𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚢-𝙽𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚆𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜

And just like that, I have an incoming call. He's far too predictable.

"Sierra?" His deep voice comes through the phone like Satan himself was calling me.

"Oh, hello. Is this Pizza Hut? I'd like a pizza with broccoli, please. And ham. And this yellowish sauce that I believe is called hollandaise sauce," I say, not even acknowledging Atlas saying my name.

Atlas sighs on the other end of the phone. "Sweetheart, that's not funny." It is, he's just a stuck-up billionaire with no sense of humour. "Do you actually want a pizza though?"

Thinking about it, I might. It was supposed to be a joke, but who the hell turns down some pizza? Except Atlas, of course. I just bet he never even tried pizza before.

"Yes. So I might order it. Would you like something to eat? Oh, wait—when will you be home? I can order for that time." I pause for a second. "They should offer salads."

"I'm not sure when I'll be done here. I'm in the middle of a conference meeting right now," he tells me.

Suddenly my cheeks feel a lot hotter than they did before. Why the hell is Atlas on the phone with me when he is in a meeting? With approximately a million people in the same room as him. Okay, maybe not a million...but it's the same fucking thing.

"Why did you call when you're in a meeting?" I ask as I force myself off the couch to walk around the house for a little while. Or play with Taco. Though, he's asleep on the couch and I don't want to wake him up.

"Business can wait," he says is if it's an explanation.

"Great. So, get back to it. I lo—I'll order in, for myself. Goodbye."

"Sweetheart." His voice is harsh as he stops me from hanging up. "I'll be forty minutes. And you won't order in, I'll go buy it." Just as he says it, I can hear doors close, probably the ones of the conference room.

"Atlas, no. I bet this meeting is important!" I can't believe this man is a CEO. How the hell does he keep a company standing when he leaves meetings like he doesn't care?

"Not so much. I'll get a summary of it, then I make decisions. And then there are other meetings and even more paperwork. You know, CEO stuff."

I roll my eyes, thanking my lucky stars that he can't see it right now. "Sometimes, I do believe you shouldn't be a CEO."

He chuckles, then I can hear him say something to Athena, who screams "SIERRA YOUR HUSBAND IS CRAZY!" right into the phone. I'm not quite sure what that is about, but she is right. Atlas is crazy.

"How are you?" Atlas asks, and if I didn't know him, I'd say he wasn't talking to me. But Atlas doesn't socialise with his employees, so I'm the only one near he'd ask that question.

"Like I said; feeling like a football."

"I have no idea what that means, but I'll just accept it," he says with an amused undertone. "How's Cynthia?"

For a second I wonder who Cynthia is...that is until I remember our little game. Cynthia? Seriously. He couldn't think of anything else? "Atlas, no," I say, laughing. "No offence to anyone named Cynthia, but no."

"Yeah, just needed to try it." Wind sounds through the phone, cars honking in the distance—some a bit too close for my liking. "Anyway, how's she doing?"

"Annoying me. She's totally your baby."

He chuckles, again. I could never get tired of hearing Atlas Storm laugh. And the best part, they're only for me. He doesn't laugh for anyone else. Maybe I'm a bit selfish, but I don't plan on sharing his smiles, chuckles and laughs with anyone but Amara—nope, not it either.

"What's she doing?"

"Kicking me. All the goddamn time. I try speaking to her in hopes it'll make her fall asleep, but it doesn't work." Dr. Diaz has told me that I have to move. Usually when I move, it rocks her to sleep. Or something like that. The less I move, the more alert she becomes.

"That's cause you're supposed to walk around, sweetheart. You need to get your ass off the couch."

"I am standing in the middle of your living room, trying to pace up and down. But this girl is being a grump." I put my free hand underneath my belly, holding myself like it'd make a difference to the weight that's killing my back.

"Sounds like me," he agrees. "It's not for long anymore, you got this, sweetheart."

I let out a frustrated groan. I want this thing to be born like right now. I no longer want the weight of her inside of me. And I definitely don't want to deal with all these hormones and cravings anymore.

And of course, I finally want to hold my very own child in my arms. Though, I do fear she will be the perfect cut-out of her father. As stubborn as she is being recently, she seems to be a lot like him. At least she didn't get his nose; that much I could tell from one of the ultrasound pictures.

"Will you eat, too?" I ask. Atlas never eats with me. I'm not sure why, even if he were to eat something else, we could still eat together. But no. He usually cooks for me, then I eat and he tidies up. A couple of hours later, Atlas gets himself something to eat. I don't quite understand why that is.

I can hear him sigh, just as a car door slams close. "I just ate like an hour ago." Yeah right. It's just another excuse as to why we won't eat at the same time.

"You know, when Sadie"—nope, not Sadie either—"is older, you'll have to learn to eat together with your family, Atlas." He knows it annoys me. I've been trying to get him to eat when I do for months. The only time that worked was on our wedding day. And it's been a while since we've gotten married. "She'll wonder why you don't eat with us otherwise. Maybe you'll upset her with it even."

