Chapter Six

Clinton’s POV

I had closed deals worth millions without blinking.

Yet here I was, sitting in my office at nine in the morning, staring at my laptop screen as it had personally betrayed me. After searching all day, I didn’t get any source.

Early pregnancy symptoms.

I shut the laptop immediately and glanced toward the glass wall, half-expecting someone to be watching.

No one was.

Still, my jaw tightened.

I leaned back in my chair, exhaling slowly. Sonia had barely slept the night before. She’d smiled through breakfast, insisted she was fine, but I’d noticed the way her fingers trembled slightly when she lifted her cup.

Too careful. Too quiet.

Too polite.

I didn’t like it.

A knock came at the door. “Sir?”

“Come in.”

Ryan stepped inside, tablet in hand, sharp as always. If there was one person in this building who never looked rattled, it was him.

“Good morning,” he said. “You asked for me?”

“Yes,” I replied, then paused.

How did one phrase this without sounding unhinged?

Ryan waited patiently.

“…What do women need?” I asked.

He blinked twice.

“I’m sorry, sir. You say?”

I cleared my throat. “In general. When they’re… going through changes.”

Ryan’s mouth twitched. “Changes.”

“Yes.”

“Like… organizational restructuring?” he offered.

I shot him a look.

He held up his hands. “Oh, right! Personal changes.”

I sighed. “My wife is pregnant.”

That did it.

Ryan’s expression softened instantly. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” I said quietly. The word still felt new. Heavy. Good.

“I just want to make sure I’m… doing this right.”

Ryan considered me for a moment. “Sir, respectfully, most men don’t ask that.”

“I’m not most men.”

“No,” he agreed. “You’re worse. You overthink.”

I huffed a laugh despite myself.

“She’s tired,” I continued. “And quiet. I don’t know if I should give her space or… attention.”

Ryan shrugged. “Both?”

“That’s not helpful.”

“It is,” he insisted. “Just don’t treat her like she’s fragile glass. Women hate that.”

I nodded slowly, filing that away.

“And food,” Ryan added. “Food solves a lot.”

“Duly noted.”

After he left, I buzzed my secretary.

“Lena,” I said when she answered. “Can you come in for a moment?”

She entered with her usual efficiency, heels clicking softly against the floor.

“Yes, Mr. Clinton?”

I hesitated. “This is… not work-related.”

Her eyebrow arched. “That’s new. What can I help you with, sir?”

I leaned forward slightly. “What do women like?”

She stared at me.

Then laughed.

“Oh, this is good,” she said, closing the door behind her. “Are we talking gifts? Attention? Romance? Apologies?”

“All of it,” I said. “Hypothetically.”

She studied me with a knowing smile. “That’s crazy. It seems like you don’t want any trouble.”

“I’m trying not to be.”

Lena crossed her arms. “Okay. First rule: consistency. Don’t do something once and disappear. Second: listen without trying to fix everything. Third…”

She paused, eyes softening.

“Make her feel chosen. Every day.”

The words settled deep in my chest.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

She smiled. “You’re doing better than you think.”

I didn’t plan to stop at the flower shop.

My foot just hit the brake before my brain caught up, and suddenly I was staring at a glass door full of colors that looked too soft for someone like me.

Inside, the smell hit first. Fresh. Almost dizzying. Nothing in my office ever smelled like this — steel, paper, ambition. This was different. This felt… gentle.

“What can I help you with?” the woman behind the counter asked.

I opened my mouth and realized I had no idea what I was doing.

“My wife is pregnant,” I said finally. The word wife still felt new on my tongue. “I want flowers. I don’t know which ones.”

She smiled. “Does she have a favorite?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know what she likes yet.”

That earned me a softer look. The kind people give when they think you’re trying.

She started pointing things out, roses, lilies, carnations, talking about meanings, moods, and occasions. I listened for a while, then felt the impatience crawl up my spine.

“What if I choose wrong?” I asked.

She paused. “Then you choose again next time.”

I didn’t like that answer.

“I’ll take all of them.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “All?”

“All,” I said, pulling out my card. “I don’t want to miss.”

She laughed under her breath, but I didn’t smile. I was thinking about Sonia. About how she carried herself carefully, like she was afraid the world might notice something fragile inside her.

If I didn’t know what made her happy yet, then this was the safest choice.

When I walked back to the car, flowers filled the passenger seat, petals brushing my arm, colors bleeding into each other. It was excessive. Impractical.

But for the first time in a long while, I wasn’t trying to be practical.

I was trying to be a responsible husband.

By the time I got home that evening, it’s late. I also stopped by the bakery Sonia mentioned only once, offhand, like she didn’t expect anyone to remember.

She was in the living room when I entered, curled on the couch with a book she wasn’t really reading.

“You’re home late,” she said, surprised.

“Got up with work.”

That earned me a small smile.

I handed her the bag. “For you.”

She peeked inside, eyes widening slightly. “You remembered.”

“I listen,” I said.

Her cheeks flushed faintly, and she looked away, suddenly shy.

That did something to me.

“Sit with me,” she said after a moment.

I did.

We sat close, not touching at first. The space between us felt intentional and careful until she leaned into my side without looking at me.

I froze.

Then relaxed.

Her head rested lightly against my shoulder. I could feel her breathing. Steady. Warm.

“You don’t have to do all this,” she murmured.

“I want to,” I said again. The words felt truer every time.

She was quiet for a while, then said, “You’re… different than I expected.”

“Good different or bad?”

“Good,” she said softly. “Too good sometimes.”

I smiled faintly. “I’ll try to be less impressive.”

She laughed and that sound made my chest ache in a way I didn’t mind.

Later, when she stood to go to bed, I followed her to the hallway.

“Sonia.”

She turned.

“If you need anything,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “you don’t have to ask twice.”

Her eyes searched mine, something unreadable flickering there.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

As she disappeared into the bedroom, I stood there longer than necessary, heart steady but full.

I didn’t know when it happened.

Only that somewhere between office searches and bakery stops, between advice from assistants and quiet moments on the couch…

This stopped feeling like responsibility.

And started feeling like love.