The Price of a Sunrise

Vincent’s breath caught in his throat, his chest heaving as his mind frantically tried to bridge the impossible gap between what he had prioritized last night and what he was hearing now.

""No,"" Vincent whispered, shaking his head slowly. ""No, Claire, you're... you're lying. You didn't say—you just said you had something important...""

""You didn't let me finish,"" Claire interrupted, her voice steady and lethal. ""Because Isabella was calling you from the background, reminding you that the bakery was closing. Her desire for dessert outweighed my voice.""

From downstairs, the front door chimed open again, and Isabella’s bright voice floated up the stairwell.

""Vincent? Where do you want this coffee?""

Vincent flinched as if he had been physically struck.

He looked from Claire’s pale, exhausted face over to the bakery box on the dresser, the white silk ribbon suddenly looking like a shroud.

""Claire,"" Vincent choked out, reaching a hand toward her with trembling fingers. ""Claire, I didn't know. If I had known—""

""If you had known what?"" Claire stepped back, dodging his touch as though his hand carried a disease. ""Would my pregnancy have made me worthy of your time? Would a positive test have been enough to beat out a slice of cake and a sunrise walk?""

Vincent stood paralyzed, the formidable casino owner reduced to a stammering stranger in his own home.