Chapter 53: Morning Devotion
The rain had softened to a whisper, a faint static against the windows that blurred the downtown lights into smears of gold and red. Inside, the only illumination came from the dying glow of the projector screen, paused on the end credits of a Ghibli film. The room was warm, smelling of sandalwood from a spent candle and the clean, sleepy scent of their skin.
Alexis drifted in that placid space between dreams and waking, cocooned in the weight of the duvet and the solid, reassuring heat of Mark behind her. Her body had begun its own silent, internal transformation, subtle shifts she was only just learning to sense—a deeper heaviness in her breasts, a faint, vertical line darkening below her navel. Sleep had sanded the edges off the world, leaving everything soft and receptive.
Then she felt his lips.
They started at the crown of her head, a pressure so light it could have been a breath. He kissed her there, then her temple, the shell of her ear. Each touch was a deliberate punctuation in the quiet room. His arm, slung over her waist, tightened just enough to pull her back more firmly against him. She sighed, not fully awake, leaning into the warmth.
His kisses traveled down the column of her neck, each one a little slower, a little fuller. She felt the scratch of his morning stubble, a pleasant friction against her shoulder. His hand, which had been resting flat on her stomach, began to move. It drifted upwards, over the gentle swell her body was just beginning to form, to cup the fullness of her breast. His thumb brushed her nipple and a spark jumped straight to her core, a deep, internal pull that made her breath catch.
“Mark,” she murmured, her voice thick.
“Shhh,” he breathed against her spine, as his lips continued their pilgrimage down her back. He nudged the duvet down with his chin, exposing her skin to the cool air. She shivered. He kissed each vertebra, his tongue tracing the line of her spine until he reached the dip at the small of her back. His hands slid over her hips, smoothing over the curve of her ass before gently encouraging her onto her stomach.
She went willingly, turning her head to the side on the pillow, eyes closed, surrendering to the sensation. He kissed the backs of her thighs, the sensitive hollows behind her knees. His touch was different this morning. Not the desperate, claiming fury of the window, nor the playful tease of other mornings. This was reverence. This was study. As if he was memorizing the new landscape of her body with his mouth.
He rolled her over with infinite care, his hands strong and certain under her. The cool air washed over her front, her nipples tightening instantly. She opened her eyes then. He was above her, propped on his elbows, his gaze traveling over her face, down her throat, over her breasts and belly, with a focus that made her skin feel illuminated.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, the words simple, stripped bare of any performative flair. “Like this. Just… fuck, Alexis.”
He lowered himself, not to her mouth, but to the gentle slope of her stomach. He placed a single, lingering kiss right below her navel, his lips pressed to the place where their child was quietly stitching itself together. The gesture was so intimate, so specific, that a surge of emotion clogged her throat. He looked up, his chin resting on her belly, his eyes finding hers.
“I love you,” he said. “Both of you.”
Tears welled, hot and sudden. She reached down, her fingers tunneling into his soft curls. “I love you, too.” It wasn’t the first time they’d said it, but it felt like the first time it encompassed everything—the past, the present, the palpable future growing inside her.
He moved up her body then, kissing her stomach, the space between her breasts, the hollow of her throat. When his lips finally met hers, the kiss was deep and sweet and unhurried. It tasted of sleep and promise. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, feeling the hard line of his arousal against her thigh.
He entered her slowly, with a control that felt like worship. There was no frantic race, only a gradual, perfect filling. She gasped, her head pressing back into the pillow. He held himself there, fully sheathed, letting her adjust, letting the feeling expand. His eyes never left hers.
Then he began to move. Long, slow strokes that drew out every sensation. Each withdrawal was a sweet agony, each return a profound relief. He braced his weight on his forearms, cradling her face, his thumbs stroking her cheeks as he moved. The pace was a relentless, gentle build, a tide coming in. Her pleasure unspooled not in a sharp climax, but in a series of warm, rolling waves, each one higher than the last, until her body broke apart in a silent, shuddering release that felt less like an explosion and more like a blooming.
