I’d listened. But as soon as I had walked into the office, my stomach tightened. I thought of Ella’s laugh. Her sardonic wit. The way she cuddled up against me at night, her hand always wrapped around my arm, hugging it to her.

I’d answered the questions my lawyer asked. But with each response, my heart grew heavier.

“This is wrong,” I’d said, standing.

“I have a few more questions, Mr. Dorsey, then we can draw up the papers. Do you have a prenuptial agreement?”

“No.” I’d walked around the chair and placed both palms on the glossy conference table. “And I don’t plan to sue for divorce. This was a mistake.” A really stupid one. “Forget I was ever here.”

“But Mr. Dorsey . . .”

“I said forget it.”

“Baby?” Monique touched my cheek, turning my head so I would look down into her bright brown eyes. Model beautiful, thin, and glamorous, Monique didn’t do it for me. Not like Ella did. Always had.

“My name’s Simon.” I stepped back, craning my neck for another glimpse of Ella. “To you, though, it’s Mr. Dorsey.”

Because, in that moment, I realized something monumental: I didn’t just love my wife. I adored her as I had since she trounced me in cricket all those years ago. But, somehow, I’d blown our happiness away with my dream. Worse still, Ella thought I was screwing around on her.

Merry goddamn Christmas to me.

“Where are you going?” Monique called as I broke into a sprint.

No way I was letting Ella leave. Not now that she’d told me she was pregnant. A baby. Warmth spread through my chest, my stomach, wrapped around my heart.

A baby. She couldn’t be that far along—not with as flat as her tummy was. And . . . up until the last couple of months, she would have told me as soon as she missed her period—her not-quite-regular cycle. I frowned, remembering what led to those irregularities, not liking where my mind, and probably Ella’s, went, when she first discovered her pregnancy. To the miscarriages we’d weathered over the years.

I wondered for how long she’s known. How long she’s been keeping this from me. But with my travel schedule, and those stupid pictures popping up in the gossip pages, Ella quit trusting me—even with something as important as this new child. And the fear this pregnancy would end, too soon, like the last two.

But a baby . . . hot damn. I wanted another child with El. With Jeremiah. I wanted to be a family, to spend time with them. To cuddle them all close to my heart. To croon out songs and feel the tiny breaths against my throat.