Accidental Surrogate

I sigh and spreads my body out against Sinclair’s, tracing the lines of his body beneath his clothes. I close my eyes, relaxing, letting myself feel the warmth of him, basking in the joy of having him safe and healthy and near, of the knowledge that our baby boy is asleep on the other side of the room.

“You do agree with me though, right?” I ask quietly. “All jokes aside?”

Sinclair takes a minute to consider and then he nods, his eyes still closed. “I think they should sort it out themselves,” he answers quietly. “But I agree, Ella – if he’s not willing to take her whether or not she can give him children…he should let her find someone who will.”

“Thank you, Dominic,” I respond, my voice barely audible, sending a little pulse of sincere gratitude down our bond. He sends love back.

And then we both relax, our bodies falling into a deeper rhythm of breathing that carries us near sleep.

Sleep that’s interrupted, suddenly, by the sound of the doorbell below.

I groan, pulling my head up off of Sinclair’s chest. “Who the hell could that be.”

“Probably someone who forgot a purse. Or a shoe. Or…whatever,” Sinclair mutters, working to sit

1. up. I rise too, letting him up, smiling at my sleepy mate who is so tired that his words aren’t making much sense.

He sighs, rising to his feet, and I get up with him.

“Stay,” he says, putting a hand on my shoulder, nodding back to the bed.

“No,” I sigh. “I’ll come with you. It’s probably for me, anyway. A package or something.” I’m rueful, suddenly, that we’ve let all of the staff have the day off after the long night. It would be nice to have someone else to answer the door…

…but then I realize that that’s horribly selfish and privileged, and I take my mate’s hand, tugging him towards the door and grabbing the baby monitor on the way, switching it on. Who have I become, really, that I’m turning my nose up at having to answer my own door?

Considering some of the conditions I’ve lived in previously in my life, I should be thanking my lucky stars that I even have a door.

Frustrated with myself, I hurry down the stairs, Sinclair following steadily behind.

When I pull open the door, though, there’s nobody there. Frowning, I look around, and then down at the doormat, where there’s a little folded piece of paper.

“What’s this?” I ask, bending quickly to pick it up, the baby monitor making little static noises

my left hand.

as he frowns at

door

it addressed to anyone?” he asks quietly,

every step. Quickly, I turn the

slip my finger beneath the seal when Sinclair grabs

says, his voice harsh with worry.

—

ask, looking up at him, suddenly worried myself. “Why?”

his head at me. “I just…it’s strange. Let’s…treat

He holds his hand out and I place the letter in his open

“Come on,

eagerly, desperate to know, a little knot of anxiety forming

we get into the kitchen, Sinclair puts a hand on my shoulder, walking me backwards until my back is pressed against the door of the pantry. “Stay here,” he murmurs,

monitor tightly between my hands. “Why

((

carefully places it on the butcher block and grabs a knife, moving his body away as far as he

make light of it – hoping, needing him to be overreacting right now “do you think it’s going to explode or

me, just slowly finishes slicing the seal. When nothing happens, he stands

is it?” I whisper, my anxiety keeping me absolutely on edge. My heart is racing now

Sinclair murmurs, holding up a hand to keep me back. I can’t take my eyes off of him as he steps closer to the envelope, holding it carefully in his hands

a piece of paper falls out of the envelope, clattering lightly against the wood. Sinclair takes a minute to pród at the piece of paper with his knife, flipping it over, making sure there’s nothing strange about

says, looking

relieved, rushing to his side. “You had

wrap my arms around him and peer at it.

revealing a hurried scrawl of

draining from my face as