Imperfect Match (Elixir Bachelor Billionaires #1)

Since this morning, I’ve been wondering if this information was something I should have known already. Maybe they taught it in sex-ed class while I was dozing off on the back bench. But thankfully, it’s news even for my friends.

“So what now?” Elodie’s words pull me out of the brain fog.

“I can’t impose this on Charles, especially after knowing how he feels about kids. I’m going to tell him he can be as involved as he wants, and I’m not expecting him to be running for the Best Dad Award. I—”

Elodie’s hand on my knee stops me mid-sentence. “I’m not asking what you’re going to do, Daze, but what do you really want?”

I close my eyes, and an image of a childhood dream dances before me—my own family, and this time my partner has a face. Charles. My heart races, my body trembling at the sight of the image before everything dissipates like smoke.

“You know you can tell us anything, Daze. This is a judgment-free place, even without the secrecy pact.”

My eyes open at hearing Willow’s voice.

“It seems like everything in my life comes with a ‘but.’ Parents who brought me into this world but can’t love me. Jax, who claims to love me but can’t stop fucking around with the whole town. Charles”—my voice cracks—“who can’t be more perfect but despises the thought of family and kids. Why can’t I have a relationship where I have it all, just for once?”

“Maybe you do have it now, Daze.” Willow tips her head toward my stomach.

I wrap my hands around my waist, and there’s a click in my chest as if something broken has found a tiny fix.

“Maybe I do.”

33

SPACE FOR DREAMS

CHARLES

My mind is completely distracted as the head of finance at Elixir goes over quarterly profits. His presentation slides with numbers and pie charts in green, red, and blue blend into a blur on my computer screen.

I pick up my phone once again and reread the text from the doctor this morning.

Doc: There’s nothing to worry about, Mr. Hawthorne. Mrs. Hawthorne doesn’t have any deficiencies. I suggested she take it easy in the coming days, and although you don’t need any instructions, a part of my job is to remind you to make sure your wife is happy.

What does he mean by that?

Does he think she’s unhappy?

I’m almost tempted to ask, but what kind of husband would that make me? Shouldn’t I already know if my wife is happy or not?

Stop pretending like you don’t.

Out of habit, I glance out the glass wall and nearly spill my coffee over the keyboard when I find her seated at her desk.

How long has she been there?

“Fuck!”

“Do you have a question, Charles?” Ray asks, and I realize I’ve interrupted the entire meeting.

“No, everything sounds good so far. Please continue.”

This time, I remember to mute myself before turning my attention back to my wife. Unlike other days, she hasn’t turned on her PC, going through her emails and making a task list. Instead, today she’s simply staring at the monitor, her status on the company network still unavailable on my screen.

I watch as she bites her lip, looks down at something on her lap for a long moment before her gaze flicks toward me.

My heart catapults out of my body when our eyes meet.

That’s insane. She can’t see me, but I can see everything. Every trace of worry, every line of panic etched on her face digs into my heart.