Alpha – Chapter 18

Under siege

Hayvenhurst – Two months later

Lisa

In the end, the thing that tipped me off wasn’t the headlines, but my body. I woke up one morning and realized I simply couldn’t just roll onto my side anymore. I had to think about it first, plan the movement to the tiniest detail. Two months ago, I could turn over in my sleep without waking up, and now there was this pause, this negotiation with my own center of gravity that took actual concentration.

I was seven months pregnant.

Of course, all that had happened wasn’t abstract anymore. It simply could not be. I could feel the weight pulling me forward when I stood up, tugging my spine into positions it had never been in before. My balance was completely different. I moved through rooms differently, I had different kinds of hungers and cravings. Even my thoughts seemed to arrange themselves around this new, unavoidable fact of my body.

The small changes were everywhere. I’d started measuring time by when the baby kicked instead of checking the clock. My days revolved around brief windows when I actually had energy. And my hand kept ending up on my stomach: I’d notice it there and couldn’t remember putting it there, like it had decided that was just where it lived now.

Michael was still asleep when I got out of bed. He’d been staying over most nights lately, and we didn’t sleep much when he did. My sex drive had gone completely feral, which honestly shocked me. I had never been a pillow queen or uninterested in sex, not by a long shot, but I’d at least expected my body to turn cautious, maybe even self-conscious. Instead, I felt raw and open and constantly hungry for him. It didn’t feel reckless, exactly. Just intensely physical in a way that was also somehow deeply affectionate.

With Michael, sex never felt like something I was doing in spite of being pregnant. If anything, my body wanted it even more because of the pregnancy, like everything had finally aligned and I didn’t have to perform or prove anything anymore.

I looked back at him before I left the room. He was sprawled across my bed, one arm thrown out, his hair messed up against the pillow. He looked exhausted. Seeing him there still hit me somewhere low in my stomach, that immediate pull of wanting him that then softened into something else, something steadier. I’d stopped questioning it or adding mental qualifiers.

I was in love with him. Fully. No footnote. That was just true now. I was in love with this man in a way I’d never been in love before.

Downstairs, Hayvenhurst was waking up slowly. The house had its own pace, something older and more solid than whatever chaos was happening outside the gates. Morning light seeped through the tall windows and spread across the floors. I heard a door open and close somewhere. Footsteps, unhurried. People who knew that nothing here needed to be rushed, coming and going like all was normal in the world.

I went into the kitchen and stopped.

The TV was on, but muted. My name scrolled across the bottom of the screen in block letters. Michael’s face was frozen next to it, some photo they’d dug up from god knows where.

I stood there with one hand on the counter and one on my hip, trying my best to keep my composure and, quite surprisingly, managing to remain calm and collected.

So. The world that acted anything but normal kept being obsessed with us. There was simply no escape from that.

Someone had left newspapers scattered across the kitchen table, like they’d tried to hide them and then given up. I didn’t need to read them to know what they said: speculation pretending to be concern, pregnancy rumors, location leaks… It was the usual mix of breathless gossip and manufactured outrage.

The phone on the wall started ringing, sharp and insistent. Then it stopped on its own, as no one picked up. A minute later, another line started up somewhere deeper in the house. It rang and rang until it finally quit.

Katherine must have told everyone to let them ring. Michael’s family was closing ranks around me, around the baby, around Michael himself. I sighed, feeling somehow guilty that they were being dragged into this mess.

I picked up the remote from the counter and turned off the TV. Peace seemed to come back immediately, like it had just been waiting. I breathed through the tight feeling in my chest until it loosened. Until the house felt solid again.

Hayvenhurst was good at that. Absorbing pressure without reflecting it back at you. Shaking my head, I walked over to the fridge.

I poured a glass of water and drank it slowly, and my stomach shifted as I moved. The baby rolled, lazy and unconcerned. That feeling grounded me better than any meditation book ever had. Whatever was happening outside, this was real. This was happening right now, inside my body.

One of the phones rang again somewhere, possibly the home office, then cut off abruptly. Someone had answered it.

I knew Priscilla had already called twice that morning – I’d heard the staff taking messages. It meant that she and her team were in a frenzy, professional and urgent language barely disguising panic. Crisis management, damage control, optics. I wasn’t surprised because I knew my mother. She couldn’t tolerate having the press run with a story she hadn’t perused first.

