“You have some eggs in the fridge. I’ll make them if you want.”
“Okay.”
Mulberry nods, his expression turning serious. He is now a man on a mission. Minutes later the scent of melting butter drifts in from the kitchenette. I close my eyes, listening to the sounds of Mulberry in my space. The cracking of eggs, the tinkling of a fork against the sides of a bowl as he scrambles them. “Want cheese?” he calls.
“Sure,” I yell back.
He starts to hum to himself. A tune I don’t know but recognize nonetheless. My eyes slide closed and I rest in the darkness, letting the sounds wash over me. It feels good to have him here. To have him taking care of me.
Since James, I’ve never really let anyone take care of me like this, I’ve avoided being vulnerable. Robert is constantly trying to care for me without my permission. Mulberry does it unconsciously; he doesn’t try to take care of me, doesn’t plot and plan to do it—he just does. Could I be happy with just Mulberry? The thought isn’t new. And the answer remains elusive.
I’m literally married to another man—and even if it is a sham marriage, I can’t commit myself fully to someone else while it’s in place. I’m too entangled with both of these men to choose just one. Easier to choose neither. To be alone.
Mulberry returns with a steaming pile of eggs and two pieces of toast slathered in butter. I shift to sit up and send Blue to the foot of the bed. Otherwise he’d be trying to rest his face close to my plate. Blue would never steal food, but if any fell…well, he’d want to be ready for immediate cleanup. He curls into a ball at my feet and rests his chin on one of my ankles, watching me eat my eggs with rapt attention. He’d hate to be remiss in his cleanup duty.
Mulberry settles on the bed next to me while I devour the eggs. “These are delicious,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Butter,” Mulberry says, nodding to himself. “Butter is always the answer.”
He turns on the TV and navigates to a streaming service. “Watching anything good these days?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I don’t really watch TV.”
“Me either. How about a comedy?”
“Sure.”
He chooses something and hits play. I crunch on my toast, looking at him in my bed. He’s wide and solid—looks like a man made of boulders. My gaze tracks down his body, over his worn jeans that fit him very well, to his bare feet—one real, one not. Mulberry lost the lower part of his left leg. He was searching for me when it happened. He lost his memories along with the limb. Forgot about me and what we had.
I didn’t remind him. The betrayal felt right, like I was saving him from me. But when he remembered…well, that’s how I got pregnant. “I…” My voice trails off.
Mulberry glances at me, his eyes a flash of green gold. “What?”
“I’m afraid that…” My voice trails away again, the sound of the movie starting filling the silence.
Mulberry turns to me more fully, his attention falling on my face. “What are you afraid of?” he asks quietly.
I don’t know how to articulate what’s been running through my mind. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
He grins. “You never know what you’re doing, Sydney. You run on instinct, on intuition. It works for you.”
“Can I keep doing that, with the…”
“With motherhood.” Mulberry laughs gently, his eyes shining. “I think so, yeah. I mean, I’ve been reading some books on parenting. But—”
“You have?”
“Sure.” He shifts, rolling onto his side, to more fully face me. “I’m going to be a father.” His eyes are shining again, like he’s happy. Really happy. “No matter what happens between us. I’m going to be a dad. And I’m…really happy about that.”
“You are?” Why the fuck are there tears welling in my gaze again! Fucking pregnancy hormones.
“Of course I am. I always wanted to be a dad. But I didn’t think I ever would, with…” He lifts a hand, gesturing to the world at large, and our lifestyle in particular. “I’m so happy this happened. I know it’s a lot more on you than me. But I really want our son.”
“Even though I’m married.”
His face darkens. “I won’t ever accept that, Sydney. He tricked you, stole you. I know you didn’t choose him.”
“Yeah,” I agree, my gaze falling to my empty plate. I put it on the side table, and turn back to Mulberry. “But there is something between us. Me and Robert. A connection.”
“I don’t want to hear about it,” Mulberry says, shifting again, this time toward the TV.
“Fair enough. But I was going to tell everyone at the council meeting that his son is trying to kill him.”
“Sounds about right,” Mulberry says.
“And Blue and I were almost caught in the crossfire.”
Mulberry’s gaze falls on me hard and fast. “What?” The question is a low, simmering threat.
“I met with him in Bora Bora to discuss why he was buying up cryptocurrency.”
“You had to have that conversation in Bora Bora?” Mulberry asks, his voice monotone, as if he’s removed all emotion in order to not scream at me.
“It wasn’t my idea—it was the deal he made.”
“He does strike some pretty impressive fucking deals.”
“Well, he sent me away before anything could happen.”
