Chapter 104 One Hundred And Four
Weeks had passed since Kennedy stood in her apartment and told her he needed their son close. Weeks since the decision had been made in careful tones and controlled expressions.
Antonia pressed her forehead lightly against the airplane window as the aircraft descended through a veil of pale clouds. This was where everything had begun, not with love, not with certainty, but with an agreement.
A job.
A contract.
A lie.
She had arrived here once as an employee of Walton & Co., nervously adjusting her blazer before stepping into Kennedy Walton’s office for the first time. She had left months later carrying far more than a resignation letter.
Now she was returning with a child.
With his child.
The baby stirred in her arms as the plane taxied to a stop. She kissed his forehead, steadying herself.
Lucy’s tearful goodbye at the airport echoed in her mind. Lucy had held her tightly and whispered, “You deserve something real this time.” Antonia hadn’t responded. She didn’t know what “real” looked like anymore.
Kennedy had booked the flight himself.
Of course he had.
Efficiency was his love language.
Kennedy was already waiting when she emerged from the terminal.
Of course he was.
He stood a few feet away from the arrivals gate, dressed in a charcoal coat tailored to ruthless perfection. Hands clasped loosely in front of him. Posture straight. Expression unreadable.
But his eyes softened the second he saw her.
It was subtle. Most people would miss it.
She didn’t.
For a moment neither of them moved.
Then he stepped forward, taking the handle of her suitcase without asking.
“How was the flight?” he asked.
“Smooth.”
His gaze dropped briefly to the baby. “He slept?”
“Almost the entire time.”
A small nod. Approval. Relief.
He didn’t try to touch her. Didn’t reach for the baby. Didn’t close the distance.
Careful.
She recognized the discipline in it.
Instead he reached for the diaper bag without asking. “Let me.”
Their fingers brushed for half a second.
Electric.
He pretended not to notice.
She pretended not to feel it.
The car waiting at the curb wasn’t ostentatious, but it was unmistakably his. Quiet luxury. Black. Tinted windows.
As they drove, Antonia watched the streets blur past.
There was the corner café where she had once spilled coffee on confidential paperwork. The restaurant where Kennedy had first outlined the absurd proposal: pretend to be his fiancée. She had agreed, thinking it temporary.
Temporary had become permanent, or somewhat.
“You’re quiet,” Kennedy observed.
“So are you.”
A faint exhale left him. Not quite a laugh.
“This is a significant adjustment,” he replied.
“That’s one way to describe it.”
He glanced at her briefly. “Regret?”
She turned her head toward him. “No.”
The answer was immediate.
That seemed to steady him.
The car turned into a residential district, elegant but quieter than the heart of downtown. Tree-lined sidewalks. Modern buildings with clean architectural lines.
They pulled up in front of a sleek high-rise with glass balconies and understated elegance.
Antonia looked up.
“This is where we’re staying?”
“Yes.”
He stepped out first and came around to open her door. The gesture was automatic, not performative.
She inhaled deeply.
“Welcome home,” he said.
\----
The apartment was on the twelfth floor.
When the elevator doors opened, she stepped into a space flooded with natural light. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the living room, revealing the city skyline in full cinematic sweep.
The design was clean. Intentional. Warm neutral tones layered with soft textures. Nothing excessive. Nothing cold.
It was beautiful.
Kennedy stayed a few steps behind her as she walked slowly through the space.
The living area opened seamlessly into a modern kitchen with marble countertops and brushed gold fixtures. Down the hall, two bedrooms. One clearly arranged already—a crib assembled, changing table positioned, soft rug beneath it.
He had thought this through.
Her throat tightened.
“You did all this?” she asked quietly.
“I supervised.”
Of course he had.
Her throat tightened.
“It’s beautiful,” she admitted.
“It’s functional,” he corrected gently.
She stepped into the nursery space. The crib was solid wood, minimalist but sturdy, subtle, tasteful. Not overly decorative.
“He’ll be comfortable here,” Kennedy said from the doorway.
She turned to look at him.
He wasn’t watching the room.
He was watching her.
Searching her reaction. Measuring it.
“It’s lovely,” she admitted.
A subtle shift in his shoulders told her he’d been braced for rejection.
“You don’t like it,” he said.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You hesitated.”
She exhaled softly. “It’s just… strange.”
“Strange?”
“Being back. Being here. With you.”
There it was.
The honesty.
He stepped fully into the room now, closing some of the physical distance but not enough to touch.
“I chose this neighborhood intentionally,” he said. “It’s quieter. Secure. Close enough to my office.”
She understood what he wasn’t saying.
Not a repeat of before.
Not employer and assistant.
Not a fabricated engagement.
This time there was no contract.
Only consequence.
She walked back into the living room, laying her baby in a carrier gently and setting it on the couch. Her son stirred but did not wake.
“You’ll have security,” he said breaking the brief silence. “Discreet. Around the building.”
“For him?”
“For both of you.”
She nodded.
“Thank you.”
He looked at her then.
Not past her.
Not through her.
At her.
The air shifted.
The unspoken pressed in from every direction.
“You don’t have to fight it so hard,” she said softly.
His expression sharpened slightly. “Fight what?”
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “This.”
He exhaled slowly.
“Antonia.”
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t pretend you don’t feel it.”
The baby made a small sound between them, grounding the moment.
Kennedy’s gaze dropped briefly, then returned to her face.
“Yes.” he finally answered, honestly.
“You’re still fighting it,” she said softly.
His jaw flexed.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His answer came measured. Controlled. “Because the last time I let myself feel something without restraint, I lost everything.”
“Do you regret it?” she asked suddenly.
"Regret what?"
"Us?"
The question lingered.
“No,” he answered after a pause. “Do you?”
She looked down at their son.
“No.”
Silence again.
“You asked me if I loved you,” she continued. “I answered.”
He swallowed.
“And I haven’t taken it back.”
His restraint was visible now. Shoulders tight. Fingers curling slightly at his sides.
“Do you know what it costs me to stand here and not touch you?” he asked.
Her breath caught.
“Then why don’t you?”
“Because proximity changes judgment.”
“And distance changes nothing,” she replied.
A beat.
Her heart was pounding so loudly she was certain he could hear it.
He reached out then—slowly, deliberately—and brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face.
The touch was minimal.
Electric.
Her breath faltered.
His fingers lingered for half a second too long before dropping.
“That,” he said quietly, “is exactly why.”
The baby stirred again, releasing a soft sound that pulled them both back into gravity.