I need her honesty, and my stare meets hers.
“Yes. No,” she says, fumbling with her words.
“Which is it?” I ask, studying her.
I want the truth.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and glances up briefly before taking another bite of dinner, this time working on her vegetables.
The veggies were a bit bland for my taste, overcooked, and not that good.
She’s eating them like she doesn’t know when she’ll get her next meal.
Is she homeless? Or just has a healthy appetite? She only had a sandwich and a bag of chips earlier. Hardly much for an entire day’s worth of calories.
Unless is she already pregnant? Because that would be a problem. However, the doctor will give her a thorough exam and physical before starting the procedure.
“I miss my son. Doing this isn’t completely selfless. Pregnancy was one of my favorite times with my boy.”
“He’s with his father.”
She mentioned that earlier at the office. I can’t imagine what type of man keeps his child from his mother. Olivia doesn’t appear to be unstable, except perhaps financially.
Is that why she doesn’t have guardianship of her son?
She reaches for her water and takes a sip. I can’t tell if she’s avoiding my remark or thirsty. It’s probably a sensitive subject. It would be for me if someone else had custody of my child, which will never happen.
Another reason not to have a traditional style relationship.
“What do I need to know?” Olivia asks.
I sit across from her, finishing the last of my dinner. “You’ll be required to undergo medical testing to ensure that you’re not already pregnant and that you’re healthy.”
“And you’ll be paying for that?” Her voice is soft, tentative. She sounds nervous.
Is it because I intimidate her, or she has something to hide?
I take a sip of water and nod. “Yes, all your expenses will be covered. Where are you living?” I ask.
Her eyes widen, and she reaches for her water. “With a friend.”
She doesn’t meet my stare.
I don’t believe her. The pillow and blanket in her car are apparent signs of distress. “I will set you up with an apartment.”
“I won’t be able to afford—”
I interrupt her before she can finish. “I’m handling the expenses.”
“That is quite generous of you, Sir.”
“Jace,” I say. “Call me Jace. You’ll stay in the apartment until you’re pregnant with my child. At which point, after the first trimester, I will expect you to live here, under my roof. You will, of course, be provided your own bedroom and bathroom.”
“You expect me to move in with you?” Her tongue darts out and swipes across her cherry lips. Her cheeks redden as she speaks.
“It is part of the arrangement,” I explain. “I assure you that you will have your privacy, but I do want to be part of the experience of having a child.”
She straightens her shoulders and exhales a soft breath. The nervousness seems to dispel from her body. “That’s not typically how surrogacy works.” Her tone is stronger, much bolder.