Chapter 21: The Proposal
The air in their dining room was thick with the smell of roasted chicken and underlying dread. Catriona had cooked, her hands moving on autopilot, while Aidan set the table with a precision that felt military. The normality of it was a thin veneer, and every clink of cutlery sounded like a warning bell.
Jenny arrived holding a bottle of wine she immediately seemed to regret. “For you,” she mumbled, her eyes darting from Catriona’s reassuring smile to Aidan’s stoic expression. Mark followed, looking exhausted, his suit jacket already off and slung over his arm. “Smells amazing, Cat. God, I needed this.”
They made it through the salad. Through the first glass of water. The conversation was a minefield of safe topics—the unseasonable heat, a new coffee shop on the high street, the relentless dust from the nearby construction site. Every lull felt cavernous. Jenny picked at her food. Aidan watched her, his gaze a tangible weight. Catriona saw it all, her heart a frantic bird in her chest.
When the main course was half-eaten, she put her fork down. The sound was too loud. “There’s something we wanted to talk to you both about.”
Mark paused, a piece of chicken midway to his mouth. Jenny went very still.
“It’s about support,” Catriona continued, leaning forward, her voice soft and earnest, the perfect picture of concerned friendship. “For the first trimester. It can be such a precarious time. Emotionally, physically.” She reached across and took Jenny’s hand. Jenny’s fingers were ice-cold. “We know you, Jen. You’ll try to be brave and do everything yourself. And Mark’s away so much.”
“Frankfurt next week,” Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Then Brussels. It’s a nightmare. I hate leaving her, especially now, but the project…”
“That’s exactly it,” Aidan said. His voice was calm, logical. He was the astronomer presenting a celestial equation. “My schedule is flexible. I’m home most days writing up research. Cat’s between contracts. We have the space.” He gestured vaguely toward the hallway, to the neatly made spare room upstairs. “We were thinking… why not stay here for a bit, Jenny? While Mark’s traveling. Just to have people around. To drive you to appointments. To make sure you’re eating.”
The silence stretched. Jenny stared at her plate. Catriona could see the pulse fluttering in her throat.
Mark’s face shifted, the lines of stress softening into profound relief. “Are you serious?”
“Completely,” Catriona said, squeezing Jenny’s hand. “We’re in this together. All of us. This is our family project now.”
“That’s… unbelievable.” Mark looked at Aidan, then back at Catriona, his eyes slightly damp. “You guys are… unbelievable. Jen, what do you think? Would that take some of the pressure off?”
All eyes turned to Jenny. She slowly lifted her head. Her gaze found Aidan’s first, just for a second. A current passed through the room, charged and silent. Catriona felt it arc through her own body.
“I… I wouldn’t want to be a burden,” Jenny whispered.
“Never,” Catriona said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You’d be helping us. Making us feel useful. Keeping me from driving Aidan mad with my nesting instincts.”
A small, fragile smile touched Jenny’s lips. She nodded, once. “Okay. If you’re sure. Thank you.”
The decision was made. The conversation turned logistical, a brittle, cheerful planning session. Dates were discussed. Mark promised to bring over her things on Sunday. Aidan mentioned the quiet of the spare room, the good blackout blinds. Catriona talked about morning sickness teas and prenatal vitamins.
Throughout it all, Jenny was quiet. But Catriona noticed. She noticed the way Jenny’s knees pressed tightly together under the table. The way her hand would occasionally drift to rest, just for a moment, on her own lower belly. The way her eyes kept flicking to Aidan’s hands as he poured more water, remembering their size, their strength.
After the lemon tart was reduced to crumbs and goodbyes were murmured at the door, Catriona locked up. She leaned against the cool wood, listening to their footsteps fade down the garden path.
Aidan was already clearing the table. She walked into the dining room. The ghost of the evening hung in the air—the echo of Jenny’s soft voice, the imprint of her body on the chair cushion.
“She knew,” Catriona said quietly.
Aidan stacked a plate onto another. “Knew what?”
“What you were really offering. What the offer meant.” Catriona picked up Jenny’s wine glass, untouched. She brought it to her nose. The faintest trace of her lipstick, a sweet, waxy scent. “When you talked about being here to drive her… she wasn’t thinking about a car.”
Aidan stopped. He stood in the yellow pool of the pendant light, his broad shoulders tense.
“She was thinking about your hands on the wheel. About you being in the house at night. She was thinking about being full.” Catriona set the glass down with a precise click. “And she wanted it.”
She walked to him, took the plates from his hands, and placed them on the table. She put her palms flat against his chest, felt the hard, quick beat of his heart. “So did I. Watching her want it.” She looked up at him. “We opened the door. Now she’s walking through it. Sunday.”
His hands came up to cover hers, holding them in place. His green eyes were dark, unreadable. “And when she’s here? In our house? What then, Cat?”
Catriona rose on her toes, her lips brushing the rough stubble along his jaw. Her voice was a warm, dangerous promise in the silent house. “Then we take care of what’s ours.”