The evening should have been ordinary after the conversation they'd had. Dinner, Rachel's chatter bouncing through the room, laughter spilling as she waved her fork like a storyteller's wand, her little stories filling every quiet corner. Lucas listened with that patient, amused expression that made Rachel more animated, while Bella passed dishes back and forth, watching them with quiet fondness. Plates were filled, glasses topped, crumbs wiped from little hands.
Ordinary. But nothing about it felt ordinary.
Every brush of his arm when they reached for the same serving spoon sent sparks across Bella's skin. Every glance from him lingered too long, making her breath falter. The air itself was different tonight—thick, charged, alive with something unspoken.
Later, while clearing the dishes, she bent to slide plates into the lower cabinet and froze, sensing his gaze on her before she even looked. Rising, she smoothed her dress quickly, caught beneath the sharp, unblinking focus of his eyes.
"Do I have food on me or something?" she asked, half teasing, half desperate to break the tension.
"No." His voice was quiet but certain, weighted in a way that struck through her like lightning. "I didn't tell you this in the morning. You look… beautiful."
The word landed like a spark, igniting everything she'd been trying to smother. She turned away too quickly, muttering, "Don't."
"Don't what?" His tone was steady, low, almost coaxing. She couldn't answer. Not without unraveling completely.
When Rachel was finally tucked into bed, Bella lingered at her side as always, brushing a stray curl from her daughter's forehead. She watched the slow rise and fall of her little chest, the way Rachel clutched her stuffed bunny close. Every night it was the same—this ache in her chest when she had to step away. As if closing the door meant leaving behind a piece of herself.
She sighed softly, pressing a kiss to Rachel's temple before slipping out of the room. And nearly collided with him.
Lucas leaned against the hallway wall, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the dim light catching the silver of his watch. His presence filled the narrow space easily, his eyes finding hers in an instant. Her pulse stumbled.
"You were spying," she whispered, though her lips curved despite herself.
One brow arched. "Spying? No. Just standing guard. Making sure my girls are safe."
Her heart tripped over the words. My girls.
"Your girls?" she echoed softly.
His gaze warmed, the corner of his mouth tilting. "Well, I suppose you're mine to worry about now. Both of you."
Heat crept up her neck. She looked away, flustered.
"You're impossible," she muttered.
But when she turned back, he hadn't moved. He was still there, close, gaze locked on her with an intensity that rooted her to the spot. The silence between them hummed, thick with something unspoken.
Her throat went dry. "Lucas?"
He pushed away from the wall, unhurried, closing the distance between them. "You keep calling me impossible," he said lowly, his voice steady but edged with something deeper. "But you never answer me."
Her brows furrowed. "Answer what?"
"What's happening between us."
Her heart skittered. She stepped back, fussing with her dress but he followed, deliberate, steady. "You know why we're married, Lucas."
"Yes," he said, closing the last bit of space until his presence pressed into hers. His hand came up, bracing against the wall by her head. His body caged hers without touching. "But that's not what I asked."
Her breath caught.
"Bella." Her name rolled off his tongue like both a command and a plea. She turned, and the world shifted.
He stepped closer, bracing one hand against the wall by her head, the other hovering near her hip. He didn't touch her, but the heat radiating between them stole her breath. His heat surrounded her, his breath brushing her cheek.
"Tell me you don't feel it," he whispered.
Her lips parted, but no denial came. She couldn't.
His forehead touched hers, his voice a low demand. "Tell me, Bella."
The silence stretched, trembling with everything they weren't saying. She didn't move. And that was enough.
His mouth found hers, firm yet achingly gentle. One hand cupped her cheek, holding her in place, while the other gripped her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left to hide. The kiss was fire and tenderness all at once—every unspoken word, every question, every ache crashing into that single, perfect moment.
Bella's fingers curled into his shirt, clutching desperately, dragging him closer when she should have pushed away. Heat surged through her, dizzying and consuming. He kissed her like she was precious, irreplaceable, the center of his world—and it undid her completely.