Not being able to get a hold of me in any way, she’d already sent someone to the gate yesterday. One of her people, I didn’t know which one – I didn’t ask because I didn’t fucking care. What I did know was that Katherine had the staff turn them away politely but firmly. No visitors, no exceptions. I was more than okay with it.

After all, as far as I was concerned, I’d already decided. There would be no calls, no meetings, no explanations with Priscilla or any of her henchmen. And most of all, no emissaries negotiating on her behalf like this was a hostage situation she could resolve with the right intermediary.

It hurt more than I wanted to admit, keeping that distance from my mother. Despite my best efforts, the guilt sat heavy in my chest, because years of conditioning didn’t evaporate just because I’d finally recognized it for what it was. But it had become clear to me that her insensitivity ran deeper than I’d realized. She didn’t see me as a person making my own choices: she saw me as something to be managed, controlled, trained into compliance. Like a misbehaved puppy pissing on her favorite carpet. I was a problem that reflected badly on her if not handled correctly.

And maybe that was the difference now. The baby had sharpened something in me: my little girl had brought with her some instinct I didn’t know I had. When I thought about protecting this child, my boundaries stopped feeling like rebellion and started feeling like responsibility.

I’d also learned the hard way that lack of words wasn’t the same as avoidance. Sometimes it was just a boundary, maybe the only one I had left. Which meant that my silence wasn’t absence or weakness or even punishment, but a choice. Perhaps the first fully adult choice I’d made where her opinion didn’t factor into the equation at all.

Regardless, Priscilla was still out there. That much, I knew. Waiting for me to crack, to need her, to come back into the fold on her terms. And in the past, under different circumstances, her plan would have likely worked at some point. But inside these walls, I got to decide what came through and what stayed out.

For now, that included my mother.

By the time Michael came downstairs, wearing crumpled corduroy pants and an old, checkered shirt, I’d gotten rid of the newspapers and the kitchen looked normal again. He glanced at me, then at the counter, then back at me. He didn’t ask what happened. He never did with stuff like this. He just came over and kissed me, slow and deliberate, his hand settling on my lower back.

It struck me that he didn’t look around first, that he didn’t check if anyone was watching. Michael had always been careful about avoiding PDA in front of his family, especially the Jehovah’s Witnesses among them. After all, we weren’t married. I was carrying his baby, and we weren’t even officially engaged. We were just… something. Lovers, a man and a woman in love, future co-parents, but nothing official. I knew that mattered to them, and it used to make him guarded. But something had shifted in him since we’d said the words out loud to each other: I love you. He’d stopped moderating himself or weighing what they might think before touching me. It was like becoming a father had reorganized what mattered most to him, and their potential judgment had simply fallen off the list.

“You okay?” His voice was still rough from sleep. Or lack thereof.

“I’m fine.” And I was. Well, at least I wasn’t falling apart any longer. That felt like progress.

He nodded and went to make coffee. I’d started to really enjoy watching him move around the kitchen – Katherine’s kitchen, technically, but he moved through it like he was trying to make it ours too. He’d learned to adjust his pace to mine without making it obvious. He grabbed things before I realized I needed them. His attention stayed on me constantly, and never in a smothering way. It was more like he’d decided this was his priority and he wasn’t delegating it to anyone else.

We ate breakfast at the island, our knees touching. His hand found my thigh and stayed there, casual and familiar. Every so often he’d lean in and kiss me again, like he couldn’t quite help himself. Like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to.

I caught myself smiling at nothing in particular, and didn’t try to stop. Michael noticed and gave me one of those lopsided smirks I’d come to adore.

“What are you smiling at?”

“Nothing…”

“Okay…”

The phones kept ringing. The house lines, mostly, answered by staff trained to be polite and give nothing away. The outside world was pushing harder. But inside, time felt slower, more spacious.

Later, I settled onto the living room couch with the careful maneuvering pregnancy required. Michael disappeared to return some calls that actually needed returning. He was better at handling controlled chaos than I was. Always had been.

I lay there with one hand on my belly, listening to the quiet sounds of the house. Someone laughed softly somewhere. A door closed. Footsteps passed and faded. The sounds of a place that people actually lived in, instead of just staged for photos.

It was strange that this felt more radical than any big romantic gesture we could have made. This calmness, this ordinary domesticity, this feeling of being held by walls and routines.

Outside, they were already writing the narrative for us. Inside, I was writing my own. One day at a time.

