“I swear, Tristan, I won’t take a new car from you. Now drop it.”
“Fine,” he agrees with surprising ease.
We exit the pantry and find Tita Cecilia’s daughters in the kitchen, tittering and pretending they didn’t see us.
The rest of the evening passes pleasantly enough. I’m staying over tonight to help my parents wrap up the party. Tristan refuses to leave till the last of the guests are gone and all the trash is put outside. It’s nearly three in the morning when I walk him back to his SUV.
“Thanks for inviting me to my firstNoche Buena,” he says.
“You’re welcome.”
“What are you doing tomorrow?”
“Going to church in the morning. We’re not much for presents on Christmas. We’d rather save money and get an Airbnb during summer vacation instead. I’m off teaching. Amihan will request some leave.”
“That reminds me, I have something for you.”
“Not a new car, I hope!” I exclaim jokingly.
“Not a new car. Can I bring it by tomorrow?”
“Don’t you have a dinner thing?”
“I’ll come by around one or two. Is that OK?” he asks.
I nod, suddenly aware of how close we are. My heart is beating as if I ran a marathon instead of strolling twenty steps from the front door to the driveway.
“Sure.” I try to sound breezy. “My present for you is the extraturonI put aside.” I point to the oversized grocery bag stocked with party food.
Tristan smiles, but his eyes remain solemn. After a beat, he steps closer. I catch a whiff of that delicious mojito scent I’ve come to associate with him. I nearly lean in and press my face to his neck like an actual lunatic.
“Ligaya,” he says quietly, “your gift for me is right here.”
His hand comes to rest on my belly. The touch is light and reverent, yet it sends a thrum of sensation through me, low and molten and entirely inappropriate for such a simple touch. Yet it might be the most erotic experience of my life to have the father of my children hold me this way. His palm is warm through my sweater, radiating into my skin.
My body sways forward on instinct. Balance is a foreign concept. To steady me, Tristan’s other hand slides around to the small of my back. I shouldn’t want to be held up like this. I shouldn’t lean in. But I do. God help me, I do.
His body is a solid wall of muscle. Tentatively, my fingers find the valley between his hard pectorals. Tristan’s inhale is a sharp hiss when my thumb strums a button on his shirt. His jaw tics, andI quell the need to kiss it. Soothe it. Tristan’s fingers squeeze to hint at how much he’s restraining himself. Heavy breathing fogs the cold air between us.
“You’re carrying our children, Ligaya,” he rasps by my ear, lips grazing slightly. “There isn’t a more amazing gift than knowing you’ll be their mother.”
My knees nearly buckle. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. My body is humming with want, with affection, with some terrifying ache I don’t have language for.
I could kiss him right now. Iwantto kiss him right now.
But if I do, I’m not sure I’ll ever want to stop.
Instead, I tilt my head away to break the moment.
“Tristan,” I whisper, “you should go.”
He doesn’t move for a second. Tristan lowers his chin to search my eyes. While his gaze conveys longing, mine is more complicated.
I want him. Of course I do. But I also know what it’s like to be left behind. When he eventually moves away or moves on, we can make appropriate arrangements if we keep our focus on the kids. It won’t be easy, but it will be simpler if this mind-numbing lust is out of the equation. We both want what’s best for the babies. He’ll protect and love our children, I’m sure of it, even if we have to adjust to the demands of his career.
But I can’t expect him to protect and loveme. The most dangerous aspect of this whole situation is my physical attraction and growing feelings for Tristan.
How will I co-parent if I turn into a goddamn emotional mess? And I have no doubt that Tristan Thorne the freaking Third, more than any man, has the ability to turn me into a complete, utter, hopeless mess.
