Now Imogen did laugh and Theo joined her, their eyes locking in such perfect understanding that she knew there was no possible way the strange dream she’d had the day before would ever have any bearing on them. It was a nightmare. That was all.
Everything was going to be fine.
He dropped his hand so he could pick up the invitation once more.
“I remembered something yesterday,” she said quietly, her heart tripping in her chest.
“What’s that?”
“At the hospital,” she said quietly, the words fading off into the air as she paused to build her confidence.
“Yes?” But something in his look showed that he knew where she was going.
“You referred to me as… I think you called me…”
“I did,” he nodded. “I thought it would get you speedier attention.” His eyes dropped away from hers. “I know that’s arrogant as all hell. I shouldn’t have done it.”
Imogen’s heart flipped in her chest but she told herself it didn’t matter. He’d called her his fiancé, and he’d done it to help her. That was better than a slap in the face. Except her whole heart had begun to thrive on that very word. The very idea of being engaged to him.
How foolish.
“Right,” she said with a small nod. “B
ecause I didn’t think I’d forget the whole bended knee proposal.”
His eyes lifted to hers and she had no clue what he was thinking. But uncertainty was ripping her apart now. “Is that what you want?”
She shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ear as a nervous gesture. “We hardly know each other,” she pointed out sensibly. “If we got engaged, it’d only be because of the baby, and that hardly seems right.”
There was an infinitesimal pause as he digested this, and she held her breath, hoping, wondering if he was going to say something to reassure her. But he smiled, tightly, his eyes dark as they clashed with hers.
“No, it doesn’t.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“WHAT TIME DO YOU need to leave?” Theo curled his palm around her ankle then pressed his thumbs into her bare soles. Imogen in any guise was beautiful, but like this, dressed in black with her hair looped in a bun, she looked like a beautiful young ballerina. A pregnant one. His eyes dropped to her belly and primal pride flared in his gut.
His baby.
What would it be like?
“Not for another hour or so.”
“Do you think we’ll finish by then?”
Imogen flicked through the back of the book, counting the pages. “If you stop interrupting me.”
He laughed at her cheek. He’d laughed a lot since Imogen had moved in. Happiness was everywhere.
“You do realise this is only the first book,” she queried, lifting it higher, her eyes flicking to the pile on the coffee table beside her.
“Uh huh. You’re going to be reading me Harry Potters until our baby turns one at this rate.”
“Don’t count on it,” Imogen grinned. “Once you meet the Dementors, you’ll be begging me to read faster.”
“Well then? Go on.”
Imogen smiled at him over the cover of the book and settled back into the cushions with a sigh. The moment was perfection. He was perfection.