Her breath faltered. The world blurred. There was nothing but him—the warmth of his lips, the steady anchor of his hand on her cheek, the hum of his heartbeat pressed against her chest.
It was too much. Too perfect. She broke away with a gasp, chest rising unevenly.
But he wasn't done. His lips trailed lower, along her jaw, to the delicate line of her throat. Bella squirmed at the sensation, a shaky whisper of his name tumbling out as her hand slid instinctively into his hair.
"Lucas—"
He didn't stop. His mouth closed on her neck, sucking gently, then harder, until she felt her body quake. Her other hand gripped his shoulder, holding him there even as her mind screamed to stop him.
If he kept going, he'd leave more than just a mark. He'd take her past the point of no return.
Gathering what little control she had left, she pressed lightly against his shoulders, voice trembling as she choked out, "Lucas… the baby."
He stilled, chest heaving against hers. He hadn't realized until now how lost he was—intoxicated by her voice, her scent, her lips. Their first real kiss, stolen in the quiet of their home, had nearly undone him.
Slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his head, resting his forehead against hers. His hand lingered tenderly on her cheek. His lips hovered an inch from hers, aching but restrained. Her skin still stung from where his mouth had claimed her neck.
"I know," he whispered, his voice rough with need and restraint. "I won't push you."
Her lashes fluttered, lips still tingling. "We didn't… we didn't ask the doctor about this." Her cheeks flamed as the implication left her mouth.
"I'll wait," he said firmly, with no hesitation at all. His eyes burned into hers, steady and certain. "But don't think for a second I regret this."
Her heart twisted painfully, tangled in fear and longing. "You're impossible."
The corner of his mouth curved faintly. "You've already told me that tonight." His gaze softened, his voice dropping. "But this time… I think I can live with it."
When he finally stepped back, the distance between them felt unbearable. The air still thrummed with what had just happened, her lips still burning, her pulse still frantic.
Everything had changed. Neither spoke the words, but both knew—nothing would ever be the same again.
The silence between them stretched, heavy with everything that had just happened. Bella's pulse was still unsteady when Lucas finally released her body. She stepped past him, trying to compose herself, but the warmth of his body still clung to her like a second skin.
They didn't speak as they made their way toward the bedroom. The house was too quiet, the kind of quiet that made her hyperaware of every movement—his steady footsteps behind hers, the faint creak of the floor, the rhythm of her own uneven breathing.
Inside the room, she busied herself with small things—pulling back the covers, smoothing the sheets, setting her folded clothes neatly on the chair. Anything to keep her hands occupied, anything to keep from looking at him.
But she felt him anyway. The weight of his gaze followed her, soft but relentless.
When she finally turned, he was already at his side of the bed, slipping his watch off, rolling his sleeves back down. Calm. Collected. As though he hadn't just kissed her breathless against the wall.
Bella hesitated, suddenly shy, then climbed into bed and turned off the lamp on her side. Darkness settled over the room, broken only by the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains.
For a while, the only sounds were the rustle of sheets and the faint hum of the city outside. Bella lay on her side, staring at the shadows on the wall, her thoughts tumbling. Her lips still burned with the memory of his, her heart refusing to calm.
Then—softly, almost hesitantly—his hand reached across the space between them, brushing against hers where it rested on the mattress.
She stiffened, breath catching.
"Goodnight, Bella," he murmured, his voice low and warm in the dark.
Her chest tightened. She should have pulled her hand back. She didn't. Instead, she let their fingers rest side by side, not quite entwined but close enough that the heat of his skin seeped into hers.
"Goodnight," she whispered back.
Neither of them moved again, but sleep didn't come easily. The silence thrummed with the memory of the kiss, the unspoken promise in his touch.
And as her eyes finally fluttered shut, Bella knew with terrifying certainty—tomorrow, nothing would feel ordinary again.