'Can you believe Xander's going to be a father?' Mattie asked for the umpteenth time that evening. She'd wittered on about the surprise pregnancy during the drive back from the school's cheese and wine evening. She had continued her pointless ruminations whilst saying goodnight to Ramona (who'd been looking after the boys whilst their parents were out), and whilst watching Rafe cook real, adult food. She'd paused in her diatribe whilst she set the table and Rafe plated their meal, but no sooner than her husband's toned backside had kissed the seat of his chair, she was at it again. 'Xander, a father? I literally cannot picture it at all, and they're not even dating. I don't even think – from what Amy said and the mix up with Rudy – that they're even still sleeping together. And now they're bound together for life!'

'Please!' Rafe said, with a grimace, as he drew in a supposedly-calming breath through his nostrils; his cutlery suspended in mid-air, because he could not consume and digest his meal if he had to listen to his wife's relentless rambling a moment longer. 'She's pregnant. He's the father. It's done. It has nothing to do with us, and we've no need to discuss it further. Certainly not until it's born.'

'But what about –'

'No!' Rafe interrupted. 'I want to eat my dinner without talking about babies. For months it's been endless baby talk. Don't think I don't know that this pregnancy is making you hope I'll give in.' Mattie tried not to look contrite because to do so would admit to her guilt, but it was difficult, because despite being intrigued by the shock-factor of Xander's situation, despite being titillated by the months of gossip said situation was likely to generate, she had – when crossing the big roundabout with the petrol station on the drive back from school – realised that someone close to her was having a baby and she wasn't. She'd seen the unplanned pregnancy as an opportunity to raise the topic of a planned pregnancy of their own. Yet again. (The issue had been discussed endlessly, to neither spouse's satisfaction.)

'I know we've discussed having another child, and I know you've made your feelings perfectly clear, but you might change your mind. Seeing someone else go through a pregnancy can do that.'

'It won't do that,' Rafe told her blandly. 'I cannot think of a single time I've looked at or thought about, prospective parents and felt jealous or sentimental or anything other than "You've got no idea what you're letting yourself in for".

'You love the boys!' Mattie cried vehemently. Calmly – almost to spite Mattie for her provocation – Rafe replied, –

'I do. Very much, but they're bloody hard work, and that's even though their ours. A child that had nothing to do with you or me is of no appeal whatsoever. I couldn't care less.'

'Yes!' Mattie insisted, with eyes which had widened with excitement. She'd somehow managed to misinterpret what he'd said as a door left ajar, when in fact, the door was firmly bolted, and was in the process of being bricked-up. 'A child that isn't ours is quite different. But another baby would be ours. You would care, wouldn't you?' He frowned at her, his cutlery resting noisily against his plate. It seemed he would be prevented from eating entirely.

'No,' Rafe told her firmly. 'I wouldn't care, because our hypothetical third child will never exist. I've told you how I feel. I'm not going to change my mind.'

'So, I should just accept that?' Mattie said; her ears ringing with the flow of thickly pumping blood. She felt close to tears. Certainly, Rafe had been against the idea of having another child from the first time she'd mentioned it, and he had never been the type of man to mince his words. He'd made his feelings perfectly clear. And yet now, at the dinner table, with Xander's latest fling unexpectedly pregnant, Rafe sounded more firm and final than he ever had before. He was inflexible. His refusal was given with a cool, calm, implacable delivery. The cajoling and sensitive considerations for her own wishes had vanished. He was blunt in his opinion, and the situation suddenly seemed utterly hopeless, whereas before, Mattie had thought it something they needed only to "work on".

'So, that's that then? You don't want another child. You feel a certain way, so that's the way it has to be?' she asked, her tone petulant and full of bitter hurt. 'My feelings don't matter?'

'They matter,' Rafe replied, as he took a sip of wine. He could digest his wine. It was imperative, as alcohol was the only way he could cope with his wife when she was experiencing one of her emotional trials. Solid food, however, would have to give otherwise he feared an ulcer. 'I've listened to your point of view countless times. I've listened to you talk about babies and pregnancies relentlessly for the past hour and a half without complaint, but ultimately, your feelings are irrelevant in this case, because we're not having another child.'

'Because you don't want one and everything has to be your own way!' Mattie cried, half-certain that what she said was true, and half doubting, because Rafe Paxton was a forceful, domineering man. He did often get his own way. He seldom gave in to anyone, and he seemed to make all of the big decisions in their life, and yet she knew – in her heart – that he tried to give her everything she wished for if it was within his power. She just couldn't quite work out if "within his power" meant "physically possible" or "if he didn't mind doing it."

'No!' Rafe told her, with rising ire. His look was flinty, as though his famous temper had finally been riled. In truth, he looked quite offended, which was no mean feat, considering how rude and obstinate the man could be. 'Not because I have to have my own way, but because refusal trumps consent.'

'What?' Utterly confused. Rafe licked his lips with a sneer as he took up his wine glass and left the table; his meal untouched. Mattie jumped to her short little legs and followed him, as he took four or five long strides to the sofa (she took about nine, of course).

'If I wanted sex and you didn't, we wouldn't have sex. No questions asked, no blame or hurt feelings, yes?'

'Are you likening a third child to rape?' Mattie demanded.

'No. I'm saying that a joint enterprise – and I assure you, you can't get pregnant alone – requires both parties to consent. I don't.'

'But why not?' Mattie asked. 'You know how much a want another child. I know how much you enjoy being a father! There's no reason not to.'