He felt it, saw it in her fluttering eyelids and parted lips. His own rhythm stuttered, and with a groan that was half-prayer, half-surrender, he followed her over, his body tensing and then melting into hers. He collapsed carefully to the side, keeping her close, his face buried in the curve of her neck.
For a long time, they just breathed. The sound of the city waking up began to filter in—a distant siren, the rumble of a garbage truck. The gray light had strengthened, turning the room a soft pewter.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand, a harsh intrusion. He grunted, not moving.
“Ignore it,” she whispered, tracing the muscles of his back.
“Can’t,” he sighed, voice muffled against her skin. “Could be Desmond about the flight.” He stretched an arm out, fumbling for the device. He squinted at the screen. A slow smile spread across his face. He showed it to her.
It was a text from his sister, Maya.
Maya: Mom’s “casually” rearranging the living room for the third time this week. She knows you’re coming with ‘someone special.’ I’ve prepared her for a human woman. Don’t blow it.
Alexis laughed, the sound bright in the quiet room. “She thinks you’d bring a non-human?”
“With my track record?” Mark rolled onto his back, pulling her onto his chest. “I think she was hoping for an AI. Less drama.” He typed a quick reply. Mark: She’s very human. And she’s bringing someone else, too.
Three dots appeared immediately. Then, Maya: ?
Mark: Explain later. Gumbo at Lex’s parents Saturday. Panic then.
He dropped the phone. “There. Fuse lit.”
The reality of the weekend began to solidify around them, a comfortable weight. “We should pack,” Alexis said, not moving.
“In a minute.” His hand was on her stomach again, a habit he’d formed without seeming to notice. “You nervous?”
“About telling them?” She considered it. “Less nervous than I was last week. More… impatient, I think. I want them to know. I want it to be real in their world, too.”
“My mom’s gonna cry,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “Loudly. Probably for an hour. My dad will pat my shoulder very hard and say something like ‘well, alright then,’ and then go fix something in the garage.”
The domestic forecast made her smile. “My dad will give you The Talk. The principal one. About ‘assumed responsibilities and projected life outcomes.’ He’ll have charts.”
Mark fake-shuddered. “I’ll bring a notebook.”
She slid out of bed, the cool air hitting her skin. She pulled on one of his discarded t-shirts. It swam on her, the hem brushing her thighs. “Coffee,” she declared. “Then pack. Our flight’s at seven.”
He watched her pad toward the kitchen, his gaze warm. “You’re wearing my favorite dress.”
She threw a grin over her shoulder. “It’s a t-shirt.”
“On you, it’s a dress. My dress.” He finally got up, pulling on a pair of sweatpants. He followed her into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as she measured the coffee. The mundane ritual was a anchor. The french press, the click of the stove, the first rich aroma filling the space.
“What about the guys?” she asked, pouring the hot water. “You’ve been quiet with them since… everything.”
He shrugged. “They know the big stuff. The Keeana thing is handled. This…” He gestured between them, then to her stomach hidden under the bulk of his shirt. “This feels private for a little longer. They’ll know when we get back. Desmond will make a stupid, perfect skit about it. Ben will try to give me a business plan for ‘baby-branded content.’” He smiled. “But today, it’s just us.”
She brought two mugs to the island, sliding one to him. “Just us,” she agreed, clinking her mug against his. The silence that followed was companionable, charged with the unspoken magnitude of the steps ahead.
After coffee, they packed side by side, a silent, efficient team. He folded his clothes with a neatness that surprised her; she piled hers with a practiced chaos. He snuck a stuffed Pikachu into the corner of her suitcase when he thought she wasn’t looking. She saw it, and let it stay.
As she zipped her bag closed, her phone rang. Her father’s face appeared on the screen.
She took a deep breath, exhaled, and answered. “Hi, Dad.”
“Alexis,” his voice, always so measured and calm, came through. “Your mother informs me we’re having gumbo on Saturday. She’s insisting on andouille from that specialty place, which you know I think is an unnecessary extravagance.”
