The money.
Luke blew out a breath, then cricked his neck from side to side. “Do we have to include a payment? I don’t want this money.”
“In any custody agreement in the future, there’ll be a balancing to make sure our child has the same opportunities whether with me or with you. Call this a massive forward down payment.”
He placed the contract on the counter, then shocked her by cupping her cheek. “You really need this to relax, to feel good about this, flower?”
Sincerity radiated from his eyes. “I do. I can’t leave myself wide open to being let down again.”
He studied her, searching for something. “I wish we knew each other better.” His thumb grazed her lower lip.
Oh, God.
She needed. Something.
His hands on her.
Space.
She wanted to go back. To be the woman he’d lifted against the wall, showered with, fallen off the bed with.
The need for his signature on the contract blurred.
“Luke,” she whispered.
He placed his lips to hers. Softly. Gently.
Not with the passion of their night together, but with an emotional onslaught that left her reeling. Willow closed her eyes and savoured the closeness of him, the way his presence made her feel.
The way he made her forget.
His hand slid around the back of her neck, holding her to him. “Once I sign this, I can’t do that again.”
“I know.”
Luke pulled away, reached for a pen, and signed all three contracts, before placing them in her hand. “I wouldn’t hurt you, with or without a signature on that paper.”
“Not on purpose.”
He shook his head. “Definitely not on purpose. I don’t suppose I should have kissed you like that, either. Your contract says this is a purely professional relationship.”
“It does.”
“Pity,” Luke said.
She wanted to ask what he meant. Did he see the potential for something more?
Wait.
Why was she torturing herself? She’d have the baby and fly home, without him. What good would adding extra heartbreak to the situation be? It would be hard enough to leave already.
“Can I show you what I was thinking?” she asked. “For the announcement?”
“Sure.”
“Let me grab my laptop.” Willow hurried to the bedroom, hoping he’d like what she’d done. It had taken her hours, knowing that every single image and word would be scrutinised. “Here,” she said, placing her laptop on the counter and opening the file. “This is the first video.”
She pressed play, aware of where Luke’s arm pressed up against hers as they looked at the screen. “It’s in two parts . . . because that fuels the algorithm. If they watch your first video, they have to swipe to the side to reach your profile to see the second video.”
The first video was the one she’d shown him, but instead of having a reunion, it had ended with her knocking on Luke’s door and asking her followers to guess who was behind the door.
“When did you film the ending?” Luke asked.
“While you were in London. But I didn’t want to post it until . . . well, that’s not a problem, now.”
“What’s the second?”
This one she was proud of. More so than the first. With a tap, the video started. She toned the colours so they all melded together. Flashes of Luke when he wasn’t looking, cameos when he was. Laughter in the paint store, him rolling the ceiling, video of herself cutting in. And a song about making a home with someone you loved.
It ended with the footage of her kissing his cheek and him kissing the top of her head.
“What do you think?”
“Honestly? I don’t know.” He pressed away from the counter and grabbed an onion, a tray of ground turkey, and some fresh basil from the fridge.
She’d thought it looked amazing. So much that she’d been confident he would love it. “What do you mean?”
Luke grabbed a knife and chopped the onion. “What do you want me to say? Was it well edited? Sure. Did the song match the meaning? Again, sure. You did a great job, Willow.”
“But? I feel there’s a but in there. I just don’t know what it is.”
He placed the knife down on the cutting board and turned to face her. “It looked real, Willow. And it’s confusing as fuck.”
“Luke,” she said softly. She placed her hand on his arm, his skin warm. Muscles rippled beneath her touch.
“It’s weird to see a version of yourself play out on video that isn’t really who you are. If it was real, it would be an amazing video, Will. Truly. But it’s not. And it feels duplicitous. I’m confused by it.”
The enthusiasm she’d had was gone. Along with the warm feelings his kiss had stirred. Now, she was as confused as he was.
Perhaps she shouldn’t post them. Perhaps she should reshoot them. Change the tone. While the moments had all happened, he did have a point that they were misleading when presented the way they were.
But, God, she needed them to be. “I need them to be believable,” she whispered.
“I know you do. Hell, there was a point when I was watching that I wanted to believe in them too. But we both know how this goes and how it ends. I just don’t know how we do this for a full year, pretending every day. Like, do you know how hard it is to keep my hands off you? I mean, not in a fucking creepy ‘you need to worry I’m going to molest you’ way. But look at you. You’re fucking gorgeous, Will. And that kiss. Bad fucking idea. Because now, I remember what you taste like, I want more.”
His words should make her happy, but they didn’t. Anger bubbled in her gut. “And there is the problem. You don’t want endless more. You want finite more. If you could have me for a no-strings night, you’d be in. But the idea of a relationship with responsibilities for me, for our child, scares you. You don’t want me. You want someone, and I’ll do. For now. I know you’re confused, but I can’t let you drown me in your confusion.” She picked up the contracts and closed her laptop. “I’ll post these tonight. Perhaps it’s best if I just go work in my room. Tell me when you are done making your dinner and I’ll come out and make my own.”
“Put the laptop down, Will,” he warned, his voice low.
“Luke. Don’t—”
“Don’t what?” he asked, snatching the laptop out of her hand before putting it on the counter. “I’m trying to be honest with you. Isn’t that important? That we use our words like grown-ups. You asked me how I felt about the video, and I told you the truth. Remember that whole conversation we had about how given everything else was a lie, we should be truthful to each other. Don’t go getting pissy when you don’t like that.”
He stepped up into her space, backing her into the fridge. Her heart raced as she studied his eyes. Somehow, she knew she wasn’t at risk. “I didn’t get pissy.”
“Yes. You did. Own it, Will. I was honest, and you judged me. If I didn’t give a shit about you, I’d lift you up right now, flip that skirt of yours, and fuck you. Just how you liked it in Detroit. Soul-stirring. Passionate. Furious. So up inside you that you have no clue what your name is, because the only name on your tongue, in your mouth, inside you is mine.” He pressed his nose in the crease of her neck.