Chapter 6 - A House in the Suburbs
The sedan slowed down as we turned off the main county thoroughfare onto a quiet residential street shaded by mature oak trees. The afternoon light filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows across manicured lawns and neat, single-family houses with brick facades and well-tended flower beds. It was a neighborhood where children left bicycles on front walks and neighbors waved from their porches—a world away from the cramped, noisy apartment block where I had been spending my nights listening to the plumbing groan through the walls.
I glanced over at Adrian, his hands resting easily on the steering wheel. He wore his dark wool double-breasted coat over a black shirt, the fabric crisp despite the hour we had spent driving. He pulled the car to a smooth stop at the curb in front of a two-story colonial house with white trim and a neat gravel driveway.
"What are we doing here, Adrian?" I asked, keeping my voice flat, though my pulse had already begun to quicken.
He turned off the ignition, the sudden quiet inside the cabin amplifying the hum of the cooling engine. He looked at me, his gaze steady and measured. "I had my assistant pull the listing on this place three days ago. It has three bedrooms, a fenced backyard, and a ground-floor layout. No stairs to climb when the weight gets heavy. It's fully furnished, utilities are running, and the deed is in a holding trust ready for signature."
The words dropped into the space between us with the weight of a physical blow. I looked past him at the front door of the house, then back to his face. My fingers curled tightly around the fabric of my light blue coat.
"You bought a house for me," I said, the flatness in my voice giving way to a sudden, sharp edge. "Without asking. Without even mentioning it."
"I secured it for you and the babies," Adrian corrected, his tone defensive in that quiet, stubborn way of his. "The apartment you're in has a broken deadbolt, thin glass windows, and a third-floor walk-up. It's entirely unacceptable for sixteen weeks of twin gestation, let alone the third trimester. This is safe. This is practical."
"It's paternalistic," I snapped, pushing the car door open and stepping out onto the sidewalk just to put some distance between us. The cool suburban air hit my face, but it didn't cool the sudden heat rising in my chest.
Adrian stepped out as well, walking around the hood of the sedan to stand near me on the grass. He didn't crowd me, but his presence dominated the open space. "It's common sense, Claire. Why stay in that box when you have an alternative that removes every daily hazard?"
"Because it's your alternative," I said, my voice rising slightly as I turned to face him. "Because you swoop in with your deeds and your trusts and your logistical solutions as if my life is just another corporate account that needs balancing. I am not a problem for you to solve, Adrian. I am not an investment property."
"Nobody is treating you like an investment," he said, his jaw tightening as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm offering security. I'm offering what any responsible father would provide when he looks at the reality of his children's future."
"A father," I repeated, the word tasting bitter on my tongue. "We've known each other as parents for less than a month, Adrian. You live in a penthouse suite downtown, surrounded by glass and steel, and I live in a walk-up because that is what I can afford. You cannot just pave over the gap between our lives with a suburban mortgage and expect me to walk down your carpeted hallway like a kept woman in your shadow."
The silence that followed was heavy. A breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and somewhere down the block, a screen door banged shut.
Adrian didn't interrupt. He didn't offer a slick corporate defense, and he didn't turn away. He simply stood there, his dark eyes fixed on my face, watching the anger play out across my features. Slowly, the defensive stiffness in his posture began to unwind. He let his arms drop to his sides, his shoulders settling as he processed the direct hit of my words.
"You're right," he said quietly, the concession coming with a slight roughness in his voice. "I moved too fast. I looked at the logistics and completely missed the person living them."
I blinked, taken aback by the lack of argument. I had braced myself for a counter-attack, for him to list the reasons why my pride was foolish. Instead, he stood there on the suburban grass and accepted the reprimand.
"I don't want a house handed down from your private holdings," I said, my voice softening just a fraction, though my stance remained firm. "If we're going to do this—if we are going to build something for these twins—it has to be mutual. We find a place together. On equal footing. Or I stay put."
Adrian looked at the house one more time, then turned back to me, giving a slow, deliberate nod. "Alright," he said. "We look for a neutral place. Together. Starting this weekend."
May you like
I held his gaze for a long moment, testing the sincerity in his expression, before letting out a slow breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Okay," I said. "Together."
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