The Carrero Contract - Finding Freedom (Book 3 of Contract Trilogy)

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These are things people figure out before they marry someone, and here we are, already invested and now I'm thinking about the fact I should have told him this already.

Babies! Not a fucking chance in hell.

He won't know, unless he did read all my journals, but even then. I wouldn't say it was obvious from those diary excerpts that my inability to have kids was permanent or even a blessing. I went over the abortion and such and the after-effects and recovery, but I don't think I ever spelt it out, in black and white, that my body no longer produces eggs for any chance of fertilisation.

How do you tell the man cradling a newborn like he was born to do so if that's where his hopes lie then it won't happen with me?

How do I tell him that I can't give him this and wouldn't want to even if I could?

Is this what he wants?

The happy 2.4 children, family home and Carrero expected happily ever after?

Jesus Christ. Fuck, fuckity, fuck.

I never thought something so stupid could be the end of us, and now it's staring me in the face like a huge dark hole just about to pull me in and crush me to oblivion. He's a Carrero and their family is of all-consuming importance to them; of course, he would want to carry on his lineage and make a new generation of little Alexis. I was so stupid to never even think of this before now. It changes everything.

I literally lose all strength; limbs turn to jelly and my blood runs icy. It's hard to take a breath and tears prick at my eyes as all I have held onto the last few days turns to dust in my fingers and I can't hold on anymore.

"What's wrong, you look like you're on the verge of hyperventilating? What is it?" Alexi hands off the baby to an appearing Alessandra, expertly and smoothly, who instantly coos and mollycoddles the ugly little bundle of diaper rash and sleepless nights and I try to blink away the mounting tears. Even she, the sexy lingerie model, has more maternal instincts in her pinkie than I have in my whole being. It just adds to the devastation of my heart and I can't even look at him.

"I'm just ... tired. Heat ... umm ... jet lag." I stammer out my excuses but that telltale frown shows he knows I'm talking shit. He knows me just as well as I know him, and he is not buying my sudden deterioration as anything other than what it seems to him. That I'm upset.

"Let's go get some air in the shade." He doesn't wait for a refusal, bossy mode initiated, he just hoists me to my feet sharply by the hand, so I cannot even refuse, and pulls me towards the darkest part of the garden behind some huge outbuildings. I stumble as I walk, trying to keep up with his brisk pace, and I can feel the tension beginning to come off him in droves as he gets agitated with my sudden change of mood. I trip a couple of times now I have my heels back on and they don't do well with thick grass. He stops to pull them off my feet for me, face a picture of seriousness, and without saying a word, tosses them aside out of the way so we can leave them here, and continues pulling me after him.

"Where are you taking me?" I watch him warily, questioning as my head does a three thousand miles a minute somersault, and I turn into a melting pot of anxiety, devastation and worst outcomes for our forever. It's all just gone up in a puff of smoke in my brain. My insides are screaming, my heart bleeding and I'm dreading the words I know I need to say to him.

"To be alone, and you are going to tell me why you suddenly look like you're either going to cry, throw up or pass out." It's a stern statement, that usual emotionless tone but I can tell he's concerned. My face is heating up which means my cheeks are clearly getting some colour back, but I'm trembling, and I really don't feel good at all. I feel like I'm sliding into quicksand and there will be that moment of panic as suffocation snubs me out. Standing on a precipice.