The baby moved again, in a slow deliberate roll that made me gasp and then laugh. “Yeah,” I said quietly, looking down. “I know, honey. I know.”

When Michael came back, he sat down next to me and put his hand over mine without saying anything. We stayed like that for a while. Quiet. Letting all the noise stay where it belonged.

Hayvenhurst didn’t flinch. Neither did I.

Michael

The library was one of the few places in the house where the noise didn’t even try to follow you.

It sat slightly apart from the main flow of Hayvenhurst, tucked behind heavy doors and shelves that reached almost to the ceiling. The light was softer in there, filtered through tall windows and old trees outside. Even the clocks seemed to tick differently. If you stayed long enough, you could forget there were phones ringing elsewhere, people negotiating things you hadn’t agreed to negotiate.

Lisa was asleep upstairs. I knew because I’d stood in the doorway longer than I should have, listening until her breathing settled into something deep and even. We’d spent the entire night wrapped around each other, barely stopping long enough to drink water or catch our breath, and by mid-afternoon her body had finally taken what it needed. I had pulled the curtains to keep the light off her face. Adjusted the pillows. Once. Twice. A third time, because I couldn’t stop myself. Then I made myself leave before I woke her again.

I’d thought about it more than once, whether I should stay away some nights. Give her more rest. Give her body a break from the way we kept reaching for each other like we had all the time in the world and none of it at once. It seemed reasonable, logical, mature. Too bad the thought never stuck.

Besides, it would have been pointless anyway because we didn’t just have sex at night. We found ways to be alone whenever we could – between phone calls, between meals, between whatever else we were supposed to be doing. Stolen moments in empty rooms, her pulling me into hallways, my hands on her before the door was fully closed. The pregnancy had made her insatiable, and I wasn’t complaining at all because I felt the same. Even if we’d managed to slow down, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away. The idea of leaving Hayvenhurst when I didn’t have to felt fundamentally wrong. I needed to be near her. To know I could hear her breathe if I stood still long enough.

So I split my time. The studio when I had to be there, recording, adjusting, writing. Hayvenhurst whenever I could get back. It wasn’t a strategy. It was instinct, and I’d stopped questioning it.

I carried a stack of books into the library. Someone, surely Mother, had added to the pile overnight. Hardcovers, paperbacks, titles about childbirth, infant care, early development. Some looked decades old, others looked brand new, glossy and earnest.

I spread them across the table and sat down.

At first, I tried to read them properly. Cover to cover, page by page. However, that didn’t last.

So I started flipping instead. Cross-referencing. Making notes in the margins even though the books weren’t mine. Lists kept forming without my permission.

Things to ask the doctor. Things to have ready. Things I could screw up if I wasn’t careful.

I’d always been good at preparation. Touring schedules, recording sessions, rehearsals… those were systems I knew and understood. Variables I could predict and control if I stayed ahead of them. But this was different: the stakes were higher, and the margin for error felt nonexistent.

I stopped on a chapter about breathing techniques and laughed quietly to myself. I’d already been timing Lisa’s breathing at night without meaning to, listening to it like music, memorizing the rhythm. I could tell when she was drifting deeper just by how her exhale softened. I knew when she was uncomfortable before she said anything because her body would shift in this specific way, like she was trying not to bother me.

That thought made my heart flutter.

I didn’t want her to feel like she had to be careful around me. Ever.

I picked up another book and read about nutrition: how often she should be eating, what helped her sleep, what helped with energy. And again, I already knew most of it from watching her, because I’d started keeping track without planning to. What made her feel better, what she pushed around on her plate, when she needed to lie down even when she pretended she didn’t.

I told myself it was just practical, that I was just being attentive. But the truth was simpler than that.

I wanted to get this right.

I’d wanted a family for as long as I could remember. Not in some vague, someday kind of way. I used to picture it late at night when the house was too quiet and my mind wouldn’t shut off. A table with too many chairs, noise, kids talking over each other. The kind of chaos you didn’t need to escape from.

It was a dream I’d gotten used to postponing. Every year there was another reason, another obligation, another thing that had to come first. Every year there was some woman I thought could be right for me but wasn’t. I kept telling myself I’d get to it eventually. When things settled, when the timing was better.

The timing was never better… until now.

I didn’t think Lisa had given me that dream. Somehow, it had always been there. She’d just made it possible to reach for without feeling like I was stealing from everything else.

