Nancy blinked her eyes open. The room was hazy with soft morning light. For a second, she felt peaceful. Warm. Then she felt the heavy arm draped over her. She turned her head.
Theodore.
He was still asleep. She'd never seen him like this. All the sharp lines of his face had gone soft. No frown. No tense jaw. Just... quiet. He almost looked like a different person. A nicer one.
Her stomach did a little flip. Last night. Oh, wow. The memories came rushing back. His hands. The way he'd said her name, not "the surrogate." The feeling of just being a woman, not a business deal.
Heat flooded her cheeks. Stupid. So stupid. This was a job. A transaction. She'd gotten lost in the moment, and now she was stuck in his bed.
She had to get out. Now.
She started to slide away, moving like a snail. Maybe he wouldn'tt wake up. Maybe she could just vanish.
No such luck.
He grunted. Stirred. His eyes opened, sleepy and unfocused at first. Then they cleared. And he was looking right at her.
Silence.
It was a loud, screaming silence. It was full of everything they'd done and everything they couldn't say.
He was the one who broke it. He sat up, the sheets falling away. He scrubbed a hand over his face, messing up his hair even more.
"Well," he croaked. His voice was gravelly. "That was... a detour."
Nancy's heart squeezed. A detour. Like they'd taken a wrong turn on a road trip. She made herself nod, her throat tight.
"Yeah," she managed to get out. "A detour. It was... the stress. From the doctor. We weren't thinking straight. We need to get back on track. The contract. The baby."
"Right. The contract." He said the words flatly. Like he was reading from a script.
Business. Just business. That was the whole point.
So why did her chest feel so hollow? Why did it feel like she'd lost something?
She yanked the sheet around herself, a flimsy shield, and scrambled out of bed. The floor was freezing on her bare feet.
"I'll, um. I'll call the doctor today," she mumbled to the wall. "See if... you know. If anything took."
Theodore just gave a sharp nod, his eyes fixed on the window.
Nancy snatched her clothes from the floor—a tangled heap of bad decisions—and fled into the bathroom. She shut the door and leaned against it, her heart hammering. Safe.
---
The next two weeks dragged on forever. Every day felt the same. Eat, sleep, worry.
Now she was back in the doctor's office, perched on that stupid crinkly paper. She clenched her hands together so they wouldn't shake.
The doctor breezed in, all smiles. "Nancy! Big day today. Let's have a look, shall we?"
Nancy lay back. The table was cold. The gel was colder. She stared at a crack in the ceiling tile and held her breath.
The doctor moved the wand. The screen showed a mess of gray static. Nancy couldn't make sense of any of it.
Then the doctor's face lit up. "Okay! There we are. Nancy, you're pregnant. No doubt about it."
A huge, shaky breath whooshed out of Nancy. It worked. It actually worked. She felt a crazy urge to laugh and cry at the same time. The weight on her shoulders felt a little lighter.
But then the doctor leaned in, her head cocked. "Hang on a second... Well, would you look at that."
Nancy's relief evaporated. "What? What's wrong?"
The doctor turned the screen. She pointed. "See that? And... see that? It's not just one in there."
Nancy looked. Two little blurry blobs. And in the middle of each blob, a tiny, frantic flicker. A little heartbeat. Blink-blink-blink.
"Two?" The word came out as a squeak.
"Two," the doctor confirmed, beaming. "You've got twins in there, honey. Congratulations!"
Nancy's brain short-circuited. Twins. Two. Double everything. Double the worry. Double the... everything. The room tilted.
---
Theodore was pacing when she got back to the penthouse. He stopped dead. "Well? Report."
She took a deep breath. "I'm pregnant."
A flash of something—triumph?—crossed his face, then vanished. "Good. And the status?"
She swallowed. "It's... it's twins."
He froze. Completely still. "Twins." He said the word like it was a foreign language. "You're telling me there are two?"
"It's not like I ordered an extra one!" she snapped, her nerves making her sharp. "This is just what happened!"
He turned his back, raking a hand through his hair. "This is a complication. A significant one. The risks just doubled. This is not what I planned."
But then she saw his shoulders relax. He turned around, and his face was different. He was doing math in his head. She could see it.
"Twins," he repeated, a slow, calculating smile spreading across his face. It wasn't a happy smile. It was a "I-just-hit-the-jackpot" smile. "Two heirs. The Roosevelt legacy is secure forever. No one can touch me now."
A cold trickle of fear went down Nancy's spine. "What does that mean for me?"
He walked to his desk, all business. "It means the deal changes. You carry both. You follow every doctor's order to the letter. No deviations. No mistakes."
"And if I agree?" she whispered.
"Then the price goes up," he said, his eyes locking with hers. "Twenty million dollars."
The number exploded in the quiet room. Twenty million. It was Monopoly money. It was a fantasy. It meant her dad would get the best care in the world. It meant a future without fear.
Her legs felt like jelly.
"And... if something happens?" Her voice was so small. "To one of them?"
For a single, fleeting moment, the businessman vanished. She saw something raw in his eyes. Something almost like worry.
"Then we face it," he said, and his voice was lower, quieter. "But you will do everything. Everything you can."
Nancy looked at him. She looked at the pen. She thought of her dad's pale face. She thought of those two little flickering heartbeats.
There was no choice. Not really.
She walked to the desk. Her hand was steady as a rock as she picked up the pen. She signed her name on the new contract. Nancy Andersen.
When she looked up, he was watching her. But his gaze wasn't cold anymore. It was hot. Intense. It made her skin prickle.
She dropped her eyes to the floor fast, hoping he didn't see the heat in her own cheeks.
They'd started with a simple deal. A baby for cash.
Now there were two babies. And the neat, clean line between business and pleasure had just been completely erased.