She could picture him in his home study, surrounded by textbooks. “It’s the good stuff, Dad. Worth it.”
“Hmm.” He paused. “She also said Mark is coming. And that I should ‘be cool.’” He said the phrase like it was in a foreign language. “Should I be preparing for something? Is this a ‘we need to talk’ situation?”
Alexis locked eyes with Mark across the room. He raised his eyebrows, a small smile playing on his lips. She felt a surge of courage, bright and clear.
“Yes, Dad,” she said, her voice steady. “It is. But it’s a good talk. A really good talk.”
Another pause, longer this time. She could almost hear him adjusting his mental charts. “I see,” he said, and his tone softened, just a fraction. “Well. We’ll see you both on Saturday. Safe travels.”
They said their goodbyes. She set the phone down. The condo felt different. Lighter. The last secret was out of the bag, spoken into the universe. It was just a matter of crossing the miles now.
Mark came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his hands on her stomach. He didn’t speak. He just held her, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window at the Austin skyline, their reflection a single, united shape against the gathering day. The bags were by the door. The city awaited them outside. And ahead of them, down a highway and through the clouds, home waited, ready to be reshaped.
And ahead of them, down a highway and through the clouds, home waited, ready to be reshaped. The Uber ride to the airport was quiet, a bubble of anticipation. Mark scrolled through logistics on his phone, while Alexis watched Austin recede, her thumb unconsciously tracing the line his lips had followed that morning.
The airport buzzed with its own frantic energy. They moved through security with the ease of frequent travelers, Mark nodding at a few recognizing glances but keeping his head down. “Always weird,” he murmured, slipping his shoes back on. “Like, I know they know, but we’re not here for a show.”
“Just a family-announcement tour,” Alexis said, bumping his shoulder. “Way more terrifying.”
They found their gate, a relatively empty corner. Alexis sank into a stiff chair, curling her knees to her chest. Mark handed her a bottle of water. “Hydrate.”
“Yes, doctor.”
“I’m serious! My mom’s gonna grade me on this.” He slouched next to her, draping an arm over her shoulders. His phone vibrated incessantly in his pocket, but he ignored it, focusing on the distant tarmac. “You ready for the principal’s office?”
“I’ve been prepping for that moment my whole life.” She took a sip, her own phone buzzing in her lap. A notification from her sister, Ashley, lit up the screen.
Ashley: Mom just bought THREE types of sparkling cider. She’s humming. She only hums for extremely big news or before she deep-cleans the gutters. What did you do?
Alexis showed Mark. He laughed, a short, sharp sound. “See? Human lie detector.”
“She’s guessing wedding,” Alexis said, typing a quick, evasive reply. “Not… this.”
Their boarding group was called. As they shuffled down the jet bridge, the scent of recycled air and fuel washed over them. They found their seats in a subdued, first-class cabin. Mark stowed their bags with a practiced efficiency, then settled beside her, his large frame somehow folding neatly into the confined space. The plane’s engines whined to life, a deep vibration humming through the cabin.
Alexis let her head rest against the cool window as the city dropped away, the Colorado River a brown thread through the urban grid. She felt Mark’s hand find hers, his thumb stroking her knuckles. The flight attendant offered drinks; they declined, the silence between them comfortable, thick with shared thought.
About an hour in, cruising over featureless plains, Mark’s phone, set to airplane mode, lit up with a cascade of notification previews. He glanced at it idly, then stiffened. A low “huh” escaped his lips, more puzzled than concerned.
“What?”
He unlocked the screen, his brow furrowing. “Weird. My mentions are… popping off. More than usual.” He scrolled, his thumb moving faster. His expression shifted from curiosity to disbelief, then to a flat, wary comprehension.
Alexis felt a familiar, cold knot tighten in her stomach. “Keeana?”