I was making notes when I heard footsteps in the hallway, slow and familiar. The door opened quietly.

Lisa stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, wearing a robe. Her hair was still loose from sleep, her face soft and flushed. She looked good enough to eat.

“You disappeared on me.”

“I didn’t mean to. I was just -”

She looked at the table, at the books spread out everywhere. Her mouth twitched and I could tell she was repressing a smile.

“Oh my God. Are you studying again?”

“Nope. I’m just reading.”

She came closer, leaning over to look at one of the open pages. “That’s a lot of reading for one single man.”

“I like to be informed.”

She snorted. “You just like to be in control.”

I smiled. “I don’t.”

“You’re so full of shit, Mike.”

I put a hand to my chest in mock offense. “Hey! Language!”

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “You weren’t worried about my language last night, when I asked you to fuck the holy heaven out of me…”

“Lisa…”

“…Or when I asked you to take me from behind and I even begged you to -”

I giggled, feeling my cheeks go up in flames, then cleared my throat.

“Will you stop?”

“Sure. I’m just saying you weren’t worried.”

“Yeah, because that was different.”

“How?”

“Context, obviously,” I replied, trying to keep a straight face.

She laughed and shook her head. “You’re such a bad liar.”

She lowered herself into the chair across from me, the movement careful but practiced. I watched her without trying to hide it: the curve of her stomach, the way she settled and adjusted until she was comfortable. Desire hit me immediately, sharp and low, then melted into something steadier. It was all mixed together now. Want and love and care and something close to awe.

“You don’t have to do all this, you know…” she said, nodding at the books. Her tone was light, but I could hear the warmth underneath.

“I know. But I want to.”

She studied me for a moment, like she was deciding whether to push.

“I used to think,” I said before she could, “that wanting this meant giving something else up. Like there was only room for one life.” I tapped the page in front of me. “Turns out I just didn’t know what to make room for.”

Her expression softened.

“I’ve always wanted a big family.” Saying it out loud felt strange and right at the same time. “Not just one or two kids. A lot of them. A full house. I just kept putting it off. Telling myself later.” I paused, looking at her. “Until I met you.”

She was quiet for a moment, her expression unreadable, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Well… believe it or not, I’ve always imagined myself as a mother,” she murmured softly. “Even when I didn’t know what that would look like or when it would happen. I just knew.”

“You’re going to be an amazing mom,” I said, and I meant it completely.

Her eyes got bright, and she smiled. “Well, I’ve come to believe you’ll be a wonderful dad.”

Something in my chest loosened at that. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A long silence followed, dense and meaningful.

She smiled then, slow and knowing, and the air between us shifted. “By the way… You realize this whole thing you’re doing is incredibly sexy, right?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Me? With a stack of parenting manuals?”

“Especially you with a stack of parenting manuals.” She leaned forward slightly, her eyes bright. “It’s hot as hell. Don’t get too cocky about it, though. I’m still going to make fun of you.”

“Lisa Marie,” I said, widening my eyes in exaggerated shock.

“What? You’ve heard worse from me.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m used to it.”

“Liar,” she said, grinning. “You are… and you love it.”

She wasn’t wrong. In fact, she was 100% correct. And I loved the way we’d started talking to each other – this easy, sharp banter.

She squeezed my hand, watching me with that look she’d been giving me more often lately. The one that made it hard to remember why we were being responsible adults in the middle of the afternoon. The one that reminded me how badly I wanted her, pregnant or not, or maybe especially because of it. Everything about her felt more vivid now, more necessary.

“You done for now?” she asked, her voice dropping just enough to make the question mean something else too.

“Yeah. For now.”

“Good. Because I’m hungry.” She stood up slowly, and I was already on my feet, my hand at her back, steadying her without her really needing any help. “And since I assume you’ve read all this, I’m expecting very specific… nourishment recommendations.”

I sure did.

I laughed, pulling her closer for just a second, kissing her slowly, letting myself feel the warmth of her body against mine before we moved toward the door. Yeah, I too was hungry.

As we left the library together, the books stayed open on the table.

I didn’t mind. I wasn’t going anywhere.

Later that night

Lisa was finally out. Completely conked out.

Not drifting, not half-aware, not hovering in that restless space where her body stayed hungry even when her eyes were closed. She was properly asleep, and it was the kind of sleep that only came when she’d been wrung dry, when her body had taken everything it wanted and then some and decided it was done.

