I hated myself in the following days.

Gone was the independent woman I had learned to become in the absence of my ex-husband.

In her place was a bedraggled shadow of a waif, flopped on her left side as I angrily watched daytime talk shows.

“Oh, he is so fucking clearly NOT the father!” I snarled, wishing I had more popcorn to whip at the screen. “Why are you even trying to trap him into this?”

Gone was the type-A, hard-working restaurant owner who had her days planned from dawn to dusk.

Instead the woman who lay there in the loft was a hormonal, furious bitch, pissed off at the world.

Especially Silas.

Some might argue that it was because he was the closest person around and therefore easiest to blame but I didn’t subscribe to that school of thought.

It was because he had gotten me right back where I had sworn I would never be—living under the same roof as him.

Granted, his nights were spent on the sofa after running the day-to-day operations of the restaurant and if not for the endless virtual check-ups, I barely saw him. I now kept my phone perpetually charging, because he ran down the battery the first day with blowing up my phone with worried texts.

Still, I knew he was there in spirit and that infuriated me.

I was so disappointed in myself and yet…

It was comforting to know that he was there. I couldn’t deny that.

The night I had started bleeding, I was sure that was the end.

In a surreal moment, I felt as if everything I had ever wanted had been wrenched from my soul and tossed into the parking lot below; as if God or the fates, or whoever liked to play cosmic jokes, had just said “meh, that’s as close as you’re ever gonna get.”

I should have called an ambulance instead of driving myself but I felt like having an EMS worker tell me I was losing the baby would have made it real.

By the time I had gotten to New York Presbyterian, I had made peace with the fact that my baby was gone.

Learning that I was going to be okay if I just followed the doctor’s orders had literally knocked the wind out of me.

Even before Silas had arrived, reeking of a distillery, I knew I was going to do anything in my power to keep my child safe and even if he hadn’t offered to stay with me, I probably would have asked him.

Because that’s what motherhood is, I told myself, readjusting the pillows under my shoulders. Letting the man who almost ruined your life back in so that your baby is safe. I can deal with this for a while.

I had to admit, Silas was not giving me reasons to doubt my choice in allowing him to stay on the couch. In the past few days, he had become the man that I had always hoped he would be—in fact, he was almost perfect. But my cynicism would not be quieted, no matter how many pillows he fluffed or foot rubs he gave me.

He rose at dawn (something that shocked me to the core the first couple of days). I had never known Silas to wake a minute before ten o’clock. In fact, rolling out of bed at noon was more his style.

Moreover, he woke with a smile, not a strained look and lamentation for coffee.

From there, he made me breakfast, careful to follow the DASH guidelines to keep my blood pressure down.

I hadn’t been ordered to take medication—yet—and I was doing everything in my power to ensure I didn’t have to resort to taking pills while pregnant, no matter how “safe” the Emerg doc and my regular OB-GYN claimed they were.

It wasn’t that I was some kind of over-the-top, New Age mother. I was too old for that shit. On the other hand, I didn’t want to put anything in my body that wasn’t one hundred percent natural.

Although no one had brought up the “over thirty-five mother-to-be” aspect, I knew the research on “advanced maternal age.”

What the hell else did I have to do all day than look up alarming shit online, after all?

My second trimester had done little outwardly to my body.

As I approached my fifth month, there was a definite swell of my usually flat stomach but anyone who didn’t know me would not know the difference if they saw me face-to-face.

I had read about all the swelling, bloating, weight-gaining horrors, which plagued other women, but aside from my inner health concern it was difficult to notice any major difference in my body.

That, itself, scared me.

Why wasn’t I getting fat and hormonal like other women in my position? What was I doing wrong?

But I digress.

Back to Silas who, after serving me a platter of whatever egg whites, toast and herbal tea, would shower, shave (again, I couldn’t stress the oddity of this behavior), and begin his day at Settlement.

My nerves were taut every morning and my fingers danced over my phone, poised to avert some disaster which I was certain was about to manifest in the wake of my ex stepping in.

And yet, every day, I was disappointed.

• How’s it going down there, Eve?
• He’s right on script

It was not the response I was expecting but it was still in its early stages.

There was plenty of time for Silas to fuck up.

Was it wrong of me to expect the worst? It was my restaurant on the line, my sweat and blood. I had sacrificed so much to make it work.

But experience dictated that I was setting myself up for disappointment.

Silas came upstairs every few hours, definitely to feed me an early lunch before the restaurant opened and then again after the rush dissipated.

Dinnertime was the same.

“You can’t work fifteen hours a day,” I told him begrudgingly a week after he arrived. “I’m going to promote Evelyn to manager so she can handle the nights.”

