The breakfast dishes had long stopped clinking. Rachel had already been bundled off to school by Lucas — her goodbye as chaotic and sweet as always. A blur of tiny arms around Bella, a kiss pressed to her belly, and the soft whisper she never forgot. "Hi baby, be good today."
It had been Rachel's ritual ever since she'd learned she was going to be a big sister, and Bella had grown addicted to the warmth it left behind.
Now, the kitchen had settled into that lazy kind of silence that only belonged to late mornings — sunlight pooling across the counters, the faint tick of the wall clock marking time. Bella stood at the sink, fingertips idly swirling in the warm water as she rinsed a plate.
Behind her, Lucas leaned against the island, sleeves rolled to his forearms — casual in stance but with that steady, weighted gaze that always made her skin feel just a little too tight.
"By the way," he said, setting his phone down with deliberate care, "I heard back from Alessio."
She glanced over her shoulder, brows lifting. "Alessio?"
"My friend," he reminded, voice low and even. "The jewelry brand founder I mentioned yesterday."
The name tugged at her memory, but she didn't answer right away. Something about the way his voice threaded into the stillness made her want to just… listen.
"He's interested in your work," Lucas went on, his tone dipping lower — warm but unyielding. "Wants to see your drafts."
Bella rinsed the final cup, the cool air kissing her damp hands. "Lucas… I appreciate it, really. But I don't want special treatment just because I'm—" she gave him a sidelong look, "—your wife."
"I know you don't," he said, and something in his voice — that quiet certainty — sank straight into her chest. "And that's one of the reasons Alessio will like you. He respects talent, not connections."
Her lips pressed together, a faint pout forming — the one Lucas had learned to recognize. Her tell. The sign she was already halfway to surrender.
He pushed off the island, stepping closer, one hand slipping into his trouser pocket. "Bella, you're ridiculously talented. That sketchbook of yours? It's not a hobby. It's a portfolio."
She gave a half-laugh, shaking her head. "Easy for you to say. You own half the city."
"And I still work my ass off to keep it," he countered smoothly. "Connections open doors. Talent keeps them open. You've got both — you just don't want to admit it."
Her silence told him she was weighing his words. Then — without much thought — Lucas dipped his head and brushed a kiss against her cheek.
It wasn't lingering. Not deliberate enough to call planned. But it stopped her cold. The air shifted, thickened, as if the room itself was holding still.
When he pulled back, a faint crease marked his brow — like even he wasn't sure why he'd done it. "You were pouting," he murmured, voice lower now, almost sheepish but edged with something darker. "And you looked so damn cute I… didn't mean to—"
Her cheeks flushed. "Oh." She scrambled for the thread of their conversation. Sketches… Alessio… right.
Lucas cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair like he could scatter the tension. "Sorry if that was—"
"I-it's fine," she cut in quickly, eyes darting anywhere but him. "Totally fine."
He chuckled under his breath, slow and rich, curling around her like warm smoke. "You don't have to prove anything, Bella. You've already earned this. Just let someone see your work. If nothing happens, fine. But what if it does?"
Her gaze flicked to him then — and there it was, that warmth in his eyes. Steady. Coaxing. Like winter sunlight pressing into frozen skin.
"…Fine," she whispered. "Send the sketches."
His smile curved, slow and certain. "I knew I'd win."
"You cheated," she muttered.
"Oh?" His brow arched. "By being devastatingly charming?"
"No. By kissing me."
Lucas only smirked, unlocking his phone. "You've got me there." The faint whoosh of his message being sent felt like a full stop — except the look he gave her suggested nothing about this moment was over.
The morning drifted on in its usual rhythm. Or, at least, it tried to. But Bella kept catching herself thinking about the way his voice had dropped when he'd leaned in earlier — that low, deliberate tone that seemed to press against her skin.
By the time she was in their room after a shower, hair twisted into a messy bun, she had changed into soft pajama shorts and an old paint-speckled T-shirt with the face of her favorite movie star plastered across the front.
Bella stared at her reflection. The cotton clung more snugly now to the curve of her belly. She didn't hate it… but it felt revealing. As much as she like the fact that her baby is growing each day, but the way her body is changing is not something she is ready for yet.
Lucas entered with two mugs of coffee, but his steps slowed when he saw her shirt.
"That's new," he said lightly, handing her a mug.
She grinned, noting where his gaze lingered. "Don't judge — he's iconic."
Lucas stepped closer, squinting at the print. "Iconic? That guy? He looks like he's trying too hard."
"Says the man with a closet full of black suits and brooding silence."
He ignored the jab, eyes narrowing slightly at the man on her shirt who held his arms open to hug someone. "Looks like he's hugging you."
Bella laughed. "He's fictional."
Lucas's voice dropped — that same slow descent she'd felt earlier. "No… I'm standing here watching another man's arms around you. Even printed, it's… unsettling."
She started to respond, but he closed the distance, his body heat brushing hers, hands buried in his pockets like it was the only thing stopping him from touching her.
"He can give you fantasies," Lucas murmured, voice low enough to vibrate in her chest, "but I can make them real, mia cara."
The words hit her like a pulse, shivering down her spine. Her grip tightened on the mug.
"Next time you want to feel warm," he added, leaning close enough for his breath to feather her ear, "wear something of mine. Not his."
Before she could answer, he turned away — though not before she caught the faintest curl of a smirk. "Also, we're throwing that shirt out."
Alone again, she muttered under her breath, "I'm not changing because he told me to. It's just… because this one's a bit tight on me. Yeah."
But his voice kept echoing in her head: Wear something of mine.
She pulled one of his black T-shirts from the wardrobe — soft and loose, carrying his scent....cedar, leather, and something entirely him. Her earlier shirt had barely hidden her bump, but this one hung off her shoulder when she hunched them and covered her shorts entirely. She had to admit — his idea wasn't so bad. It felt like carrying a piece of him with her, and it gave her a new kind of comfort.
When she stepped out, Lucas was standing in the doorway. His gaze swept over her, lingering.
"You know," he said lazily, "you're not helping."
"Helping?" she echoed.
"With self-control."
Her pulse stuttered. "It's just—my shirt felt tight—"
"And so you came out here wearing mine, looking like that," he interrupted, his tone dipping into dangerous territory again. "I wasn't ready for my own advice."
He stopped close enough that the space between his hand and her waist felt like a choice.
"You look better in my clothes than I ever did."
Her breath caught. "I'm going to make something to eat."
"Run away if you need to," he murmured, leaning just enough for his lips to graze her ear, "but don't be surprised when I ask for rent."
And then he was gone — leaving Bella to wonder if he had any idea just how much space his voice now took up inside her.