I lay on my back beside her, sheets twisted around my legs, my skin still buzzing with the aftershocks. We’d been at it for hours, starting sweet and careful, her body soft and yielding under my hands as I traced the curves that had become so familiar, so cherished. It was almost like her skin glowed warmer and her responses were sharper, every sigh and arch a testament to the life we shared. It began with kisses in the dim light of the room, her fingers weaving through my hair as I explored her slowly, reverently, my lips following the path from her neck to the gentle swell of her belly, where I lingered, pressing soft kisses that made her breath hitch.

“Michael,” she’d whispered, her voice laced with that mix of tenderness and need, pulling me up to meet her mouth again, our tongues dancing in a rhythm that built the heat gradually, unhurried.

But as the evening deepened, so did the intensity. Soon, it became mouths and hands and the kind of friction that obliterated thought. The sex drive between us had hit an all-time high these past weeks: it was insatiable, like a fire we’d stoked without restraint, and there was no more quiet consideration of time or place or who might hear us down the hall.

What started as gentle exploration shifted when she rolled us over, straddling me as her eyes glazed over as if in a trance, her hands pinning mine above my head as she rocked against me, teasing until I was aching for her. “You want this?” she’d murmured, her voice low, guiding me inside her with a slow descent that made us both moan. The connection was profound, her warmth enveloping me completely as she moved with deliberate grace, her hips dancing over me in ways that drew out every sensation, building the pleasure layer by layer.

We didn’t hold back. We just couldn’t. The careful restraint we’d maintained since her pregnancy scare gave way to something more urgent, though always mindful. She leaned back, her hands on my thighs for balance, riding me with a rhythm that quickened our breaths, her breasts rising and falling with each motion, fuller and more sensitive now, begging for attention. I sat up to meet her, my mouth claiming one nipple, sucking gently as my thumb circled the other, eliciting moans that vibrated through us both. “Yes… That’s it… just like that,” she moaned, her pace faltering, her inner walls fluttering around me. The drive was electric, her body responding to mine with a hunger that mirrored my own, every thrust and grind amplifying the connection, the love threading through without words.

We shifted fluidly, her on her side as I spooned behind her, entering her slowly from that angle, my arm wrapped around to cradle her belly protectively while my other hand explored between her thighs, fingers circling that sensitive spot with light, insistent pressure. “Lise… You feel so damn good,” I whispered against her ear, thrusting deeper, the position allowing for closeness without strain, her leg hooked over mine to draw me in.

“And you feel so damn big…”

She arched back into me, her hand reaching to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer for a kiss over her shoulder. “Don’t stop… I need you like this,” she gasped, her body trembling as pleasure built again. It was intoxicating, the way we fit, the rawness unraveling us, her moans soft but fervent, urging me on until release crested for her again, pulling me under with her.

And even after, the fire didn’t die. It simmered, reigniting when she turned to face me, our legs entwined as she guided my hand back between us, her touch on me reigniting the ache. “Touch me while I touch you, I wanna see you…” she murmured, her fingers wrapping around me, stroking me with slow, deliberate pulls that made me groan. We pleasured each other like that, hands exploring, eyes locked, until the need overtook us once more, her climbing atop me again for a final, languid union. She’d gone boneless against me at the end, her breathing finally evening out into something deep and peaceful, her body curled into mine with complete trust.

At that point, as I listened to her breathing, I knew I should have fallen asleep too, yet I couldn’t.

My body was exhausted – muscles loose, chest still tight from exertion – but my mind kept reeling, refusing to settle. It never really did. Insomnia had been with me for several years: it didn’t matter how worn out I was physically, my thoughts stayed wide awake, pacing like they had somewhere else to be.

I turned my head to finally look at Lisa, and I took my sweet time taking it all in because truly, she was a sight to behold. Her long hair cascaded on the pillow. Still damp at the temples, it stuck to her cheek, while one hand rested on her naked stomach, fingers curved without thought, protective even in sleep. I knew she needed this rest. I could tell by how completely she’d let go, how her breathing had finally smoothed into that deep, unguarded, relaxed rhythm. That image still hit me somewhere deep, desire flaring sharp and immediate before melting into something steadier, something that didn’t need anything back.

