Til Debt Do Us Part (Married At Midnight #4)

Chapter 22

Twenty-Two

Talia

T he automatic doors slide open and a wave of vanilla scent washes over me. My heart stutters at the sight of plush cream carpeting, soft pink walls and sleek chrome accents.I clutch at Olive's arm.

Suddenly, the thought of giving birth is real. And this place is shoving it in my face. I pale and gulp.

Luckily, a familiar face awaits. Dr. Nathan, the nicest obstetrician in the world, stands in the foyer to greet me.

"Welcome to Adams-Rosenbaum Birthing Center, Mrs. Morgan," Dr. Nathan says, shaking my hand with a practiced grip.

Beside her stands a short woman in bright pink scrubs, her name tag reading Mercy, Physician's Assistant . She gives me a smile, warm brown eyes crinkling at the edges.

"Congratulations on your pregnancy, Mrs. Morgan. We're so happy you'll be delivering here with us."

Mercy's enthusiasm seems genuine, but I wonder if it's only because Dare's name opens doors in Montpelier like a golden key. My fingers tighten around Olive's as another wave of nerves rolls through me.

"Adams-Rosenbaum is the premier birthing center on the East Coast," Mercy continues. "Our facility is state-of-the-art, and we provide only the highest quality care. You'll have a spacious birthing suite, the finest midwives and doctors, and any service you require."

"Thank you," I say. "I appreciate all the time and care you're putting into this."

It's the truth. As uneasy as their lavish accommodations make me feel, I want only the best for my baby. If Dare's wealth and status can provide that, I'll make use of them.

I lay a hand over my swollen belly, feeling the baby roll under my palm. You deserve the world, little one. I'll make sure you have every advantage.

"Why don't we show you to your suite now?" Dr. Nathan suggests. "We designed it to be a fully self-contained home away from home during your stay here. Please let me know if there's anything else we can do for you."

"Thank you," I say again, squeezing Olive's hand. "I'm sure it will be perfect."

My heart flutters with joy and nerves as we walk down the corridor. Everything here is so pristine, so perfect. Rather like a fairy tale.

But a niggling worry worms its way through my anticipation. Fairy tales often hide thorns beneath their gilded petals. I can only hope this glamor doesn't come with a price.

Mercy swings open a set of ornate wooden doors and ushers us inside. I gasp. The suite is the size of Aunt Minnie's small house, decorated in shades of blush and ivory with gauzy drapes and plush carpeting. A four-poster canopy bed dominates the center of the room, piled high with silk pillows.

"The nursery is through here," Mercy says, leading us through another door. My heart melts at the sight of the pastel jungle animals painted on the walls, the crystal chandelier, the stuffed toys arranged just so on a miniature sofa.

"It's too much," I whisper to Olive. "Simply too much."

"Nonsense," she says, giving my arm a squeeze. "Every new mother deserves to be pampered, and you most of all. Now come on, let's see the rest!"

Mercy shows us the en suite bathroom with its sunken marble tub, the fully stocked kitchenette, the home theater, the massage parlor. By the end of the tour I'm dizzy from excess. Part of me thrills at such luxury, but the rest feels unmoored. As if I've tumbled down a rabbit hole into a strange wonderland where nothing makes sense.

After Mercy leaves us alone, I sink onto the edge of the bed and take a steadying breath. Olive sits beside me, a warm and comforting presence.

"What is it, Lia?" she asks, smoothing my hair. "You seem quite overwhelmed."

I give a shaky laugh. "I feel like an imposter. As if I don't belong in a place like this, with all this finery. I'm just a small-town girl from Vermont, not royalty." I twist my wedding ring around my finger, the diamond catching the light. "Dare's world is still so foreign to me. I worry I'll never truly belong in it or be enough for him."

Olive pulls me into her embrace, cradling me as I've always imagined a mother might. "You are enough, Talia," she says fiercely. "You're a strong, caring, intelligent woman, and any man would be lucky to have you. Don't ever doubt yourself or let Dare's trappings make you feel otherwise."

Her words are a balm to my troubled soul. I cling to them, and to her, drawing solace from the steady beat of her heart. She's right—I am enough. I have everything I need inside me already. No gilded cage, however luxurious, can contain my spirit. Dare chose me for who I am, not what I might become. I won't forget that again.

