The Only Exception

5. Shared Walls

She burst out laughing, covering her mouth with one hand.

Alaz stared at her.

"You're joking?" he said slowly.

"Don't panic," she said, laughing harder now. "I'm joking."

He narrowed his eyes. "Ha. Ha. Really funny."

"I am," she said, still grinning. "I know."

He exhaled, setting his mug down with a dramatic sigh. "You're going to give me a heart attack before this pregnancy is over."

"Only fair," she said, pouring herself some tea. "You've given me at least six already since last month."

Alaz smirked, but there was a flicker of admiration in his eyes. "You are..."

"You love it."

He didn't deny it.

She perched on one of the stools at the kitchen island and bit into the toast with exaggerated flair.

He raised an eyebrow. "So toast doesn't make you nauseous?"

"Nope. It's safe. For now." She waved a hand. "But that can change in ten minutes, so don't get cocky."

"Noted."

They sipped their drinks in companionable silence for a moment, the clink of ceramic and faint hum of the city beyond the glass their only soundtrack.

Then Asi asked, "Are you going into the office today?"

"I have to, just for a couple of hours," Alaz said. "I'll take the Mercedes."

"You can take my car" she said. "It's cute."

"It's a two-seater convertible with a broken speaker and no A/C."

"Minimalist," Asi corrected. "And intimate."

"And practically a death trap in rain."

She rolled her eyes. "It's called personality, Alaz."

"It's called a lawsuit waiting to happen."

Asi smirked. "You're so dramatic. Just say you don't want to be seen driving it and go."

"I'm not above embarrassment, Asi," he said flatly. "I'm just above driving a Barbie car."

She sipped her tea. "You say that now. But I will catch you using it one night, crying in traffic."

Alaz gave her a look. "You're delusional."

"And you're boring."

"Possibly."

She grinned into her cup. "Fine, take your boring car."

"Thank you."

*

Later that afternoon, the house was quiet again. Asi was working on her laptop in the living room, but there was a figure missing from her brain — a question she needed to ask and a signature that was overdue.

She shut her laptop and stood.

"Alaz?" she called, walking down the hall. "Alaz!"

His voice echoed faintly. "I'm in the gym!"

Of course. Where else.

She made her way to the far end of the apartment, passing the guest room, his office, and finally reaching the thick, dark door of the in-house gym. She turned the knob, pushing it open.

And stopped.

Alaz stood in the middle of the room, lifting weights with slow, measured force. His black tank top clung to his body, soaked slightly in sweat. His arms flexed with each movement, veins pronounced, the muscles in his forearms working beneath taut, inked skin.