Tobias's POV
I check my phone for the third time in ten minutes, rereading the text I sent Ava this morning: "Can you come to the estate at noon? We need to discuss our situation properly. The house will be empty."
Her response was simple: "I'll be there", but I've been analyzing those three words like they contain hidden meaning.
Does she regret tearing up the appointment card? Has she changed her mind about keeping the baby? The thought makes my chest tighten with something dangerously close to panic.
The house feels too quiet without Chloe's music playing upstairs or Tyler's video games echoing from the den. I gave Sarah the weekend off, claiming I needed space to focus on campaign strategy.
The truth is, I couldn't risk anyone overhearing this conversation.
At 11:58, I hear her key in the kitchen door—she's had one for three years, since she started spending more time here than at her own apartment. The familiar sound now carries a different weight.
She's not just Chloe's friend anymore. She's carrying my child.
"Tobias?" Her voice floats through the house, uncertain.
"In the study," I call back, standing behind my desk like it might provide some barrier against what I really want to do—pull her into my arms and never let go.
She appears in the doorway wearing a simple sundress that makes her look impossibly young. The guilt hits immediately. Twenty-one years old. Christ, what have I done to her?
"Thanks for coming." I gesture to the leather chair across from my desk, keeping the furniture between us. "How are you feeling? Any more morning sickness?"
"It comes and goes." She sits carefully, hands folded in her lap. "Mostly when I smell coffee, which is ironic since I used to live on it."
"I can have the break room at work stock tea instead…"
"No." Her interruption is sharp. "That would raise questions. We can't change anything, remember? Everything has to stay normal."
"Right. Normal." The word tastes bitter. "Let's discuss what you need. Have you scheduled a prenatal appointment? Do you have a doctor you trust?"
"Dr. Martinez at my mom's clinic. She's known me since I was twelve." Ava's fingers twist together nervously. "She won't tell my mother. Doctor-patient privilege."
"Good. What about vitamins? There are specific ones for pregnancy, right? I've been researching…"
"You've been researching pregnancy?" Something flickers across her face—surprise, maybe warmth.
"Of course I have." I lean forward despite myself. "This is my responsibility too, Ava. I need to understand what you're going through, what you need."
"What I need is for no one to find out." Her voice drops. "Especially not Chloe. She'd never forgive me, Tobias. Dating Tyler was bad enough—she barely forgave that. But this? Her father? The betrayal would be absolute."
The pain in her voice makes me want to reach across the desk, but I force my hands to stay still. "We'll keep it quiet for now. But eventually…"
"Eventually doesn't matter if we can protect everyone now." She meets my eyes directly. "We're not together, Tobias. We both know that. This is just... a situation we need to manage."
"A situation," I repeat, the words cutting deeper than they should. "Is that what you want to call it?"
"What else can we call it? We're not dating. We're not a couple. We're just two people who made a mistake and now have to deal with the consequences."
Made a mistake. The phrase unlocks memories I've been trying to suppress since she climbed out my bedroom window four weeks ago. But sitting here, watching afternoon light play across her face, my mind betrays me completely.
I remember the exact moment she transformed from Chloe's friend into something more dangerous. She was eighteen, standing in my kitchen during Sunday dinner, arguing passionately about universal healthcare.
Her eyes blazed with conviction, hands moving as she spoke, and I had to excuse myself to the bathroom where I splashed cold water on my face and called myself every kind of monster.
"Tobias?" Her voice pulls me back. "Did you hear what I said?"
"Sorry. What?"
"I said I'll need to adjust my work schedule for appointments. Maybe claim I'm taking a professional development course?"
"Whatever you need to say." I watch her shift uncomfortably in the chair. "Are you okay? You look pale."
"Just a little queasy. It'll pass."
She stands to leave, but the movement is too quick. Her face goes white, and she sways dangerously. I'm around the desk before conscious thought, catching her arms to steady her.
"Easy," I murmur, holding her against me. "Just breathe."
She leans into my chest, and the contact destroys every boundary we just established. She fits against me perfectly, like she did that night, like she's meant to be there.
My hands want to roam, to rediscover every curve, but I force them to stay still on her arms.
"I should go," she whispers, but doesn't move away.
"You should sit until the dizziness passes." But I don't guide her to a chair. Instead, I hear myself saying, "Come with me."
I lead her to the living room where my vinyl collection lives—hundreds of records I've accumulated over the years.
She knows this room well from family gatherings, but she's never seen me like this, pulling out a specific album with hands that aren't quite steady.
"Nina Simone?" She recognizes the cover. "I didn't know you liked jazz."
"There's a lot you don't know about me." I set the needle down, and 'Feeling Good' fills the room. "Dance with me."
"Tobias…"
"Just one dance. Like we should have had at your birthday party, before everything went to hell."
She comes into my arms like it's the most natural thing in the world. My hand finds her waist, the other taking hers, and we begin to sway. This is nothing like that desperate night four weeks ago. This is tender, careful, charged with everything we can't say.
"I used to watch you dance with Tyler at family parties," I admit against her hair. "It was torture. He never held you like you were precious."
"How did he hold me?"
"Like you were an accessory. Something to show off but not treasure." My hand drifts to her stomach, still flat, hiding our secret. "You deserve to be treasured, Ava."
"Stop." Her voice breaks slightly. "We agreed this can't be more than…"
"I know what we agreed." I pull her closer, feeling her breath hitch. "But you should know that walking away from you that morning was the hardest thing I've ever done. And these last four weeks, pretending I don't want you every second of every day..."
"We can't do this to each other." She pulls back to look at me, eyes bright with unshed tears. "It hurts too much to want what we can't have."
"I know, baby. I know." The endearment slips out naturally. "But I need you to understand something. Whatever happens, however we manage this situation, you're not alone. I'll protect you and our child from everything."
The song ends, but we keep swaying, neither willing to break the spell. Her hands rest against my chest, and I know she can feel my heart racing.
The desire to kiss her is overwhelming, to claim her mouth the way I did that night, but I force myself to stay still.
"I should really go," she finally whispers. "Before we do something we'll regret."
"Too late for that," I say, attempting humor, but it falls flat.
She steps away, and the loss of contact feels physical.
We stand there, the space between us charged with unspoken promises and impossible wants, both knowing that everything has changed and nothing can change, caught in a paradox of our own making.
"Next Saturday," I say as she heads for the door. "Come for your usual lunch with Chloe. It won't raise suspicions, and we can talk about the next doctor's appointment."
She nods without looking back, and then she's gone, leaving me alone with Nina Simone and the ghost of her perfume, wondering how I'm going to survive the coming months pretending I don't love her when every cell in my body screams the truth.