The Man Who Has No Sight - Victoria Quinn Page 0,74

the salmon.

I wondered if she was upset about Dr. Hawthorne, if maybe it still bothered her. “Today was Dr. Hawthorne’s last day.” I decided not to tell her about the conversation we’d had because it didn’t matter.

Cleo looked up. “Oh? I thought she was already gone.”

“No. She packed up her stuff and left. I guess she got a job with the Mayo Clinic.”

“Oh…good for her.” She turned back to her plate.

“Something wrong with the salmon?”

She raised her head again. “Oh, no,” she said quickly. “I guess I’m just getting tired of fish.” She set her plate to the side even though she didn’t eat much.

“I can make you something else.”

“You know, I just don’t have an appetite anyway.” She looked out the window, her eyes already taking her mind elsewhere.

First, Tucker had been weird. Now, she was weird. “Cleo?”

“Hmm?”

“Everything alright?” She’d been off for a few days, and every time I asked her if something was wrong, her answer was always the same.

“Yeah. I’m just…stressed. Got a lot of stuff going on downstairs.”

I was quiet and withdrawn when I was stressed too, so I took her word for it. I gathered the plates and the bottle of wine and carried them into the kitchen. I rinsed off the plates, put the wine in the fridge, and then glanced at her.

She looked miserable.

The only time she seemed to be herself was when we made love. She was passionate, fiery, affectionate, genuine. Her eyes were on mine, and her lips quivered with pleasure. She rocked into me like my pace was enough for her. She was anxious, pulling me into her, clawing my back, yanking on my hair.

I liked it.

With my fists against the mattress, my forearms pinning her knees back, I pumped into her until I came, filling her with another load that spilled all over the place when I pulled out. It streaked down her ass and to the sheets below.

That seemed to happen every night, but we slept in it anyway, knowing the sheets would be changed in the morning.

I rolled over and lay there, grabbing the tissue box on my nightstand to clean up a bit. The housekeeper put those there, probably because she knew we were too lazy to get up and clean off in the bathroom, so we let the sheets absorb it.

Cleo turned the other way and pulled the sheets to her shoulder.

And like nothing had happened, she was withdrawn again.

I stared at her back for a moment before I rolled toward her, spooning her from behind. My hand moved across her stomach and rested there, on the slightly hard bump right where her belly button was located.

She quickly grabbed my hand and pulled it higher, right underneath her breasts.

My face was in her hair so I couldn’t see anything, but my eyes opened anyway.

Because I knew what I felt.

I knew exactly what my fingertips touched.

Everything hit me at once.

Her doctor’s appointment several weeks ago, the fact that she wouldn’t tell me what it was about.

That she never drank wine anymore.

She was cold and distant lately…moody.

She had a random aversion to fish.

Now her stomach…was different.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I rolled away, moving to my back, needing a moment to process what I’d just concluded.

She was pregnant.

I stared at the ceiling, my heart beating so fast that it felt like I was sprinting in place. I was warm from lovemaking, but now I sweated profusely. My palms were cold and clammy. There was so much adrenaline, so much stress.

Fuck.

Eighteen

Cleo

I had Patricia drop off Derek at Margo’s.

The nerves were killing me. The guilt was consuming me. Now I was wearing dresses because my skirts were just too tight. My body was changing, and if he hadn’t noticed already, he’d notice soon…and that was the worst way to find out.

My bag was already packed in his closet, so I could grab it and leave…if he asked me to.

Tucker said I could stay with him.

Tucker texted me. Good luck.

I ignored his text message that popped up on the coffee table. I sat on the couch, waiting for the sound of Deacon’s footsteps, the sound of the knob turning. I was so fucking scared. I was far more scared of this than living in my shady apartment in Brooklyn. This was the very place where he’d left me last time—and I was afraid it would happen again.

When we woke up this morning, he was really quiet, like he was irritated with the constant coldness I gave him. He didn’t even do his