There was no longer confusion in me. I knew exactly what I felt. It was love: love that had woven itself into every moment, until it had become untamable, undeniable. Our chemistry was at its peak, fueled by this new intimacy, but it was finally more than desire for both of us; it was connection, acceptance, a quiet promise in the afterglow.

I slid out of bed carefully, not even bothering with clothes. The room smelled like sex – skin and sweat and something earthier underneath. Evidence of what we’d been doing for the past few hours. I padded into the bathroom quietly and closed the door halfway behind me.

The overhead light was harsh when I flicked it on. I blinked against it, then caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror and stopped.

I’d seen myself in mirrors my whole life, never entirely enjoying my reflection. It was in studio mirrors surrounded by lights, with people telling me what they saw. It was in dressing room mirrors where I prepared to become something for an audience. But this was different. It was just me, without any performance and no one watching.

I realized I looked different somehow, although not in any way I could point to exactly. But something in my face had changed. My eyes looked steadier, less guarded. My shoulders didn’t sit like they were braced for impact. There was a looseness to my posture I didn’t recognize. Whatever I saw now, it was much more enjoyable than what I had forced myself to accept in the past.

Was this what growing up actually meant?

Not the fame or the mastery or standing on top of the world with everyone screaming your name, but this quieter thing. This sense of having finally landed somewhere real, somewhere that mattered more than any stage ever had.

I pressed my palms against the sink and leaned forward, staring at my own reflection.

I was going to be a father.

The thought didn’t terrify me the way people seemed to expect it would. If anything, it grounded me, anchored me. I was too fucking happy, about Lisa, about the baby, about this life we were building, to be scared of what came next. I’d always been hopeful by nature, even when the world insisted on throwing something else at me. I looked for the good. I truly believed things could work out in the end. I still did, maybe more now than ever.

I knew Lisa wasn’t built that way. She carried more shadow, more skepticism about how things would turn out. Her life hadn’t been easy – she had entered adulthood already full of loss, grief, confusion. But the pregnancy had also done something to her. It hadn’t softened her exactly, that wasn’t the right word, although she was utterly, devastatingly soft and vulnerable underneath her tough exterior. It had filled something in. Like a piece of herself she didn’t know was missing had finally slid into place, and everything else was rearranging around it. Watching that transformation had been staggering, beautiful in a way I didn’t have words for.

I pulled on a pair of loose cotton pajama pants and an old t-shirt, soft and worn thin from years of washing. The fabric hung easy on my frame as I headed downstairs, barefoot on the cool floor.

The kitchen lights were low when I got there, just the soft glow from under the cabinets. I poured myself water and drank it too fast, then found myself pulling things out without really thinking about it. Crackers. A banana. Some juice. I arranged them on a tray, something she could grab if she woke up hungry, which she always did after nights like this. Her appetite had become voracious lately, and I’d learned to anticipate it.

I turned toward the door and froze.

My mother sat at the kitchen table, her Bible open in front of her. How had I not spotted her?

She was in her robe, reading glasses perched low on her nose. She looked up slowly, her expression calm and unreadable.

“Good evening, son.”

“Good evening, Mother.”

My stomach dropped and I felt my cheeks go up in flames. I was suddenly acutely aware of everything – my bare feet, my disheveled appearance, the way my shirt was too crumpled not to be noticeable, the tray of food in my hands that announced exactly what I’d been doing and why Lisa might need sustenance at two in the morning.

Her eyes moved over me once, taking it all in. Not judging exactly, just observing.

I set the tray down on the counter, my movements careful. “I… eh… was just getting some water.”

“I can see that,” she said quietly.

She closed the Bible gently, keeping one finger between the pages to mark her place. The silence stretched out between us, thick and charged with everything we weren’t saying.

“Sit down with me for a minute, Michael.”

Her voice was soft, but I knew hers wasn’t a request. I obeyed immediately, pulling out a chair and sitting with my back straight, hands folded in my lap. Old muscle memory from childhood, from a thousand corrections about posture and respect.

“How are you?” she asked.

“I’m well,” I replied automatically. Then I paused, because she deserved better than rehearsed answers. “I’m… very well, Mother.”

She nodded slowly. “You do look content.”

“I am.”

She studied me for a long moment, her gaze direct but not unkind. Not prying. Just seeing me clearly.

“Lisa is resting,” I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to explain, but it felt necessary.

“Yes. I can imagine she is.”

