He Wants An Open Marriage? Done!

Richard caught her before she could collapse, one arm steady around her waist. "Someone call the cook," he ordered sharply, his voice cutting through the stunned silence. "Now."

The surrounding staff scrambled, hurrying off to obey. All except for Mercedes, who remained standing quietly near the doorway.

Roxanne looked at him, shaking her head weakly as she released an unsteady breath, her stomach threatening to give another heave. "No, Richard," she murmured, her voice tight. "I haven’t even touched the food, remember?"

Richard’s jaw tightened, his gaze sweeping over the untouched breakfast spread as his anger faltered into confusion. The crease between his brows pulled tighter. "Then what is wrong? Is it the flowers? Are you allergic to something here? God, silly me, I should have asked before arranging all of this."

Roxanne shook her head, pressing one palm flat against her chest and the other over her churning stomach, trying to force herself to breathe through the dizzying waves.

"Or maybe it’s morning sickness?" Mercedes’s calm voice cut through the quiet air.

The color instantly drained from Roxanne’s face. "It can’t be. That’s impossible," she stammered, her voice thin. "It must be something I ate last night. Or just pure excitement."

Richard froze, staring at Mercedes as if the older woman were speaking an alien language. The anger in his posture vanished, replaced by shock. Roxanne kept shaking her head, her mind desperately rejecting the thought.

"How late is your cycle, my dear?" Mercedes asked softly, tilting her head with motherly concern. "Do you have any idea?"

Roxanne’s heart hammered furiously against her ribs, the deafening thud drowning out the noise. Her fingers trembled so violently she almost dropped her phone as she unlocked the screen and opened her period tracker app.

The screen loaded and her cycle calendar appeared.

Roxanne’s breathing stopped. Late. The bold text on the display stared back at her. Seventeen days late. Her fingers went numb. Her eyes widened, her throat bobbing as she swallowed past a hard lump.

How had she missed it? How had she let the chaos of the last few weeks blind her to her own body? She was never late.

Slowly, Roxanne lifted her eyes, her gaze darting to Mercedes before locking onto Richard’s stunned face. "It can’t be," she whispered, her breathing shallow.

Richard opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He just stood there, his eyes wide, searching her pale face.

"I suppose we should clear the room, then," Mercedes said, glancing around the terrace. "The heavy scent of these blossoms is upsetting her stomach."

She turned toward the exit, pausing at the threshold to look back at Roxanne. "You should lie down, darling. I’ll bring up some dry crackers and a cold glass of lemonade," she added gently, disappearing down the hall before Roxanne could even formulate a response.

Silence descended over the terrace.

Richard and Roxanne stood locked in each other’s gaze. His eyes drifted downward, landing on the hand she still had pressed firmly over her stomach, before rising to meet hers once more.

He parted his lips to speak, but Roxanne shook her head again, more frantic this time.

"It can’t be, Richard," she said, her voice strained with disbelief. "It is completely impossible."

Richard stepped closer, his warm hand reaching out to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered against her cheek. "We will find out together," he murmured softly, pulling her into his embrace.

Roxanne resisted slightly, pulling back just enough to look up into his eyes, her gaze searching his for understanding. "You don’t get it. It’s impossible. I tried with Christian for years. Years. Nothing ever happened. He told me it was all my fault. And now I’m supposed to be pregnant? Do you understand how absurd that sounds?"

Richard nodded slowly, though the tension around his eyes remained tightly coiled. "I hear you. But the tracker says you’re late. That doesn’t automatically mean you are—"

"How could it even happen?" Roxanne interrupted, a scoff escaping her lips as her mind spun out of control. She paused, trying to find a logical anchor in the absurdity of it all, shaking her head. "It’s not possible. After all these years?"

Richard let out a slow exhale, his composure settling like a shield around them. "I need you to stay calm, Roxanne. Whatever the truth is, I’ve got you," he said, his voice calm. "Let’s get you upstairs to lie down first."

"No," Roxanne insisted, her pulse racing at a frantic pace. "No, I need to take a test right now. That’s the only way I can calm down."

Richard looked at her, letting out a sharp sigh. Before she could protest, he bent down and scooped her up into his arms, anchoring her against his broad chest.

"You are going to lie down first," he said smoothly, his tone leaving zero room for argument despite the gentleness in his grip.

Roxanne shook her head against his shoulder. "I can walk, Richard."

He didn’t answer. He simply carried her up the grand staircase, his steady footsteps echoing in the quiet house. He brought her into the master suite and placed her down carefully on the edge of the mattress.

Sitting beside her, he took her cold hands in his. "I really need you to rest and stay in bed. Please," he murmured, his eyes softening as he searched her face.

She could see the hidden worry beneath his calm exterior, the faint line etched into his forehead. She let out a shaky breath, her gaze dropping back down to her lap.

Richard tightened his grip on her fingers. "What are you so afraid of?" he asked softly, meeting her eyes head-on.

Roxanne swallowed hard, her vision blurring with tears. How do I explain this to you? You wouldn’t understand. The years of feeling broken, of being told I was defective.

"I just need to take the test," she whispered after a long pause, her voice cracking. "That’s the only way my head will stop spinning."

Richard studied her for a beat longer, then nodded. "I’ll handle it. Just stay right here."

—

Nearly an hour passed, every second stretching into an agony of waiting.

Roxanne was pacing the floor near the foot of the bed when the door finally clicked open. She snapped her head up, her pulse spiking in her ears as Richard walked in carrying a small pharmacy bag.

"Did you get them?" she asked, stepping toward him, her hands trembling at her sides.

Richard didn’t say a word. He reached inside the small bag and placed five pregnancy tests on the bed. Then he looked at her. "Will this be enough?"

Roxanne stared at the boxes, her mind reeling in a chaotic blur of fear and strange hope. Her fingers trembled slightly as she took the packages from his hands.

What if they’re positive? God. Am I ready for this? Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

She looked up at him, her chest heaving with a deep breath. "Thank you."

Richard watched her quietly, his expression unreadable, as she turned away from him and walked toward the bathroom. With every step she took, her feet felt heavier.

Richard remained where he was, giving her the privacy she needed.

The bathroom door clicked shut, and a few seconds later, water began running.

He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands. For the first time in years, he realized his hands were shaking.

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