Phillip let out a muffled groan of frustration when he saw her gathering her things as though to go. Damn it, why did this have to be so hard?
"Then don't marry me," he all but growled. "But don't write me out of this either. This isn't about how dysfunctional we are, this is about how dysfunctional it is to expect a child not to question where he came from. You might think I'm a soulless bastard, you might not need me, but I need to be here."
Perhaps it was Phillip's traditional upbringing, perhaps it was the loyalty that he inherited from his tale, but he couldn't just learn he was expecting a child and then take the easy route, the one guaranteed to leave his name untarnished. He wasn't one to take the easy path anyhow.
"I'll come with you, Whitney, I'll go to France or Russia or Zimbabwe or wherever you're gonna be that day, but you're not writing me out of this."