He doesn't respond, but I guess that's because I can hear him order the pizza I've mentioned good ten minutes ago. Great way to avoid the topic, Storm.

"Uh, yeah. Make that two," I hear him say. From what it sounds like, Atlas just ordered two pizzas, but I won't get my hopes up. Not with him; and especially not when it comes to food.

"Can I hang up?" I ask, feeling awkward to still be on a phone call with him when all he does is order pizza, not even talking to me.

"No, you can't." Again with the harsh tone. What's gotten into him today? I haven't heard Storm speak to mean in a while, it's only ever been my Atlas recently. Guess it was about time Storm made a reappearance.

"Why not? You're not even talking to me." Perhaps because he's in a pizzeria, ordering your food.

"I am, Sierra. It literally took two minutes to order. That means; two minutes I didn't answer you. God forbid me getting your food."

"Don't be mean," I say, looking down at the greyish wooden floor.

Atlas actually got it changed.

Shortly after New Years, he had hired a company to exchange the flooring. These guys looked at Atlas as though he was completely out of his mind demanding marble flooring to be removed and exchanged with light wood, but it's not like they could complain. After all, they've gotten paid for it.

Atlas was right, though. I still trip. So maybe it wasn't the flooring after all. I do feel bad about it. Asking him to get the floor exchanged only to feel just as unsafe.

He must have paid hundreds of thousands for that marble, only for a woman he accidentally knocked up to demand a change.

As expected, Atlas doesn't comment on my words. In the world of Atlas Storm, he still can't do any wrongs. Sometimes I think he lives in two different worlds.

The work one; cold, grumpy. The Storm.

And the world when he's alone with me; loving, kind. The perfect husband.

Almost perfect. It's clear we both feel some kind of attraction to one another. And as it seems, Atlas might have had a little crush on me when he was younger. But now...now I'm hopelessly in love with my husband while he just plays the perfect role to be one.

"Atlas?" He hums, letting me know he's listening. "If my water breaks tonight, will you come with me to the hospital?" Dr. Diaz said it could happen any day now. Might take a couple more weeks, or days. It's really unpredictable. We've been told an approximate due date, but they're not always accurate.

He is quiet for a while. For a while longer than I'm comfortable with. It's kind of as if he's thinking of the perfect plan to make an exit.

"Sierra, I won't be leaving the hospital room for even just a second." Okay, can't say I expected that answer. "You'd even be allowed to break my hand while giving birth. What kind of fucked up question is that?"

Well, now it does seem silly I've asked. "I just wasn't sure you'd want to be there..." He's quiet. So awfully quiet, I think he might have hung up on me. "Can you promise me one thing?"

"Depends." He didn't end the call.

"Can you not look at my vagina? Like, when I give birth? When Dr. Diaz asks if you want to see the head or something, you'll just say no, okay?"

"I thought I'd take pictures and show them to everyone I know." Why does he always find his humour at the wrong time? "Maybe even print one out and make it my work-computer screensaver."

"That's not funny, Atlas!" Maybe a little bit.

I didn't even notice Atlas got back into his car, or drove home. Not until I hear the front door open and Atlas steps inside, hanging up the phone.

"No looking at your vagina, I got it." I want to kill this man. He has no right making fun of me.

Atlas looks at me with admiration—and a bit of pittance—in his eyes, as he walks up to me. As he reaches me, I know Atlas is about to kiss me, but because I am petty, I slap the palms of my hands against his chest a couple of times. That's what he gets for making fun of me.

"You done?" he asks bemused. I nod, just accepting defeat. He smiles before his lips meet mine in a soft kiss. Or a brush of lips, fits the description way better. "Hello, sweetheart."

"We've been talking on the phone for the past hour," I remind him. "There's no need for a hello."

Atlas doesn't even acknowledge me. He goes down on his knees, lifting the shirt from my belly. Then he suddenly looks up at me, confusion written all over his face. "Since when do you know what pants are?"

I almost laugh. Almost. I've always known what pants are, I just simply decided dresses and skirts were more my thing. "Why, you don't like my leggings?"

"Love them." Liar. He totally prefers me in dresses and skirts. He pulls down my leggings, just to get better access to the enormous bump. "Hi there, little blip."

"Not so little anymore." I roll my eyes. The pain. God, if I had known pregnancies suck as much as no one really says, I wouldn't have gotten pregnant. Okay, that's not true. After all, I wasn't planning on getting pregnant in the first place.

Athena was complaining about being pregnant all the time. I wouldn't believe her. I thought she was kidding with all the "my body hurts" and "I need to pee's". All the blogs talk about how magical pregnancies are and how much they've loved it.

Loved what? The pain? The vomiting? The peeing all the goddamn time? The cravings—nasty food cravings? The mood swings? What exactly did they love?

