3 MONTHS LATER
KEIFER POV
If anyone told me a year ago that I, Keifer Watson, would be standing in the middle of my own bedroom fearing for my life because of a Ghirardelli square, I would have had them committed to a mental asylum.
But here I am. Three months later.
Jay Jay is in her third trimester, and let me tell you—the "gentle glow" of pregnancy is a lie. It's a tactical minefield. Her hormones have turned into a chaotic whirlwind. One minute she's sobbing because a commercial had a cute puppy, and the next, she's looking at me like she's debating which rug would be best to hide my body under.
I love her. I would die for her. I would burn Manila to the ground for her. But right now? I might actually die by a flying pillow. Or a vase.
"MARK KEIFER WATSON, DID YOU EAT MY CHOCOLATE?!" Jay yelled, her face flushed and her hand resting on the massive, beautiful curve of her stomach.
I made a fatal mistake. Even as a CEO, I failed the most basic rule of crisis management: I smiled. It wasn't a mocking smile; it was just... she looked so cute when she was fiery.
"DON'T SMILE AT ME! TELL ME NOW!" she roared, her voice echoing off the high ceilings.
I cleared my throat, trying to compose my face into something neutral and non-threatening. I had just come back from a high-stakes board meeting, and honestly, the investors were less terrifying than my seven-month-pregnant wife.
"Jay, honey," I started, using my most soothing, 'negotiation-at-the-UN' voice. "I thought it was just a snack left on the counter. I didn't realize it was the chocolate. The special one from the Swiss import shop."
"THOUGHT IT WAS A SNACK?" She stepped forward, and I swear I heard boss music playing in the background. "That was my midnight sanity, Keifer! That was the only thing standing between me and a complete emotional breakdown!"
"I can send a driver to get more," I offered quickly, already reaching for my phone. "I'll have them wake up the shop owner. I'll buy the whole store."
"I DON'T WANT THE STORE! I WANTED THAT SPECIFIC BAR!" A stray tear suddenly rolled down her cheek, and my heart sank. Here we go. The shift from Rage to Heartbreak. "You're trying to starve our son. You want him to be born hungry and miserable."
"Jay Jay, no—"
"You ate his joy, Keifer!" She grabbed a decorative throw pillow and hurled it at my chest. I didn't move; I just let it hit me. I deserved it. I was a Chocolate Thief. A monster.
I walked over to her, closing the distance slowly as if I were approaching a beautiful, temperamental tigress. When I got close enough, I didn't say anything; I just wrapped my arms around her.
At first, she stiffened, her small fists thumping against my chest. "Let go of me, you thief. Go sleep in the office with your boardroom friends."
"I'm sorry, baby," I murmured into her hair, pulling her flush against me. "I'm a fool. I'm a greedy, chocolate-stealing fool. I'll go to the kitchen right now and make you those brownies you liked last week. From scratch. Until the driver gets back with the import stuff."
She went still, her face buried in my shirt. I felt the fabric getting damp.
"With the extra walnuts?" she sniffled, her voice tiny now.
"The most walnuts," I promised, kissing the top of her head. "And I'll fetch that foot massager you like."
She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes red-rimmed but the fire dying down into a pout. "You're lucky you're handsome, Keifer Watson. And that the baby says he wants brownies."
I chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead before dropping to my knees to talk to the bump. "Did you hear that, little man? Your dad is officially on probation. Help me out here, okay? No more throwing pillows."
The baby kicked right against my cheek, and Jay let out a small, tired laugh.
"He says the brownies better be calorie-dense," she whispered, her hand finding my hair.
I stood up, feeling like I'd just survived a Category 5 hurricane. "Coming right up, Mrs. Watson."
I turned to exit the room, but I made sure to check the floor for any other projectiles. Being a husband to Jay Jay was the hardest, most rewarding, and most dangerous job I'd ever had. And I wouldn't trade it for all the chocolate in Switzerland.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
JAY JAY POV
Watching Keifer in the kitchen was like watching a high-powered lion trying to figure out how to be a domestic cat. He still had his expensive dress shirt sleeves rolled up, revealing the strong forearms I loved so much, but instead of signing multi-million dollar contracts, he was squinting at a bag of walnuts and a mixing bowl.
I leaned against the doorframe, my hand resting on the heavy weight of our son. Guilt started to prick at me, sharper than the anger from ten minutes ago. I knew I was being a handful. I knew the mood swings were like an unpredictable storm, yet there he was—always ready with an umbrella.
My mind drifted back to all those appointments. There was that one Tuesday when he had a merger meeting that was supposed to change the trajectory of Watson Enterprises. I had told him, "Keifer, it's just a routine check-up. Go to the meeting. I'll take care of this tiny one."
He hadn't even blinked. He'd looked at his assistant and said, "Cancel it. If they can't wait an hour for me to see my son's heartbeat, they aren't worth doing business with."