I leave the birthing center with renewed confidence in myself and my relationship. The drive back home is peaceful, my worries calmed.

When I enter the loft, exhaustion hits me like a brick wall. My back aches, my feet are swollen balloons, and the baby is doing somersaults on my bladder. All I want is to put my feet up and rest.

I sink onto the couch with a groan and prop my feet on the ottoman, massaging my soles. My wedding ring cuts into my puffy finger, the metal band too tight. I twist and tug until it comes free, leaving a red indentation behind.

Dare chooses that moment to stalk through the front door, a thunderous look on his face. My heart leaps in trepidation. His temper has been unpredictable these days, his moods as changeable as the weather. I can only hope this storm will pass quickly.

"You're home early," I say, aiming for a casual tone.

He grunts and throws himself into the armchair, clearly distracted. "What have you been doing all day?" he demands.

I hesitate, then decide honesty is the best policy. "I toured the birthing center with Olive. It's a lovely place, very well-recommended. Dr. Nathan will be delivering the baby there."

Dare's eyes narrow. "How much is that going to cost me?" he snaps.

Stung, I stare at him. Surely, this is an entirely different man than the one that teased me about spending money just days ago.

"I didn't ask. I chose the center based on the doctor's recommendation, not the price tag."

"Watch how you spend my money," he warns. "I won't have you bleeding me dry for every little whim."

Anger sparks in my chest, chasing away my earlier peace. This is insane.

"This is our child we're discussing, not a 'little whim'! I will do whatever is necessary to ensure his or her health and well-being. If you have a problem with that, you're welcome to find another wife to bear your heirs."

Dare surges to his feet, eyes blazing. "Don't you dare speak to me like that! I own you, Talia, and everything you hold dear. You'd do well to remember your place."

I rise as well, standing as tall as my swollen belly allows. "I won't allow you to treat me like this, Dare. I know my place," I say coldly. "And it is not at your beck and call, to be ordered about like a possession. I am your wife, not your slave, and I deserve to be treated with respect. If you cannot give me that, then we have nothing more to discuss."

With that, I turn on my heel and storm off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. My heart pounds as I wait to see whether Dare will follow. Our marriage hangs in the balance, the future unclear. All I know is that I won't back down from this fight. The time has come to stand up for myself—and my child. The rest is in fate's hands.

But Dare does not follow.

I pace the room like a caged tiger, fury and adrenaline coursing through my veins. How dare he speak to me that way? As if I were nothing more than a trinket for his amusement, to be shelved and taken down at his whim.

After everything I've done for him—after all the love I've poured into this marriage—this is how he repays me? With threats and contempt?

My hands curl into fists at the thought. I want to scream, to throw something, to inflict on him the pain he's caused me. But I restrain myself. That will only make the situation worse.

Several hours pass before I hear the loft door open and close again. By then my anger has cooled to a simmer, though it's still there, lurking beneath the surface. I stand at the window, watching the city lights blink on against the gathering dusk.

When Dare enters the room, I don't turn around. I can see his reflection in the glass, hovering uncertainly on the threshold. He opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it again, at a loss for words.

At last he says, "I lost my temper with you earlier."

I huff. "You think?"

"Did you only marry me for my money and status?"

"Of course not," I protest. "I never said that."

"You didn't have to." He stalks across the room like a caged animal, gesturing wildly. "It's obvious you regret tying yourself to me. As if I'm not enough, as if you need an escape hatch in case a better offer comes along."

"Dare, stop. That's ridiculous and you know it." I struggle to remain calm, though his accusations sting. "I love you. I chose you, and I don't regret it for an instant."

"Then why are you so eager to get rid of your ring?" He points an accusing finger at the wedding band on my finger. "Our sacred symbol of commitment—you can't wait to cast it aside!"

"My fingers are swollen from the pregnancy. The ring doesn't fit right now." I spread my hands in supplication. "You're reading too much into this."

"Am I?" His eyes are chips of blue ice. "Or have I simply been blind to the truth all this time? Maybe you only want me for my money after all."

"I don't care about your money!" Tears of frustration prick my eyes. "I married you because I love you. But right now, I don't even know who you are."

Dare flinches, but quickly hides it behind a mask of indifference. "Perhaps we've both made a mistake then," he says coolly. "If you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to."

With that, he strides out of the room, leaving me alone with the ruins of our fight.