“What the hell happened today?” I sighed listlessly.
His hand spasmed. Then it stilled for a brief second before continuing. “I don’t know. But my people are looking into it.”
Great.
Roman had people now.
And they were looking into the possibility that a child with my DNA was out there, sharing a world with other people I did not know.
Forget food. I needed to go back to sleep and hopefully wake up in a world that made sense.
“Oh God.” I moaned, finally turning to face him. “Roman,” I started, but the words froze on my tongue when I got my first real look at him—up close and personal.
He was still wearing his suit pants, but he’d shed the jacket and the button-down at some point since we’d arrived home. A simple, white undershirt clung to the hard ridges of his chest, the sleeves stretching mercifully around his thick biceps. I’d been wrong earlier that morning when I’d thought he was still just as gorgeous as he’d always been.
He was better.
And, a few years ago, I hadn’t known that was possible.
He no longer sported the sexy stubble he’d insisted on growing after he’d gotten out of the military. Now, he was clean-shaven, not so much as a five-o’clock shadow marring his handsome face. His once barbershop-buzzed, dark-blond hair now bore the marks of a stylist—trimmed with precision on the sides, leaving the top longer and slightly unruly.
It all looked good on him.
Very good.
But he could look as mouthwateringly beautiful as he wanted to and it wouldn’t change the man inside. And I couldn’t risk getting tangled in the fa?ade again.
Just because Roman was vowing his support right now, having his people look into things, didn’t mean he’d stay to see this clusterfuck through. I’d watched him walk away too many times to willingly sign myself up for that again.
Besides, technically, he had no reason to be there.
And worse, no reason to stay.
During our long journey to have a child, we’d discovered that Roman produced very few sperm, most of which were abnormal. Doctors had been optimistic, saying that in utero injections (IUI) would be our best bet. But, three miscarriages later, they changed their tune. The same day we were told that our last hope was in vitro fertilization (IVF), it was strongly suggested that we use a sperm donor. I did not deal with this news well.
First off, I knew we couldn’t afford IVF. While we lived comfortably, we didn’t have thirty to forty grand just lying around. We’d dropped most of our savings into our house when we’d gotten married and thought nothing of it. There had always been time to worry about savings later. We’d had each other. I’d like to say we were young and dumb. But what we really were was in love and eager to start a life together. A house seemed like the logical first step. We had no idea the financial burdens we’d be facing in the future. But, then again, making a baby with the man you loved was only supposed to cost a night of passion and an orgasm.
Secondly, the idea of having a child using donor sperm felt wrong on so many levels. I had a man I was madly in love with; I wanted his babies. Ones with his silver eyes and his mischievous smile. Little girls with his big heart and his thick lashes. I didn’t just want kids; I wanted his kids.
I stormed out of the doctor’s office that afternoon, pissed at a universe, who’d stolen the future we’d planned together, but I hadn’t made it to my car before I was wrapped in his strong arms. He held my face in his neck while whispering promises that we’d find the money.
But money couldn’t fix us.
A truth Roman had never fully grasped.
In the end, he was the one who insisted we move forward with a sperm donor. He smiled a gorgeous grin and told me, “Biology doesn’t make families, Lissy. Love makes families.”
Four months later, ten of my eggs were fertilized with a donor’s sperm.
And, now, Roman was sitting on my couch, years after love had failed us, with only the biology of it all remaining.
I was the only thing tying him to this mess. I needed to cut him loose of his responsibilities once and for all.
Shifting away from him, I blurted, “I can handle this from here on out. No need for you to get involved.”
His head snapped back. “Excuse me?”
“I just mean…. You know. You can go. I’ll get back in touch with Detective Rorke and handle it from here. This isn’t your problem.”
His hand fell away from my back as he stared at me for several seconds. “This isn’t my problem?”
“Well…no. This is my problem.” I instinctively scooted over an inch, although I wasn’t exactly sure why. Roman would never hurt me, but the pissed-off vibe radiating from his pores was suffocating.
He ominously swayed toward me. “Your problem?” His silver eyes darkened to a frightening shade of charcoal.
I leaned away. “I just meant—”