He chose us. Every single time. From the morning sickness where he held my hair back at 3:00 AM to the late-night foot rubs when my ankles swelled so much I cried. He was more than a CEO; he was my entire world's foundation.
A small, soft smile tugged at my lips as I watched him furrow his brow at a measuring cup.
"What are you thinking about?" Keifer asked, not even looking up. He always had this sixth sense when it came to me—he could feel my gaze like a physical touch.
"Nothing," I said quickly, trying to tuck the emotion back into my heart before I started crying again. I didn't need him to see me getting mushy over a bag of flour.
"'Nothing' usually means a lot when it comes from you, Mrs. Watson," he murmured, finally setting the spoon down and turning to face me. He leaned his hips against the marble counter, his brown eyes searching mine. The light of the kitchen softened the hard angles of his face.
"I was just thinking that you're a better baker than a diplomat," I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
Keifer let out a low, rumbling chuckle and walked toward me. He didn't stop until he was inches away, his heat enveloping me. He reached out, his large hand cupping my cheek while the other rested on my bump.
"I'm only doing my best to stay in the 'Good Graces' zone," he whispered, leaning down to press his forehead against mine. "I have a very demanding boss at home, and she's currently carrying my most precious asset."
I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder. The smell of sandalwood and a hint of cocoa powder filled my senses.
"I'm sorry I threw the pillow," I mumbled into his shirt.
"I've survived worse, Jay Jay," he said, his arms tightening around me. "But for the record? The baby kicked me when I said you were grumpy. I think he's officially on your side."
I laughed, feeling the tension of the day finally melt away. "He knows who the boss really is, Keifer."
"He definitely does," Keifer whispered, kissing my temple. "Now, go sit down. These brownies aren't going to bake themselves, and I have a chocolate-theft debt to pay off."
I watched him move around the kitchen with that effortless grace he had, even when he was covered in a light dusting of flour. For some reason, Keifer was absolutely convinced—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that we were having a boy. We hadn't officially checked the gender yet, wanting to keep it a surprise, but Keifer talked to my stomach as if he'd already seen the birth certificate.
If this baby came out wearing a pink bow, we were both cooked. All the tiny suits and little basketball jerseys he'd secretly started eyeing would be for nothing.
"Keifer, you better be right about this baby being a son," I said, carefully lowering myself into the chair by the kitchen island, letting out a heavy sigh as I found a comfortable position. "Because if it's a girl, she's going to have you wrapped around her finger in five seconds, and you'll realize you didn't know anything at all."
"Trust me, Jay Jay," he said, not even glancing up from the brownie batter. He had such an arrogant, playful smirk on his face. "I know it's a boy. I just do. When it comes to stuff like this—instincts, reading the signs—I'm great at it. I'm never wrong."
I narrowed my eyes, a sudden, sharp spike of pregnancy-induced jealousy flaring up in my chest. I glared at him, the kind of look that usually made his bodyguards break into a cold sweat.
"How many women have you gotten pregnant to be saying this with so much confidence?" I snapped, my voice dropping an octave.
Keifer froze. The whisk stopped mid-air. He slowly turned his head to look at me, his brown eyes wide with a mixture of shock and 'oh-no-here-we-go-again' realization. He looked at me as if I'd just suggested he relocate the company to the moon.
"Jay Jay," he said, his voice dropping into that low, cautious tone he used when he was trying to disarm a bomb. "Are you serious right now?"
"I'm perfectly serious, Mark Keifer Watson," I challenged, crossing my arms over my chest, which was no easy feat with the bump in the way. "You're standing there acting like an expert on the 'signs' of pregnancy. Where did this expertise come from? Is there a secret Watson nursery somewhere I don't know about?"
Keifer set the whisk down and wiped his hands on a towel, walking toward me with a slow, deliberate pace. He looked like he wanted to laugh, but he knew that if even a huff of air escaped his lungs, he'd be sleeping in the SUV for a week.
He reached out, taking both of my hands in his and leaning down so we were eye-to-eye.
"You are the first, the last, and the only woman who has ever—or will ever—carry my child," he said, his voice thick with a sincerity that made my anger deflate like a popped balloon. "My 'expertise' comes from the fact that I've spent every waking second of the last seven months obsessed with you. I've read every book, scanned every medical journal, and I've spent more time staring at your stomach than I have at my stock portfolio."
He gave my hands a gentle squeeze, a teasing glint returning to his eyes. "And besides, I know it's a boy because he kicks just like I used to when my dad made me sit through boring galas. It's a legacy of restlessness, Jay."
I pouted, trying to hold onto my huff, but I couldn't. "You're still a show-off."
"And you're still a hormonal terror," he whispered, leaning in to kiss the tip of my nose. "But you're my terror. Now, do you want these brownies or should I leave you here to keep interrogating my non-existent past?"
"Brownies," I mumbled, leaning my head against his chest. "But if it's a girl, I'm never letting you live this down."
"Deal," he laughed, kissing my hair. "But prepare to buy some tiny neckties, Mrs. Watson. I'm never wrong."