'Except for all the reasons I've listed before – the ones you've conveniently disregarded, I notice. You might want another child – you might love another son unconditionally, but this... burning need,' Rafe said distastefully, as he waved his hand at her in a vague gesture, 'stems from you wanting a daughter, and it's unlikely to happen. Once you've had two sons, you'll probably to have a third. You know this. And I refuse to be pushed into something I don't want, simply to assuage a need you perceive, when the end result probably won't actually solve the issue at all.'

'So, you don't want sex any more then?' Mattie demanded.

'Are you blackmailing me?' Looking up at her from the sofa, whilst he looked down on her from his moral high-ground.

'No,' she admitted with ill grace. Her lips fell into a pout, and her eyes – which were decidedly "mournful" – drew a weary sigh from her husband.

'Come here,' Rafe said in a consoling tone, holding out his hand to his wife. Mattie took it without pause; ever desirous of the brand of comfort only he could give. Pulling her onto his lap, he wrapped his arm around her before kissing her temple. 'I understand how you feel. If I was younger, I'd say yes. You know I would. But I'm fifty-one. If you got pregnant right now, I'd be fifty-two by the time the baby was born, and despite falling pregnant unexpectedly both times before, you have only got one ovary. I am old. There's no guarantee you'd fall pregnant quickly.'

'But you're a young fifty-one. A super-hot, super-fit and healthy fifty-one. At Fifty-two you'll still look at least ten years younger.' This was said sadly, as though she felt it was a perfectly valid point, but knew it was futile to raise it just the same.

'And by the time the child was old enough to go to university, I'd be seventy. There's every chance I'd be dead before the child finished their education or settled into their career. I'd likely as not miss out on seeing them marry or have children, and all that's assuming I'm healthy until the day I die. What if I'm not?'

'We've discussed this before,' Mattie complained, but with no real conviction, because she did understand his reticence. She knew he'd hate to miss out on anything; to feel that he'd failed a child by not being there for them, the way his father had failed to be there for him when he had needed him.

'And I've not got any younger since then,' Rafe sighed, pressing a kiss to her cheek; caressing the small of her back.

'It's not fair,' Mattie mused, slumping into his embrace.

'I know, but I honestly believe it's the right thing to do,' Rafe told her. 'I hate disappointing you, but I need you to understand and if you do understand, I need you to stop pushing me on this.' Mattie nodded stoically, before turning her face into her husband's neck; inhaling his scent and feeling relief and comfort flood through her.

'I'll try my best,' she whispered. 'You know I can't promise not to mention it again, but I'll try not to. Just...' She shrugged, before drawing back so that she could look him in the eye, 'Just... try to understand that logic doesn't always override emotion.' He scoffed at that.

'Honestly,' Rafe chided with mirth. 'We've been married for over six years. I think I'm perfectly aware that your emotions defy all logic.' And even though she knew it was true, Mattie couldn't help elbowing him in the ribs in retaliation.

***

This was the pattern of the Paxton's married life, or so it seemed of late. With two young children, a busy business, and a recently built church conversation for a home, the couple had been under constant stress. When Mattie wasn't combing her sons' hair searching for headlice, she was burning nutritionally-questionable frozen food whilst trying to catch up on "life admin", Isaac's phonics homework, and the latest Adventures of Biff and Chip with Sebastian. When her attention wasn't focused on her family, she was struggling through a miasma of Paxton and Colville paperwork (most of which she didn't really understand), dealing with office politics over the company's fancy coffee maker, or trying to appease Oliver Thompson – one of Paxton and Colville's biggest clients – whilst turning a blind eye to the fact that the businessman very blatantly had a persistent and slightly wet crush on her.

When Rafe wasn't barking at the trainees and stripping the junior architects of all ego, he was branching out into hard landscaping and expanding their eco-build provision, whilst designing his own home and attempting to meet the planning requirements for a listed building. He was dealing with Brexit, and a business partner who was having a crisis over Brexit, and all the red tape said political divorce was likely to create. When he wasn't labouring under a days' labour, or working into the small hours at home, in a bid to create and finish his wife's dream house, he was trying to keep his temper whilst attempting to dote upon two young children who could be so disgusting and annoying and wretched, as to defy almost anyone to love them. Indeed, only their mother and grandmother seemed impervious to their ghastly isms and moments. Rafe, certainly, could not maintain a useful erection for his wife when a small child would use the bathroom in the middle of the night, leaving the door open whilst suffering with loud flatulence, before attempting to announce to any nocturnal animal within a five-mile radius that, "I'm doing a poo. It's coming. It's coming. Oh. Just farts. Splash!" when said flatulence turned to solid excrement.

When Rafe wasn't listening to his wife gossip about their extended family and friends, or bitch about the mums on the school run, when he wasn't having to watch her try to set his adulterous, duplicitous brother up with yet another unsuspecting victim (because obviously, once Kate's divorce came though, Tobias was no longer interested in her), he was trying to remember the nirvana that was the brief period of their marriage where he hadn't been royally pissed off with his wife, and she hadn't driven him to distraction in return. He was trying to remember the days when said complaints and inconveniences didn't matter, because vigorous sex calmed them both down and eased any slight hurt or conflict. Nowadays, their frequent sex was not quite frequent enough to outweigh their frequent disagreements, stresses or heavy workloads. It was not frequent enough for Mattie to conceive a third child, or for Rafe to get past the issue of his wife longing for a third child. It was not frequent enough for Rafe to tolerate his wife taking Tobias speed dating.

*** Author's Note ***

Not a very action-packed chapter. More of an introduction into Mattie and Rafe's situation. I'm going to try to get the next chapter out today or tomorrow to make up for it... But... Third child. Yes or no? Do you think Rafe's age should be a deal-breaker? Obvs, he's exceedingly fit and healthy, but who knows what the future holds...