The only positive things I can think of are no periods, which also isn't exactly that true. I am spotting. Every now and then. And it's annoying. But at least a little less period then.

And the other good thing: the baby.

That's it.

Atlas presses his mouth to my stomach, then continues to speak to his daughter for a little while before he realises this baby is still inside of me.

He looks up, his eyes meeting mine. "You know, you're the only woman I've ever went on my knees for."

Is it reasonable to punch my husband in the face for lying? I think so.

"If it weren't for Livi, you wouldn't even kneel right now." Crossing Livi from the list of potential names for the blip. "You didn't even go down on one knee for a proposal. You just demanded I marry you and that was it."

"Aw, you wanted a nice dinner and me asking you all nicely?" Atlas props one knee up, taking one of my hands in his. "I may not have a nice dinner prepared, but I brought you pizza."

Atlas slides my wedding ring off my finger, holding it up as if he were to propose. "Sierra, I love you so very much, please marry me." My jaw drops, eyes widening, my breath getting caught in my lungs as I try to figure out whether or not I've heard him correctly. "I promise you'll get all the Good Mornings and Good Nights you so desperately want."

I think I might have forgotten how speaking works. My brain certainly can't form any words, and my mouth is stuck in an half-open half-closed position.

How can Atlas so easily joke about loving me? He didn't even laugh saying it, which is cruel. If he continues to look at me as if he means it, I might believe his I love you. Which would only end in heartbreak.

"Atlas," I manage to bring across my lips. My voice barely audible.

"Don't tell me you're already married, sweetheart. I wouldn't be able to take that."

"Atlas," I try again. "Stop playing with me." Anger with a mix of confusion rushes through my body, clearly taking over. "You don't love me."

He chuckles like all this, my heart, is truly nothing but a game for him. "I do love you, Sierra."

Shaking my head, I take a step back. Yet somehow, I still hold onto his hand. I'm not sure why, but his hand in mine feels right. Like that's exactly where his belongs.

"You can't. You said it so easily." He is joking, right? There's no way he meant that. "That was all games—and...no. That wasn't the truth, was it?"

He stands, resting his hands on my jawline. Atlas forces me to look right into his eyes; deep, transparent and blue. Never have I seen more emotions playing in his eyes than I do now.

"I mean it, Sierra," he says, his pupils dilating slightly. They don't dilate because he's lying, but because he fears my reaction that follows. "I love you."

He can't possibly mean it. Nobody says "I love you" as easily as he just did.

Being too stunned to even come up with words, I go with blinking. Blinking and breathing. That sounds good.

Atlas slides my ring back onto my finger, planting a kiss to my forehead before he leads me into the kitchen. "You're still hungry, aren't you?" he asks as he seats me onto one of the barstools. I only manage to nod. "Good, because I'd hate to eat your weird pizza all by myself."

I'm not sure what kind of movements my face makes, but I can feel my eyebrows move, even the tip of my nose. So many emotions boil inside of me, not even my brain knows what the hell is going on.

"You're eating with me? As in, we're eating together? At the same time? You and me?"

"Unless you want me to leave." No. Or maybe I do? God, I don't know!

"You didn't get a salad," I note instead of deciding whether or not I want him to stay. "You do know broccoli on pizza doesn't make the pizza less...pizza?"

He chuckles, nodding. "I'll survive."

Or maybe he won't. And then he died without knowing how I feel about him.

Despite me not being sure if he's lying to me or not, I am completely and utterly in love with this man. And yet I refuse to tell him even though he technically said it first.

The thing is...if he's lying and I say it back, I become more vulnerable to him. Love is scary, so freakishly scary. You allow one person to be able to break you into pieces, and you can't even be mad when they do. You can't be mad because there are only two ways a relationship can go;

Either you get married (not necessarily), start a family (not necessarily), be happy and stay together forever. Or you fall in love, and it ends in heartbreak.

I can't allow Atlas to break me. Enough men have had this power, not in form of love, but they broke me in other ways. They chose other forms of violence to leave scars...but despite that, love still seems like the most violent one.

"Atlas?" He sets one pizza box down right in front of me. "If you really love me, do you know what you've just done?"

"Not sure I know what you mean." He takes a seat next to me, his eyes lingering on mine as he waits for an explanation.

"You just made yourself vulnerable to me."

He smiles softly, bobbing his head as he agrees. "Yeah, what do you want to do?" he asks, taking my hand in his. "Are you going to break my heart?" His voice is a whisper as he speaks.

I nod, though I hope this nod is a lie. At this point, I can't even control my own reactions anymore. Every little blood vessel inside of me screams his name, has been intoxicated with this man. My lungs breathe off of him. I am in deep shit here.

"Really?" He leans in closer, so close I can feel the heat of his body meet mine. With his mouth to my ear, he says, "So break my heart, sweetheart. I'll thank you for it."