Page 49 of Misadventures with a Professor
“We can’t do it,” I repeat, sitting back down at the desk and reaching for a piece of paper. My mind is whirling, spinning, circling faster than I can keep up, as if fucking Zandy has done the opposite of settling me, it’s wound me up. “That was all before, don’t you see? Everything has to change now.”
She goes completely still. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re pregnant. I can’t do the dirty professor routine with you, and we certainly can’t keep living like this.” I gesture around us to the cottage, with its gentle river noises and ordered bookshelves and sleeping cat. “I have to find a different job—a suitable one for being a father, which isn’t whatever the hell I’m doing now—and we need to figure out prenatal care, first and foremost, for you, along with your visa. Ah,” I say, my thoughts finally catching up to me. “We’ll marry. I think we can get it done as fast as next week. That will solve a few problems fairly easily.” I’m already scribbling a list of things to do, things that need to be done to keep Zandy with me, and it takes me a moment to notice that she’s put her hand over the top of my paper.
I glance up at her, confused.
“You want to get married?” she asks, her voice layered with something I don’t understand.
“I don’t see a choice. I have a duty now—we have a duty now. To honor the situation.”
“This isn’t the Victorian ages,” she says tightly. “We have more choices than we know what to do with.”
But doesn’t she get it? I don’t want any other choices, I don’t want any choice that separates me from her or from the baby. I want her.
I love her and I want her, and I can’t let this end in heartbreak. I won’t.
“We’ll get married, and I’ll stop writing and go back to teaching,” I say, looking back down at the paper and adding a few more lines on the growing list of things to do.
“Okay,” she says faintly, and when I finally look up later, she’s left the office. Beatrix hops up on the desk and yowls at me, but I ignore her, just as I ignore the burning feeling in my chest telling me to find Zandy and hold her and tell her I love her again.
There will be time for all that later. But first, I have a duty to her and this baby, and I won’t fail and I won’t stop.
She’ll understand.
Chapter Fifteen
Zandy
I have to set another freak-out timer on my phone.
I give myself ten minutes this time, and I lie facedown on my bed, letting the shocked tears leak slowly out of my eyes. Did I think the worst thing that could happen was Oliver rejecting me? Did I dread him turning away in cool anger, ordering me to leave?
I’ve been a stupid, innocent fool, because there has always been a possibility that is much, much worse, and that is Oliver treating me like some kind of obligation. Like some kind of responsibility he has to shoulder.
I have a duty now. To honor the situation.
Oh God.
Cold rejection is so much less awful than cold acceptance. Cold duty. Talking about marrying me like it’s some sort of chore, some kind of burden that has to be carried to the finish line, no matter what.
Feeling like a burden and a chore—why is that so familiar? Oh right, because it’s why no one’s ever wanted me before. No one’s ever wanted me to date and not even to fuck, and it’s probably because they could smell the too muchness on me. Because they could sense I’d become a duty if given half the chance.
When Oliver said he loved me and then fucked me with fierce, unraveling passion against the wall, I thought—well, I didn’t think. I hoped.
I hoped that all my fears and worries were misplaced and that somehow and some way, this would have a happily ever after for us. Him, me, and the baby.
But I refuse to be his cold duty. I refuse to sit around waiting for the day when his resignation becomes quiet resentment, because it will. Maybe he’ll be able to keep it hidden. Maybe he’ll even fool himself into accepting this new, structured life, but eventually he’ll hate me for the things he’s certain he has to do now.
Giving up his kink.
His research.
His freedom.
He’d hate going back to teaching and giving up on his book, and he’d hate himself for every time he wanted to get kinky with me but would feel like he couldn’t. And he’d hate me for marrying him and invading his quiet bubble of a life. I don’t know why he thinks he has to give all that up because I’m pregnant, but I know him well enough to tell he won’t be moved.
Which only means one thing. It’s up to me.