That landed heavier than any lecture could have. She knew. Of course she knew. This was her house.

“What are your plans?” she asked.

I tried to deflect. “For tonight?”

“For your life, Michael.”

I took a slow breath, feeling the weight of the question. “I want to be present,” I said carefully. “Not involved from a distance or part-time. Present. Actually there. For her and for our baby.”

She nodded once. “That’s good.”

Then, without any preamble: “Are you planning to marry her, sooner or later?”

Clean and direct, without any drama or buildup. That was Katherine Jackson.

“Yes.” Then, after a moment of hesitation, “I asked her, actually. A few months ago, back in Hawaii. After talking to you.”

“I don’t remember us talking about marriage during that call.”

“We didn’t. But it felt the right thing to do.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly – surprise, maybe, or approval. I couldn’t tell which.

I cleared my throat and swallowed, the memory still raw even months later. “Anyway… She said no.”

My mother’s expression didn’t change, but something in her eyes softened. “Why?”

“Because…” I paused, trying to find the right words. “Because I asked in the wrong way, or for the wrong reasons… maybe both. Or at least, she thought I did and I guess I wasn’t able to explain myself. You know me… I can be clumsy that way. Her mother had just torn through her like a hurricane, and Joseph had confirmed our relationship to the press without permission. I’m sure you’re aware of that. Regardless… everything was falling apart, and I thought… I stupidly thought if I could just give her something solid, something certain, it would help.”

“And she saw through that.”

“Yeah.” I looked down at my hands. “She told me I was trying to fix the situation, not proposing because I actually wanted to marry her. That she wouldn’t be a solution I applied to someone else’s problem.”

The words still stung, even now. Not because they were cruel, but because I knew Lisa had been right. Devastatingly right.

“She refused to be put in a box she never agreed to climb into,” I continued, my voice barely above a whisper. “And then she asked me to leave. To go back home. I’d never felt like more of a failure in my life than walking out of that bedroom.”

My mother stayed quiet for a long moment, studying me with that particular gaze that had always seen more than I wanted to show.

“But you didn’t give up on her,” she said eventually.

“No. I couldn’t. I would never.” I exhaled slowly. “And she never cut me off completely. Thankfully. We talked. Really talked. And then a few weeks ago, I told her I loved her, not because I thought it would fix anything, but because it is true and I needed her to know it. She said it back. We started over. Properly this time.”

“And now?” Katherine asked.

“Now everything’s different. We’re different. What we have now…” I struggled to articulate the tangled mess in my mind. “It’s not about fixing problems or managing crises. It’s real. It’s us choosing each other every day, even when it’s complicated. Especially when it’s complicated.”

“Then you’ll know when it’s time to ask again,” she said firmly. “Not when you’re afraid or trying to protect her from something. When you’re simply ready to build a life together because neither of you can imagine it any other way. And believe me, she will want you to ask her again.”

“Yes, Mother.”

She stood, smoothing her robe. “That girl upstairs loves you. I can see it in how she looks at you, how she moves around you. But she’s been burned by people who loved her wrong. You love her right, and when the time comes, she’ll say yes.”

The certainty in her voice made something loosen in my chest.

“Go back upstairs,” she said gently. “She’ll wake soon.”

I stood too, taller than her but still somehow feeling small in the face of her quiet authority. “Thank you, Mother.”

She nodded once, then moved past me toward the hallway, her footsteps quiet on the tiles.

I grabbed the tray and headed back upstairs, my heart still pounding slightly from the encounter.

When I pushed open the bedroom door, I heard water running. The bathroom door was ajar, steam curling out into the cooler air of the bedroom. I set the tray on the dresser and moved to the doorway.

Lisa had indeed woken up. She stood under the shower spray, eyes closed, water streaming over her face and down her body. Her hand rested on the curve of her stomach, fingers splayed. The sight of her hit me hard, as it usually did lately, desire and awe and tenderness all tangled up together until I couldn’t separate one from the other.

I watched her for a moment, not wanting to startle her, then stepped into the bathroom. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Her eyes opened, finding mine through the steam. She smiled, slow and tired. “I could. But I woke up, and I wanted to relax a little.”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Please.”

I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower behind her, the hot water immediately soaking into my skin. I wrapped my arms around her carefully, one hand settling over hers on her stomach. She leaned back against me with a soft sound that went straight through my chest.

“You okay?” I asked quietly, my mouth close to her ear.