He looked at me with alarm.

“Why? Do you need me here more often? How are you feeling? Do we need to go back to the doctor?”

I scowled even though I was secretly touched by his concern for me.

Don’t fall for it! He’s just worried about losing his rights to see the baby! A little voice in my head warned. He’s going to show his true self again.

“I’m fine,” I assured him as he hurried toward me, rearranging the pillows at my back. “I’m…”

I trailed off knowing what I was about to say and the words sticking in my throat.

He peered at me with worried gray eyes.

My sense of smell had become nothing short of superhuman and the scent of his subtle, spicy cologne filled my nostrils, causing me to grow dizzy slightly at his nearness.

No matter what, Silas Warner had always been the most attractive man I had ever known.

Never mind the fact that he was the only man I had ever known.

Never mind the fact that we had grown up together and knew each other at our absolute worst.

Never mind that I had occasionally fantasized about having him murdered.

Never mind that I had occasionally fantasized about him…

When he looked at me, his black hair dishevelled with the long day he had endure and his five o’clock shadow on his cheeks, I wanted to bury my face in his chest and inhale him closer; to feel every muscle in his incredibly formed body to mine.

Never trust a skinny chef, I mused. They never warn you about one with rippled biceps and a washboard stomach though, do they?

“Maggie, what is it? Talk to me?”

I swallowed my consternation and lowered my gaze.

“You’re working too much. I think you should slow down a bit.”

He looked at me, his full mouth parting slightly as he stared at me in disbelief.

Suddenly he laughed, perching on the edge of the bed with his hand resting casually against my hip.

“Babe, don’t you remember that we did this for years?” he reminded me gently, reaching forward to brush a stray strand of hair away from my forehead. “This is second nature to us.”

“You haven’t done this in a long time,” I told him. “You should ease into it.”

“Like we got to ease into it when we first started Sonder and the entire staff called in sick that Friday night so they could see Beyoncé and we got screwed working dinner alone with just the two busboys?”

A grimace formed on my lips as I remembered that night.

“That still remains the longest night of my life,” I replied, shaking my head. Well, maybe but for the night in the Emergency Room.

“Or how we eased into it when the mob came demanding protection payments, but we were living off ramen noodles so we could pay our ungrateful staff?”

I snorted at the reminder and shook my head.

“Lucky for us that the entire Bellucci family got taken down that week or we would never have recovered from that,” I sighed.

“Someone, somewhere, had our backs,” he agreed, smiling softly. “We’ve always been fortunate and gotten through when shit got rough, haven’t we, Mags?”

I felt a rush of heat to my face as I caught the look in his eyes.

No! Don’t do that! I wanted to yell. You don’t get to remind me of the times when we worked head to head, struggling to build your business. You don’t get to remind me that we have the ability to overcome hardships together.

But it was too late.

He had already planted the memories of those times back in my head and no matter how I tried to fight off the other facts, the times he had hurt and disappointed me, I could not help but recall how much we had been through.

“We always made a good team, didn’t we?” he murmured, his gaze still locked on mine and I could see the regret in his face.

Goddamn you, Silas!

He wasn’t expecting it when I abruptly sat up and planted my lips on his, drawing his head to mine, my mouth parting to let my tongue touch his.

As my arms slipped around his neck, his shoulders tensed and for a horrifying second, I thought he was going to push me away, to reject me in my moment in of confusion and vulnerability.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he slid toward me, his body relaxing as fast as it had stiffened—although one part of him did not relax.

If there was a hesitation in either of us, I didn’t feel it—or else I chose to ignore it.

A soft sigh escaped my lips and I closed my eyes to savor the familiar sensation of his body against mine.

He was still the only man who could turn me into putty with one stroke of his huge palm, which cautiously inched over the silk of my nightie, pulling the thin material along the curve of my hip.

I bucked upward slightly, wanting to feel every tendon of his body against mine and when his lips followed the line of my cheek toward my chin, teeth teasing the ridge of my face, I shoved everything aside but the increasing rate of my heart.

My hands entwined in his hair and I knew I needed to feel him again, as if having him inside me was going to alleviate the doubts and worry which I had been harboring since learning about the baby.

As if reading my mind, he raised his head and stared at me as I peeked at him through half-closed eyes.

“The baby?” he murmured, pushing his hardness against me.

He didn’t want to stop any more than I wanted him to, his pelvis gently rocking against my heated thigh like he was daring me to stop what was about to happen.

I shook my head slightly.

“Shut up,” I told him and it was all the encouragement he needed, his face nuzzling into the nook of my neck, lips reaching out to taste the skin of my throat.

Okay, maybe I lied.

Maybe I was hormonal after all.