chapter eight

Lila

The safe-room door opens onto a world of smoke and silence.It looks like a bomb hit the estate almost like a scene out of an action movie. The estate is a skeleton of glowing embers. Ethan’s arms are still locked around me, his heartbeat a steady drum against my spine. We step over charred beams and melted marble, the wedding band on my finger catching stray sparks like mini fireworks.

“Day eight,” I whisper.

He kisses the raven tattoo on my wrist. “I love you.” He whispers

The helicopter waits on the pad, its blades slicing into the cool night air. Marco, Ethan’s pilot, nods once at me. We lift off and the Hamptons shrinks into a tiny dot by the minute.

After a while we land at Manhattan.The penthouse helipad is lit with bright lights, the city is glittering around our tower. We land softly and The elevator drops us into the foyer.

Ethan carries me like we’re newlyweds again. I laugh into his neck. “We already did this.”

“Not like this.”

He sets me on the kitchen island, and pours Whiskey into two crystal glasses and we share the comfortable silence.

Suddenly my vision blurs and I set my glass down too hard. The room tilts. around me like a roller coaster A wave of nausea rolls through me, its sudden, and sharp.

Ethan’s hand is on my back instantly. “Lila?”

I swallow. “I’m fine. Just… the smoke.”

He studies me. “You’ve been off since yesterday. The diner. The coffee you didn’t finish.”

I slide off the island, my legs are wobbly and unsteady. “Stress.”

He doesn’t buy it. “When was your last period?”

The question hangs and i count backward.

The couch. The first night. The storm. No protection. Just need and desperation and the wager still burning between us. My knees buckle as Ethan catches me.

“Bathroom,” he says.

He carries me to the master suite. The marble is cool under my feet when he sets me down. I dig through the drawer for my emergency kit,I'm always prepared. A pregnancy test. Unopened. From before the divorce.

I lock the door and shove Ethan out.

Three minutes feels like the longest wait of my life and my anxiety grows with each minute. I turn the test slowly to reveal two pink lines. I gasp and open the door.

Ethan’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He sees my face and sees the test in my shaking hand.

“Positive,” I whisper.

He doesn’t move. Just stares.

I laugh, I'm terrified. “It’s too early, it could be wrong.”

He steps forward, cups my face. “We’ll get a real one tomorrow, we'll get a blood test at the doctor.”

I nod. Tears pricking my eyelid suddenly. “What if—”

“We face it.” His voice cracks. “Together.”

He pulls me into his chest. I breathe him in, he smells like cedar, smoke and home.

The intercom chimes.

“Mr. Grant,” the concierge says. “Guests. Ms. Sasha Moreau and Mr. Dante Vale. They insist.”

Ethan kisses my forehead. “We tell them.”

Sasha barrels in first, i spot her red curls, leather pants, hwr eyes are wild. “You burned the house?” She sees my face, stops. “What else?”

Dante follows, he's tall, dark and his Italian suit rumpled. He claps Ethan’s back. “Fratello. You look like hell.”

Ethan smirks. “Feel like heaven.”

Sasha sniffs the air. “Smells like arson and secrets.”

Dante pours himself whiskey. “And Whiskey. My favorite combination.”

I hand Sasha the test.

She squeals so loud that we all wince. “Shut up! A mini-Grant?”

Dante grins. “Or a mini-Lila. God help us.”

Ethan rolls his eyes. “It’s early. Could be nothing.”

Sasha waves him off. “Could be everything. I’m buying onesies. Gender-neutral, and Cashmere.”

Dante raises his glass. “To tiny tyrants and terrorists.”

I laugh softly. “You’re both ridiculous.”

Sasha flops onto the chair. “Please name her after me. Sasha Grant has a nice ring.”

Dante snorts. “Dante Grant sounds like a mob boss or w drug baron.”

Ethan pulls me onto the sofa beside him. “We’re not naming anyone yet.”

Sasha wiggles her brows. “Bet you practiced the fun part.”

I throw a pillow at her. “Out.”

Dante catches it. “She’s right. You two look… fertilized.”

Ethan’s hand finds my stomach, thumb stroking in slow circles. “Jealous?”

Dante smirks. “Terrified.”

Sasha curls into me. “Morning sickness?”

“Evening,” I admit. “And all-day dread.”

She squeezes my hand reassuringly. “You’ll be brilliant.”

Dante leans against the window. “Remember when you two eloped in Vegas? I lost five grand betting against it.”

Ethan grins. “You still owe me.”

“Add it to the baby fund.”

Later, the fire is lit.Sasha and Dante sprawl on the rug, debating baby names.

“Raven,” Sasha says. “Obviously.”

Dante shakes his head. “Too goth. Leonardo.”

“For a girl?” I laugh.

He shrugs. “Leo works.”

Ethan’s lips brush my ear. “Whatever we name them, they’ll have your eyes and adorable lips.”

I melt into him instantly.

Sasha yawns dramatically. “I’m crashing in the guest suite. Aunt Sasha needs beauty sleep.”

Dante stands. “I’ll take the couch. Someone has to guard the whiskey.”

Ethan tosses him a blanket. “You snore.”

“You drool,” Dante fires back.

They bicker like brothers. Sasha kisses my cheek. “Call me at 3 a.m. if you puke. I’ll hold your hair.”

The door closes behind them.

Ethan and I are alone.

He lifts me, carries me to the bedroom. The city glitters beyond the glass. He lays me on the bed, and kisses my stomach.

“Day eight,” he murmurs.

I thread my fingers through his hair. “Day one of three.”

He looks up, eyes shining. “Or four. Or five.”

I smile. “We’ll need a bigger penthouse.”

He laughs.“We’ll handle the building.”

We fall asleep tangled, the test on the nightstand like a fragile star.