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Like her father, she is my heart and my soul. She brought me a love I could never have imagined.
“Carina,” Christopher whispers softly, the roll of the R as beautiful as when he utters my name. “Carina Kit Sinclair. It’s perfect.”
My heart sighs at his words, remembering my parting request to my best friend. “Just like her.”
“A perfect name for a perfect girl.”
Yes. So much yes. So, so much.
Tears stream down my temples, and not a single one is tinged with sadness. I can’t contain my smile at the sound of Christopher murmuring our daughter’s name. And the more I smile, the more she smiles until she’s laughing.
Carina doesn’t have my laugh at all. She has her daddy’s wicked, soul-deep laugh. It’s infectious and warming. It sparkles in my ears and fills me with a hope I haven’t felt in too long.
It reminds me of why we are what we are, and why we do what we do. Because something as incredible as her deserves a magnificent world. A better world.
Drifting my hands to my hips, I grasp the hem of the shirt. It’s dark; we’re nothing but two shadows in the pitch-black. I might not be ready to show him my scars, but the feel of his hand on my belly is healing. And I want more of it. His touch is a balm so soothing that it’s addictive. I’m greedy for it.
Christopher’s breaths hitch and deepen as I slip the shirt up, over my tummy. He waits a moment, until he’s certain I’m okay, before he rests his head back on me. His lips press to my belly button again and again. His hands roam my skin, but not once does he push for more. He loves me with reverent touches and worshipful kisses.
Eventually the quiet is invaded by the chorus of voices outside our room. Everyone is here, and although I’m happy to have us all under the same roof, I can’t help but feel like we’re doing the wrong thing.
“I don’t want to leave,” I murmur into the dark. “I don’t want to tuck my tail between my legs and run.”
“We’re not running.”
“Aren’t we? I want to stay. I want to fight. Beside you.”
“There’s too many eyes on us here.”
“There’s always eyes on us wherever we go.”
“This is different. If we stay here, someone will end up getting killed.” His voice is weary and pensive. For a time, we both lie in silence, skin-to-skin. My hands tangled in his hair. His hold on me tight.
My full heart aches for him, because he is one man carrying the weight of a legacy.
This is what it’ll be like. Day after day after day.
I understand his mother’s words now. That day I had no idea of everything that we would go through. The heartbreak we’d endure. The losses we’d suffer…
“If you want to stay, we’ll stay. But we’ll be suffocated here. We’re on our own unless we do what we’re told.”
“We’re never on our own. Can’t you hear them out there? They’re here for you.”
“Belles…”
“You’re friends and brothers. We’re tied to them by more than secrets and duty. There’s life and blood…and love.”
Pressing a hard kiss to the middle of my tummy, he lifts himself, gently dragging the shirt back down before standing.
It’s not the action itself that makes my heart melt for him, it’s the thought and feeling behind it.
Christopher isn’t an easy person. He has a front, a mask, that everyone sees. He’s private and aloof, his looks draw people in, and for the most part he humours them. He smiles and listens.
He listens—that’s probably what people admire the most. But inside there is always a storm. There’s a complex web of secrets and rules. Duty and power. Boundaries and vision.
He has so much strength and control within himself. He wears it like armour reinforced with his pride.
Others think it’s ego. They see it as righteousness, but I’ve seen it for what it really is—solid, unwavering fortitude. Vigour.
