The East Wing of Croft Manor had not been used since William’s grandfather died. It was a cavernous space of dark mahogany, heavy velvet drapes, and portraits of dead ancestors who seemed to judge every movement.
Victoria stood in the center of the bedroom, her suitcase looking pathetic against the grandeur of the four-poster bed. Outside the window, the iron gates of the estate were shut. She was a prisoner in a castle.
The door creaked open. William entered.
He looked different. The arrogance of the CEO was gone, replaced by a desperate, hungry intensity. He was dressed in casual clothes, softening his silhouette, but his eyes were laser-focused on her midsection.
“Is the room adequate?” he asked, his voice rough. “I had them install a new heating system. Beatrice said drafty rooms are bad for… for the condition.”
“It’s fine, William,” Victoria said, wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s a room.”
He took a step closer. The air between them crackled with the ghosts of their marriage. “I didn’t know,” he said softly. “Victoria, if I had known…”
“You would have what?” Victoria countered, her voice tired. “Stayed with me out of obligation? I didn’t want you to stay for the baby. I wanted you to stay for me.”
William flinched. He closed the distance between them, unable to help himself. He needed to verify it was real. He needed to connect with the life he had almost thrown away.
“May I?” he whispered, reaching his hand out toward the small, concealed bump beneath her sweater.
Victoria went still. William’s hand hovered inches from her stomach. His fingers trembled slightly. He was the father. It was his right.
But just as his fingertips grazed the wool of her sweater, Victoria flinched.
It was a sharp, instinctive recoil, as if his touch burned. She took a step back, shielding her stomach with her own hands, looking at him with wide, guarded eyes.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “You don’t get to touch. You don’t get to pretend this is a happy family.”
William’s hand dropped to his side. The rejection shattered the last of his hope. He looked at his wife–so close he could smell her perfume, yet further away than she had ever been.
“I will earn it back,” William vowed, his voice breaking. “I don’t care how long it takes. I will earn back my place in this room.”
He turned and walked out, leaving the door slightly ajar, listening to the silence of the East Wing swallow them both.