise, but because knowing felt like... commitment.

Like admitting this was real instead of just another clause in a contract I'd signed without reading.

Damon had been strange since our wedding night—that single instance of intimacy now felt like a fever dream I'd hallucinated. He seemed to be deliberately avoiding me, though I told myself that was paranoid.

The truth was simpler: with Christopher gone, Arnold had thrown Damon headfirst into the family business.

Father and son were constantly busy, and I was sometimes dragged along to receptions where I played the dutiful pregnant wife. A prop in an expensive maternity dress. Living the dream.

But today—today was a good day.

Brianna was here.

We were sprawled on my bed like old times, except in this reality, there were no wine bottles littering the nightstand, no cigarette smoke curling toward the ceiling.

Just herbal tea and the strange domesticity of my new existence.

"So basically," Brianna summarized, gesturing dramatically with her mug, "you're living in a soap opera. A really expensive soap opera with better furniture and worse communication skills."

"The furniture is spectacular. I'll give them that."

"And two hot brothers fighting over—"

"Nobody is fighting over anyone."

I threw a decorative pillow at her head. She caught it with practiced ease.

"One brother is on another continent, and the other one treats me like a roommate he's contractually obligated to acknowledge."

"Mhm. Sure." Her eyebrow rose to skeptical heights. "And that kiss with Christopher was just... what? A friendly European greeting?"

"We're not European."

"You're deflecting."

"I'm surviving. There's a difference."

Mid-eye-roll, I froze.

My hand flew to my stomach, fingers pressing against the swell. Something had moved. Not the usual flutter I'd been feeling for weeks—this was different. Stronger. More deliberate.

Brianna bolted upright, tea sloshing dangerously. "What? What's wrong? Is it the baby? Should I call 911? I'm calling 911."

"Bri, wait." My eyes went wide, shock replacing discomfort. "The baby just kicked."

"The baby—" Her panic transformed instantly, fear melting into wonder. She scrambled across the bed, hand hovering hesitantly over my belly like it might bite her. "Can I...?"

I guided her palm to the right spot. We waited. One heartbeat. Two.

Then—a tiny but unmistakable thump against her hand.

The shrieking that followed was entirely undignified. Two grown women, squealing like teenagers at a concert, loud enough to wake the dead and definitely loud enough to summon…

"What the hell is going on?"

Damon appeared in the doorway, still wearing the suit that had become his uniform since Arnold conscripted him into corporate warfare.

He looked exhausted—tie loosened, jacket wrinkled, carefully styled hair returned to its natural chaos. Irritation radiated off him in waves.

"The baby kicked!" Brianna announced, practically vibrating with excitement. "You have to feel it!"

Something shifted in Damon's expression. Subtle, barely there—but I caught it. The irritation didn't disappear, but something softer flickered beneath it. Something almost... vulnerable.

"I don't need to…"

"You absolutely need to."

Brianna was already off the bed, grabbing his hand with zero respect for personal boundaries or billionaire dignity. "Come on, don't be weird about it. It's your baby too, you emotionally constipated disaster."

"Did you just call me…"

"Move faster and I'll take it back."

Damon resisted, clearly embarrassed, but Brianna was a force of nature. Before he could escape, she'd pressed his palm flat against my belly.

The room went still.

I watched Damon's face cycle through emotions like a slot machine that couldn't decide where to land. Tension. Uncertainty.

And then something unexpected—something that made my chest ache in ways I didn't want to examine.

His features relaxed. His eyes went distant, lost somewhere I couldn't follow. And without seeming to realize it, his thumb began stroking gentle circles against my skin.

We stayed frozen like that—me barely breathing, Brianna watching with her hand pressed over her mouth, Damon lost in some private moment with the life growing inside me.

Another kick. Stronger this time, like the baby was saying hello.

His hand stilled.

When he finally noticed both of us staring at him, the spell shattered. He cleared his throat abruptly, pulling back like he'd touched something hot. The walls slammed back into place so fast I almost heard them.

"Don't stay up too late." His voice was gruff, businesslike. "I'm exhausted and I'd like to sleep sometime this century."

And he was gone. The ghost of his touch lingered on my skin long after the door closed.

Brianna turned to me slowly, eyes wide. "Did that just…"

"Don't."

"But he was—"

"I know."

"And his face—"

"I know."

She crawled back onto the bed, settling beside me with the careful movements of someone approaching a wild animal.

"Kitty. That man just had an entire emotional breakthrough while touching your pregnant belly, and you're going to pretend it didn't happen?"

"That's the plan, yes."

"That's a terrible plan."

I stared at the ceiling, one hand resting where Damon's had been moments ago.

"He doesn't want this, Bri. He's made that clear. Whatever moment just happened, it doesn't change the fact that I'm a complication he never asked for."

"Or," Brianna countered, "it means he's feeling things he doesn't know how to process, and instead of talking about it like a functional adult, he's running away. Which, honestly, tracks for every man I've ever met."

"Your optimism is touching."

"My optimism is realistic." She squeezed my hand. "That man looked at your belly like it contained the meaning of life. That's not nothing."

Maybe she was right. Maybe Damon was feeling things neither of us knew how to name.

Or maybe I was reading too much into a moment that meant nothing.

Either way, sleep didn't come easy that night. I lay awake in the dark, one hand on my belly, feeling kicks that reminded me I wasn't alone anymore.

For better or worse, I was becoming a mother.