“No,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “Not her.” He turned the phone toward her. It was a tweet from a popular Black culture news account. The attached picture was grainy, taken from what looked like a street-level smartphone. It showed them leaving his condo building that morning, her in his t-shirt and leggings, him in sweatpants, hands linked. The caption read: “RDC’s Mark Phillips & mystery woman looking cozy. Sources say it’s getting serious. #rdcworld”
“Sources?” Alexis breathed, the word tasting like metal.
He kept scrolling. Another outlet had picked it up. Then another. A gossip blog had already dubbed her “The Howard Law Hottie,” pulling a picture from her university’s public directory. The speculative comments were a blur, but a few phrases jumped out: “…seen together for months…” and “…could be why Keeana Grant is out of the picture…”
“This is invasive,” she whispered, her face feeling hot. “They just… they took our picture?”
“It happens,” Mark said, but his jaw was tight. He put a hand on her knee, a steadying weight. “It’s just outside my building. It’s lazy paparazzi crap, they probably sell shots of anyone coming out of there.”
“But they know my school.” Her mind raced, a pre-law student’s instinct firing. Her privacy, her professional reputation before it even started, laid bare for speculation. She felt exposed, the safe bubble of the morning definitively popped.
His phone screen lit up again, this time with an incoming call from Desmond that couldn’t connect due to airplane mode. Then another, from Leland. Text previews stacked up. The RDC group chat was exploding.
Desmond: Yo, you trending, bro.
Leland: They calling her ‘Brick House Barbie.’ I’m deceased.
Ben: Do NOT engage. Let us handle. We’re drafting a statement.
John: Statement saying what? “Yeah, he’s happy, leave him alone?”
Dylan: Basically. But with more legal words. Ben’s got a template.
Mark sighed, a heavy, weary sound. He looked at her, his eyes apologetic. “I’m so sorry, Lex. This is my world. It spills over.”
She squeezed his hand, her own anger crystallizing into something sharper, more pragmatic. “It’s not your fault. But we need a plan. Our parents might see this before we land.”
He nodded, already switching mental gears. “Okay. We call them the second we touch down. You call yours, I’ll call mine. We tell them everything, before some algorithm-fed headline does.”
She leaned back, closing her eyes. The gentle roar of the engines was no longer soothing; it felt like a countdown. The secret they’d hugged to themselves, the intimate truth of their future, was now raw data on the internet, being shaped by strangers. The safe, controlled disclosure they’d imagined was gone.
Mark’s phone continued to glow silently on his tray table, a silent, persistent strobe of external chaos. He flipped it face down. “Forget it. For now.” He lifted the armrest between them and pulled her into his side. “Our story isn’t theirs to tell.”
She nestled against him, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. It was a rhythm she knew. It was real. The digital noise outside the window felt suddenly distant, unimportant. They had truth on their side. Still, her mind kept circling back to the caption, the unknown “sources,” the speed of it all.
News spreads fast.
She opened her eyes, staring at the blank screen of the seatback in front of her. A new, steely resolve settled in her gut. Let it spread. They would meet it head-on, together, on their own terms. The plane surged forward, carrying them toward a landing that would now be a different kind of arrival.
The plane surged forward, carrying them toward a landing that would now be a different kind of arrival. Alexis kept her eyes closed, mentally drafting statements, parsing the difference between a secret uncovered and a truth preemptively stolen. Mark’s thumb kept moving on her shoulder, a silent, rhythmic apology.
“You’re thinking lawyer thoughts,” he murmured into her hair. His voice was a low vibration she felt in his chest. “I can hear the case law.”
“I’m thinking about damage control versus authenticity.” She opened her eyes, tilted her head to look at him. The cabin lights were dim. “We stick to the plan. We tell our truth. Anything else looks like we’re reacting to them.”
He nodded, a slow, approving dip of his chin. “That’s my girl.” The phrase, often playful, held a dense weight of pride now. The Fasten Seatbelt sign pinged on with a soft chime.
The descent was a pressure change in more ways than one. The wheels screeched against the St. Louis tarmac with a jarring finality. As soon as the plane parked at the gate and the electronic chirp signaled devices could live again, their phones erupted. A synchronized orchestra of dread.
