"I know," I say, turning the stem of my glass between my fingers. "It's just strange. I mean… it’s all new.”
“You’ll get used to it," Locke promises, reaching across the small gap between our chairs to rest over my knee. “And anyway, come Monday, you're going to tear Knox's business model to pieces from behind that desk. But tonight... tonight you're allowed to just be Zara. No papers, no bullshit, no survival mode."
"Just Zara," I repeat, testing the words on my tongue. They feel light. They feel whole.
"Just Zara. The woman who beat the odds. The woman who’s carrying our son or daughter."
I smile, leaning my head back against the dark leather headrest, casually looking over at him.
Locke is staring back at me. Not casually.
He isn't looking at the fire, or his glass, or the room. H
