“The ICN.” I finished for her. The place that served Rosie a constant reminder that she couldn’t have kids. And she still did it. Fuck my life.

“Dr. Hasting didn’t just come to me bearing bad news about nursing school, though. She also said that it looked like I am completely infertile. I can’t have any kids. Ever. Too much mucus around my reproductive organs. She said it’s like dropping a sponge into a pool full of sticky glue, hoping it’d make it to the bottom. Technically feasible, but extremely unlikely.” She bit her lower lip, staring ahead at nothing.

“Rosie…” I inhaled, my nostrils flaring. “Baby, do you have any idea how many options are out there for you? For us?” And, yes, it was no longer about her. It was about us. We were in it for the long haul. We were in it for forever, however long forever may last. “So fucking many, not only medically, but also adoption. We’re rich and young and have spotless criminal records.” I was already bunching us together as a married couple and conveniently giving her access to every single dime of my multi-million-dollar empire. As I said, full-blown stalker mode with this girl. “We could adopt a kid tomorrow morning if we wanted to. We are the perfect candidates.”

Jesus fucking Christ, if this chick had a bunny, I’d be boiling it by now, getting ready to serve it as a Lapin a La Cocotte.

“The thing is…” Her arms loosened around my neck, and my back stiffened. “This is why I broke up with Darren. I don’t want to get married. And I don’t want to adopt, either. I’m not sure how much longer I am going to be here. And I don’t want to leave more than I already have behind. Having a kid is a terrible idea. Why would I? So they would be orphans in days or weeks or months or, best-case scenario, even years later? It’s not fair for them.”

I didn’t fail to notice that Rosie was the exact opposite of Nina. Nina popped out a kid and said fuck the consequences. Rosie deprived herself from having one so they wouldn’t suffer.

“Listen to me, Baby LeBlanc.”

She squeezed my bicep. “Don’t, Dean. Please. Let me down.”

We were already in front of the car. I jogged the whole way back to make sure she was safe and warm. Carefully, I set her down. She stood before me. The rain grew heavier. I didn’t want her to get too wet. Not like this, anyway.

“Listen, I’m not going to give this up. Us up,” she clarified, pulling me to her, chest-to-chest. Our lips brushed, and our noses touched. Our foreheads stuck together, glued by wet strands of hair. We were a unit. We always were, even when we dated other people. “I’m too selfish to let you go, Dean Cole. Like I knew I would be. I’m yours as long as you’ll have me. The only condition is—no baby talk and no marriage. I can’t give it to you. Not because I don’t want to. I can offer you all the love and devotion in the world, Dean. But just for a fraction of time.”

“Rosie.”

“Hey, listen. I know that you like me…”

“Like you?” My face twisted in abhorrence, spitting the words like they were revolting. Her eyes widened. I shook my head, a dark chuckle on my lips. “You think I fucking like you? Are you kidding me here? I don’t like you. I love you. Even that’s an under-fucking-statement. I live for you. I breathe for you. I will die for you. It. Has. Always. Been. You. Ever since I saw your sorry ass for the first time on that threshold and you fucking poked me in the chest like I was a toy. We’ve been apart for ten years, Rose LeBlanc, and not even one day has passed without me thinking of you. And not just in passing. You know, the occasional she-could-have-been-a-great-fuck. I mean really taking my time to think about you. Wondering what you looked like. Where you were. What you were doing. Who you were with. I stalked you on Facebook. And Twitter—which, by the way, you need to deactivate because you never once bothered to tweet—but you aren’t exactly a social media animal. I asked about you. Every time I was in town. And once I realized you were in New York with Millie…” I took a deep breath, feeling how quickly I was losing my grip on reality and rolling down a very slippery path to irrationality in trying to explain that she couldn’t give up on life just because it was going to end at some point. “Rosie, I bought a new penthouse in TriBeca a few months before you moved into our building.”

“Why are you telling me this?” She blinked away her tears, but fresh ones rolled down to replace them in no time.