“Okay,” Mark said, powering his on. It buzzed like an angry insect in his hand. “Let’s do this fast.”
They called simultaneously, standing in the jet bridge amid the shuffle of disembarking passengers. Alexis turned toward the wall, the vinyl cool against her forehead. Her mother answered on the first ring.
“Alexis Renee. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, Mom. We just landed.”
“I saw some nonsense online.” Ava Moore’s voice was clipped, all business, but the undercurrent was pure maternal ferocity. “Tell me what you want me to know. Not what some blog says.”
Alexis took a steadying breath. “Mark’s with me. We’re coming home. And we’re… we’re going to have a baby.” She heard the sharp intake of breath, a lifetime of legalese momentarily stunned into silence. “The picture is real. The story they’re building around it isn’t. We’re telling you first. Well, you and Dad. Right now.”
Her mother’s exhale was a soft rush of static. “A baby.” The word was tested, weighed. Then, decisive. “Alright. Your father is right here. We’ll see you soon. Drive carefully.”
Across the cramped space, Mark’s voice was a strained, earnest murmur. “Yes, Mama… I know, I should have… No, it wasn’t like that… She’s right here. She’s amazing.” He met Alexis’s gaze, his eyes wide with the force of the incoming maternal wave. He mouthed the word help.
They finished the calls, the hardest part over but the real gauntlet still ahead. The walk through the terminal felt strangely conspicuous. A teenager with headphones did a double-take at Mark, glanced at Alexis, then quickly looked at his phone. Alexis held her head higher, slipping her hand into Mark’s.
“See?” he said, his voice tight. “It starts.”
“Let them look,” she said, and gave his hand a firm squeeze. The rental car was a generic sedan, a blessed capsule of anonymity. Mark loaded their bags while Alexis sank into the passenger seat, the fatigue of emotion settling deep into her bones. He slid into the driver’s seat, connected his phone to the Bluetooth, and navigated out of the lot.
The familiar highways of home unfolded, the arch appearing in the distance against a bruised evening sky. They drove past exits that held memories—malls, old parks, the turn for his parents’ subdivision in North County. The silence in the car wasn’t empty; it was full of rehearsal.
“Your dad’s charts,” Mark said suddenly, a laugh scratching out of him. “Do you think he’ll have one titled ‘Unplanned Grandfatherhood: A Five-Quarter Projection’?”
“It’ll be a full PowerPoint,” Alexis said, smiling despite the knot in her stomach. “With animated transitions. He’ll make us a copy.”
The gentle suburbs gave way to the quieter, tree-lined streets of her parents’ neighborhood. Her childhood home, a neat brick two-story with glowing windows, looked both welcoming and intimidating. Mark pulled up to the curb and killed the engine. The house didn’t move.
“Showtime,” he whispered. He leaned over, kissed her temple. “Whatever happens in there, we leave together, right?”
“We leave together,” she affirmed.
They walked up the path, their footsteps synchronized on the concrete. Before they could even reach for the knob, the front door swung inward. Ava stood there, still in her work slacks and blouse, her gaze instantly comprehensive, taking in her daughter’s face, her posture, Mark’s protective nearness.
“Mom,” Alexis began.
Ava opened her arms. She pulled Alexis into a hug that was fierce and brief, then released her and turned to Mark. For a heart-stopping second, he braced. She simply took his face in her hands, her eyes searching his.
“You,” she stated, her voice leaving no room for argument, “will be at every appointment. You will read the books. You will not let my daughter carry this alone.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mark said, his voice cracking with relief. “I swear.”
From the hallway behind her, Aaron Moore appeared, a tall, steady presence. He looked at them, his gaze lingering on their clasped hands. He didn’t smile, but his eyes softened. “The gumbo’s getting cold,” he said. “Come inside. We can talk at the table.”
The door closed softly behind them, sealing them into the warm, spiced air of home. The journey through the sky was done. The real work, the delicate and terrifying work of weaving their new reality into the family fabric, was just beginning. They were here. They were home.