“Mh-mh. I just needed to rinse off. And I got hungry.”

I smiled against her shoulder. “I figured. There’s food in the bedroom.”

Her hand reached back, stroking my hair on the back of my head.

“You’re such a good guy, you know that?”

“I do my best.”

We stayed like that for a while, just standing under the water, her body warm and solid against mine. Eventually I reached for the soap and started washing her carefully – her shoulders, her back, down her arms. She hummed contentedly, tilting her head when I worked shampoo through her hair.

“I ran into my mother downstairs,” I said quietly.

“Oh God.” Lisa turned to look at me, eyes wide. “Was she horrified?”

“No. She was… calm and collected, as you would expect her to be. She asked about my plans. Well… our plans.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“That I want to marry you. That I asked.”

Lisa went still. “You told her I said no?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“She said that was good. That I’d know when to ask again. And that yours was likely more a not now than a no.”

She just stared at me with those hooded eyes that contained universes. It was one of those times when I couldn’t really tell what was going through her mind. I was madly in love with her, I felt like she’d been created for me, yet she was still somewhat of a mystery to me.

“Was it? A not now more than a no-no, you can very well forget about it?”

I saw her repress a smile as her eyes closed for a second. Then they opened again and the cerulean of her irises, a weird mix of green and blue and gray, hit me like a train in full run.

“Probably.”

I took a deep breath, doing my best to maintain my composure. I could deal with probably.

“Good.”

Lisa’s expression softened. She turned fully in my arms, water streaming between us. “I gotta tell you, Mike… your mother is terrifying and wonderful at the same time.”

“Yeah. That about covers it.”

She kissed me then, slow and thorough, her hands sliding up my chest. I felt myself responding immediately, but I made myself pull back before we got too carried away again.

“Come on,” I said, my voice rough. “Let’s get you dried off and fed.”

I turned off the water and grabbed towels, taking my time drying her carefully – her hair, her shoulders, down her arms and legs. She laughed when I fussed too much over her feet, swatting my hand away, but then she pulled it back and kissed my knuckles.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said lovingly.

“Yeah, well… You’re welcome.”

We ended up back on the bed, both of us in clean t-shirts and underwear, the tray of food between us. Lisa ate like she was starving – crackers and banana and half the juice – while I picked at the leftovers and watched her.

“I want to show you something,” she said suddenly, looking up at me.

“What?”

“Graceland.”

I blinked, caught completely off guard. “You wanna go to Memphis?”

“Yeah.” She set down her cracker, her expression turning more serious. “I know it’s complicated right now with everything going on. But I want you to see it. I want you to see where I’m from. Where my dad is. It matters to me that you understand that part of my life.”

I thought about the logistics immediately – the press hunting us, her being seven months pregnant, the risk of being spotted. But I also saw how much this truly meant the world to her, the way her eyes had gone soft and vulnerable when she said it.

“You sure you wanna do that? We’d have to plan it carefully,” I said slowly. “The press is insane right now. And you’re…” I gestured at her stomach.

“I’m fine,” she said firmly. “I’m seven months pregnant, Mike, not incapacitated. Women travel all the time at this stage. They work, they take care of stuff…” She touched my chest lightly. “They do all kinds of stuff, actually…”

“I know, but-”

“Michael.” She put her hand over mine. “I want to do this. With you. Before the baby comes and everything changes.”

I looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. Then we plan it. Carefully.”

Her whole face lit up. “Really?”

“Really. But we do it smart. Private plane, minimal people who know, probably fly at night to avoid attention at the airport. We’d need to coordinate with security at Graceland too, make sure we can get in and out without-”

“Oh, gosh. You’re already strategizing,” she said, grinning.

“Well, someone has to.”

She kissed me, still smiling. “This is why I love you.”

“Because I’m a control freak?”

“Because you take care of things. And you take care of me.”

We lay back against the pillows, her head on my shoulder, already talking through the details. Flight times, who we could trust to make arrangements, how long we’d stay. The planning gave structure to the excitement, made it feel real and possible.

Outside our little bubble, the world could keep spinning. The press could keep speculating. Priscilla could keep calling. But right now, at two in the morning with cracker crumbs in the bed and Lisa warm against my side, we were exactly where we needed to be.

And in a few days, I’d see where she came from. The place that made her who she was.

In all frankness, I couldn’t wait.