“That’s not what I meant!”
“It’s because of what your father said, isn’t it?” She whips the air with that sharp accusation.
“What does my father have to do with us?”
“To show him I’m not a gold digger, you’re going to put a ring on my finger. You’re compelled to prove him wrong. Well, I’m not willing to be a pawn in this power struggle for your conscience, Tristan.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“This is what I mean by things getting complicated. This, right here!”
“Is it a complication if things make sense?”
“There you go again. I am not a puzzle you have to solve or a pregnant woman whose reputation you have to save. Marriage is about love, not obligation!”
The words echo in my head.
Marriage is about love, not obligation.
“And you don’t think you can love me,” I state somberly, swallowing the lump of embarrassment in my throat.
“Tristan, no! That’s not what I said.” Her brows furrow, and she pushes hair away from her forehead roughly.
She regrets the harshness of her words, I can tell. Ligaya reaches out and pets my forearm the way people do when they feel sorry for you.
I deserve pity, but not love.
Well, that sucks.
“I don’t want to fight, Ligaya. I’m sorry. You’re right, we shouldn’t force the issue. Nothing changes, after all. I’ll still always take care of you and the babies.”
“Tristan.” She comes forward and wraps her arms around my waist. Although my chest is tight, I pull her to me even tighter.
She’s right, of course. I’m out of line, expecting she’d want more when there’s already so much she’s giving the twins. Her body, her care, her future.
If she’s holding out for love, who can blame her?
If only we could rewind the last few minutes before I made a fool of myself.
CHAPTER 34
LIGAYA
Veteran Valley Thrift’s chemical smell mixes with the musky odor of old books. It is, to me, the aroma of optimism. I freaking love thrifting. It’s early February, the wind outside bites, but inside it’s toasty warm and all yellow tags are half off.
I raid the baby section for summer onesies. Holding up a cute Winnie the Pooh outfit, my heart tugs in a mix of anticipation and alarm. How is any human creature this tiny? I’m used to kids in the broader sense, having been an active babysitter in the neighborhood and choosing a job in education. But babies?
How do I make sure they don’t break?
Should I be getting a onesie or a Kevlar suit?
Is there such a thing as infant-sized armor?
Where can I get baby helmets in pairs?
I wander down the aisle of housewares toward what looks like a maternity rack. My stomach is getting bigger every day. It’s time to get more elastic waistbands in the mix. I hold up soft fabric printed with bright flowers.
Is it a nightgown or a tablecloth? If I have to ask, maybe I shouldn’t get it.
