15

"No?" He stops me abruptly, confused by my response. "Why not, damn it?

"Because I don't belong in your world! I can't bear all the attention on me again," I raise my finger to silence him. "You know that, Arthur. You know I'm not from here. I like anonymity, I like love, books, and children. I don't find fulfillment in knowing how many people talk about me and my accomplishments, I don't find satisfaction in being on the covers of a million magazines about whatever the hell of the year. I don't give a damn about all that, and you damn well know it.

I grimace as I feel a slight headache and my vision blur. The pain is mild, but enough to make me lean on his shoulder. His chest supports me, along with his hands on my hips. I feel his nose burying itself in my neck as he holds me tightly.

"Michelle," he murmurs, with terror and concern in his tone.

"I'm fine, it's just a dizziness," I exhale, closing my eyes. "I'm tired, that's all."

"You'll get some rest."

"Not with you."

"I'll take care of you, whether you like it or not," he leaves a chaste kiss on my lips. "Je suis toujours ton mari après tout."

I let myself fall into his arms, he carries me like a princess. My head rests on his shoulder, my gaze fixed on his neck, which sometimes turns to his profile. I smile as I notice hundreds of moles scattered on his neck, resembling freckles.

"Will you ever tell me what you say in French?" he looks at me for a few seconds.

I caress his chest over his shirt, feeling myself slowly climbing the stairs.

"Will you ever tell me what you say in Spanish?" he contradicts, pouting and causing him to laugh shamelessly, "tu es si tendre, mon amour."

"I like it when you speak in French. And when you laugh," he makes a puzzled expression, leaving me on the ground as we reach our destination. "Arthur, I'm in love with you."

He smiles, not knowing what I'm saying. I bite my lip, leaning closer to his face, placing my hands on his cheeks, and gently capturing his lips with mine. I suck on him like they're candy, nibbling on the thickness of his lips, relishing in their softness.

His hand goes to the back of my neck, and the other stays on my lower back, following the kiss that I allow to be slow and gentle.

"Shall we watch a movie first?" I pull away.

"Will you stay?" his eyes shine with excitement.

It almost makes a tender, longing sigh escapes my lips, lips that join his again to give him the final kiss of the night.

"If you want me to..."

"Yes, always," he interrupts.

He opens the door to his room. I raise my eyebrows in surprise—it's tidy, so much so that it's as if no one has slept in it. And the way the bed is made confirms it.

"Arthur, where are you going to sleep?" I lick my lips nervously.

"Where you used to sleep before you left," he confesses.

Putting his hands in his jeans, I purse my lips, turning my body toward him, running my palms over my shirt, somewhat confused. With my gaze fixed on his face, my lips have a life of their own to let that out.

"Do you miss me?"

He walks towards me.

"Do you miss me?" I roll my eyes. "Come here."

He kisses me again, this time softer than the kiss minutes ago. As if he wants to commemorate this moment with something, and that something is this particular kiss.

"We'll watch a movie then," I reply.

His laughter accompanied by a snort resonates as I turn on his TV and open Netflix. I take off my shoes again and lie down on my back, he imitates me. I search for a romance movie, and when I notice "The Vow," I decide to play it.

I didn't plan to stay, it would be exposing myself. When I close my eyes, I'll already be in my car on the way home with a smile on my lips. While my affected self screams at my enamored self that I'm stupid.

*

*

*

Two months later.

It was inexplicable everything that one person can make you feel.

Everything you can accumulate and hold onto for them.

Everything you can end up releasing somehow at the least expected moment.

And it was inexplicable, the great way in which we make fools of ourselves when we're in love.

Things were going well, we moved to a new apartment.

And I have more cravings and nausea than before. Besides, I reached five months in May, and now I'm seven months pregnant.

This child hasn't made it easy for me lately.

During my last visit to Christine, I went alone. I didn't want to cause any harm to Axel since I know something happens inside him when he sees her. I asked her my questions and doubts, like the reason why my body didn't show any significant changes in my four months of pregnancy.

According to her, it's normal for some women not to appear pregnant since their bodies don't gain any weight. In my case, since I didn't have a consistent weight, I attributed that minimal weight gain to something normal.

Ha, what a plot twist.

"This is the last box," she warns, leaving it on the floor.

The floor is part of what would be my room, which curiously is next to hers. I just hope the walls aren't too thin.

"Why don't you let me help you?" she huffs, asking for the fifth time in the remaining afternoon. "I feel like furniture."

"You're not, you idiot. But remember you're pregnant, Michelle. No effort," the doctor said.

"Your ex," she sings with a small smile, rolling her eyes as she walks towards the exit. "Oh, come on, someday you'll have to tell me what happened between you two!"

"I will when you tell the idiot who will be a father! You're taking your time, girl," she scolds me, disappearing.

As she always does when I mention my obstetrician, whom I love a little more every day. She's the sweetest and most dedicated person I've ever met, not to mention her work with me. All the recommendations she has given me are really good. And I've followed everything she asks me to do, I haven't missed any appointments.

If I'm honest, I understand Axel. In the few months we've been together, I can tell you that if I had a preference for girls, Christine would have all the requirements to be my girlfriend.

Lucky Axel, I hope he hasn't messed up so much and that their relationship will recover.

Is there a chance?

"Axel," I call him as he passes by my door.

He stops, only sticking his tousled head through the doorway, with his hair stuck to his forehead due to sweat. Although it's straight, it still looks like a sponge. He furrows his brows at my serious and worried face.

"Is something wrong?"

"When do you know it's over with someone?" I inquire.

I set aside my juice. I swallow, feeling my nerves take control of my sentimental body, which feels even more different due to my seven-month belly.

Two months ago was the last time I was at his place. When we slept together after watching that movie, all these months sank deep into my head.

Taking possession of my thoughts, my sighs, and many times my moments of pleasure.

"Your thing with Arthur hasn't ended, if that's what you want to know," he states, shrugging. "You're carrying his child in your womb, and you love him. You're in love with him."

"But he's not in love with me..."

"Did he ever tell you that?" I smile, taking a sip.

"His behavior..."

"Girl, men

are experts at pretending. He pays attention to you, Michelle. And if I'm honest, I'm surprised he hasn't cut off my balls yet," he scoffs.

I cross my legs while still sitting on the bed. My room is a mess with things I still haven't unpacked, but despite that, I don't mind seeing the disorder as much because Axel will take care of organizing everything. I know because he hasn't let me do anything that seems exhausting since my belly became more noticeable.

Who am I kidding? He hasn't let me do anything since he found out about my condition.

Overprotective idiot.