He smiles slightly, a little self-deprecating. “You knew what you were getting into.”
I actually didn’t. I don’t tell him that, because I don’t want to come off as less worldly, too easily duped, but no, I did not.
Maybe I should’ve.
He’s been dropping hints all along.
My eyes widen and slide back to meet his gaze. “Has this been on your mind since the night you first found us in bed together?”
Oh, God, I did this. I planted this idea in his head.
“You promise this isn’t going to turn into a harem thing?” I ask, suddenly worried. “If this happens, it’s only me and Mia?”
“Yes,” he says, with confidence. “Trust me, keeping two relationships going will be more than enough work. I don’t need three.”
“So, this isn’t a sex thing? You don’t just want to fuck Mia? We couldn’t have, like, an epic threesome and just purge this whole idea?”
Smirking, he says, “I’m not opposed to the threesome, but no.”
It’s a little weird, but I actually feel a pang of interest when he says that. “How would that work? The sex, I mean? Would we all share a bed? How could we possibly explain that to the kids? Would she just go away during reading stories to the girls? Would you fuck her in front of me? Me in front of her?”
“I don’t know,” he says, honestly. “I wanted you to weigh in on that aspect. Whatever you’re comfortable with. It can be trial and error; we don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”
“You’re blowing my mind here, Morelli.”
He catches my wrist, bringing it to his mouth and placing a kiss there. It makes me a little weak, the soft brush of his lips against the sensitive skin.
God, I love this man. He may be a human disaster who keeps me on my toes, but I fucking love him.
And he’s right, prior to thinking she was about to steal him from me, I loved Mia. Now that I understand she’s not, the feeling is starting to filter back in. Maybe I could share him with her. Not if she acts like she is now and avoids me, but…
“She doesn’t know about this proposition then, right?”
“Not yet,” he verifies.
I take another couple of minutes to run through all of it in my head. It’s actually not as hard to envision as I expected. Mia and I have a nice set-up when we are together, like Sunday night dinners. We already flank Mateo at the table. She did have him first, and clearly she wasn’t completely honest with me when she assured me she had no feelings left for him, so I was free to be with him. It was either for me or for him—either way, she made a sacrifice for our sake. So she’s probably not going to try to shove me out and replace me. That’s not Mia’s way.
The thing I keep coming back to is the longevity of it. And Mia’s ability to share. I’m not as confident as he is that she’ll be able to swing it, even if she tries. And she will try, if he asks her to. I just don’t know if she’ll be able to, and he isn’t considering that. He isn’t factoring in her baser emotions, like it hasn’t occurred to him those could ever be problematic.
Goddamn logical monster.
Finally I say the other thing that bothers me about this: “I don’t want her to have your babies.”
It takes a few seconds, but then he nods. “Okay.”
“That’s unfair, because I know she wants one,” I point out.
“This is… I think you’re getting a little ahead of things here. Mia’s still young. If this doesn’t work out, she has plenty of time to find someone else who can give her babies.”
That makes me feel about a thousand pounds lighter.
Okay, I can handle that.
I nod, curling up closer to him and wrapping an arm around his torso. “Okay.”
“Yeah?” he asks, securing his arm around me.
“We can try it. I want to ease in, though, okay? Don’t pounce on her right away, just in case I wake up tomorrow and realize I can’t do this.”
“Of course,” he murmurs, holding me a little tighter. My mind is still running on high, trying to process all this, but I’m tired, and things are okay, and I also sort of just want to sleep. He probably isn’t tired, but that’s because he’s not pregnant.
I drift off anyway.
I wake up when he climbs out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and walking toward the door. I’m just about to ask where he’s going when he opens the door. Someone must’ve knocked.
Mateo steps outside with him, closing the door behind him, but not latching it.
They’re not talking loudly enough for me to hear, but Mateo comes back in a couple minutes later and turns his gaze to me, contemplative.