Chapter 37

BRANDON 

The scent of brewed coffee and warm buttered toast drifted through the air as I stood by the kitchen island, flipping through my emails on the tablet. Freya sat at the breakfast table, her hair falling softly over her shoulder, still damp from her morning shower. She was slicing into a piece of fruit, her expression distant, like her thoughts were elsewhere—somewhere quiet and far away.

It was one of those mornings where the light came in just right through the kitchen windows, catching the golden strands in her hair and making her look almost ethereal. I caught myself staring, forgetting the article I had been skimming, forgetting the meetings lined up for the day. All I could think about was how lucky I was that she was here—real, steady, and slowly becoming the anchor I never knew I needed.

I set the tablet down and reached for my coffee. It wasn’t exactly the most romantic setting—me in a crisp white shirt already half-dressed for work, her in one of my oversized sweatshirts—but it was intimate in its own way. Domestic. Familiar. Ours.

“We should probably tell them soon,” I said, taking a sip of coffee.

Freya looked up, her fork hovering mid-air. “Tell who what?”

I raised my eyebrows at her like she already knew what I was referring to, but she pretended not to. It was her way of delaying conversations she didn’t want to have.

“The family,” I said, resting the mug down. “About the baby.”

She blinked once, twice, then set her fork down slowly. Her posture shifted just slightly, but enough for me to know she was tensing up.

“Brandon…” she began, her voice calm but unsure, “do we really have to tell them now?”

“Not this very second,” I replied gently, “but… soon. You’re going to start showing, Freya. And knowing our families, once one person catches on, the whole house will know within the hour. I'd rather we tell them than have them start guessing—or worse, assuming.”

She exhaled and pushed her plate away a few inches, folding her hands in front of her. “I know. I’ve been thinking about it too. It’s just—”

“Overwhelming?” I offered.

She nodded.

I stood and walked over to her side, pulling the chair out beside her and sitting down. “I get it. I do. But we don’t have to make a big production out of it. No press release. No grand family dinner with a surprise announcement.”

She laughed, just barely. “That would be the Lefevre way, though.”

“Exactly why I’d like to avoid it.” I paused, watching her carefully. “You’ve been through a lot already, Freya. This doesn’t need to be another thing weighing you down. But I think it would be easier if we were honest now before it becomes obvious.”

Her fingers tapped lightly against the table, her nails short and unpolished, and I could tell she was thinking through every possible scenario. That was who she was—measured, careful. A planner, even when she didn’t mean to be.

“I just…” she said, lifting her eyes to meet mine, “I don’t want them to feel like we’ve been hiding it from them. Or worse—like we were ashamed to say anything.”

“We’re not ashamed,” I said firmly. “We’re just… private. There’s nothing wrong with keeping something for ourselves for a while.”

“But our families don’t see things that way,” she replied, with a knowing tilt of her head. “You know how they are. Everything has to be a discussion. A debate. A comparison.”

She wasn’t wrong. Especially with my brother. And his wife. And our cousins. It seemed like any moment of vulnerability was treated like an open invitation to dissect and criticize, often masked as ‘concern.’ I knew Freya wasn’t afraid of their judgment—she’d stood her ground too many times to be considered timid—but that didn’t mean she wanted to walk into it willingly either.

“I’m not saying we announce it in front of a board meeting,” I said, softening my tone. “But maybe… we talk to them. The ones who matter. My mother. Your friend Lucy already knows, doesn’t she?”

“She does,” she murmured.

“Good. She’ll have your back. She always does.” I reached over and took her hand, running my thumb across the back of it. “I just don’t want you to feel like we’re sneaking around with something that should be celebrated.”

Her shoulders dropped slightly, and I saw the tension begin to ease.

“I just… I don’t know how they’ll take it,” she said. “Especially your father’s brother. He already thinks I’m some opportunist who slipped into your life and now into your company. Adding a baby to the picture? It’ll be war.”

“He already declared war the moment I added you to the board,” I said. “This won’t change that.”

She shook her head, clearly amused. “You sound too calm for someone who’s probably about to start a family feud.”

I shrugged. “Let them talk. They’ll get over it—or they won’t. But you and the baby come first. Our peace comes first.”

Silence settled between us, not heavy this time, but thoughtful. I could see her weighing the decision in her mind like she always did, trying to anticipate everyone else’s reactions. That was one of the many things I admired about her—how much she cared. Even when she pretended she didn’t.

“I don’t want to spring it on them either,” she finally said. “You’re right—we need to tell them. But we should do it when the time feels right. I just… need a few days. Maybe a week.”

I nodded. “Okay. A week.”

“Just long enough to plan what we’ll say. Ease them into it.”

“We can ease them in, sure. Or, if that doesn’t work, I’ll just toss them into the deep end and hold your hand while they flail.”

She laughed, and it was the sound I didn’t know I needed this morning. It made everything—early meetings, critical emails, a mountain of pressure at the company—worth it.

“Thank you,” she said softly, leaning her head against my shoulder. “For not rushing me.”

“I’ve got all the time in the world for you,” I said.

And I meant it.

I pressed a kiss to her temple, letting my hand rest over her stomach for a moment, quietly marveling at the life growing inside her. The little heartbeat we hadn’t heard yet, the tiny kicks we hadn’t felt, the future we were starting to imagine.

This baby wasn’t an accident. This marriage wasn’t a transaction anymore. This—us—was becoming something more every day. Something steady. Something fierce.

And when we told the family, whether they approved or not, it wouldn’t matter—because Freya and I would stand together.

We already were.