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“You need to eat,” I rasped, ignoring her warning.
“I’m eating enough.”
“To get by?” I scoffed. “You’re getting thinner by the day.”
“Thought you’d like that,” she snapped.
She couldn’t see my scowl, but that didn’t make it any less ferocious. “When have I ever done anything but celebrate your curves?”
Her gulp was audible. “Just leave it.”
A plea.
She was itching for a fight.
I got that too.
Closing my eyes, I longed to press my head to her shoulder, to hug her, wrap my arms around her waist and hold her, but that wasn’t in the cards yet. I didn’t think she’d want that from me right now.
My impatient nature warred with knowing that I was doing the correct thing by taking this slowly.
With a care I wasn’t known for, I murmured, “You’re starting to look gaunt. It’s winter, sweetheart. If your defenses are down, you’ll get sick.”
“Finn, I’m a grown woman. I can take care of myself—”
“You proved differently when you didn’t immediately book an appointment for a termination, Aoife, so excuse me if I feel like I have to check in with you.”
The words were a gauntlet I tossed down, but my tone was calm.
A shocked gasp escaped her as she whirled around to glare at me. “You did not just say that.” Her hands went to my chest, and she shoved me away, but I didn’t budge.
“I did,” I continued in that calm tone. “Do you know the doctor who treated you blamedmeand my Catholic family for you not going through with the abortion?” Her cheeks turned pale, stark white like she’d accidentally faceplanted in the powdered sugar. “I read the files, did some research. What the fuck were you thinking, Aoife? Imogen wouldn’t have survived more than a couple of days—”
“There was surgery she could have had.”
“Invasive surgery that would likely have killed her!”
“There might have been a chance of her surviving,” she yelled shrilly.
I could feel my anger starting to grow as I saw how righteous she was. “You’d have put yourself through a high-risk pregnancy, would have riskedyourselfto have a baby that would have died within hours—”
“You don’t know that,” she rasped.
“I do know that. I read the statistics. I looked into this. The second your doctors accused me of puttingmyreligion before my wife’s health and welfare, you bet your ass I looked into it. I just didn’t say anything because of—”
“Your withholding of the fact that you knew who murdered my mom,” she interrupted with a sneer. “Andyouwere the one who made me promise to always put our children first.”
“Not above your health!” My mouth tightened, but I ignored her interruption and continued, “Jesus, Aoife, wasn’t that obvious? You need to slow down. You’re obsessed with baking—”
Her hands went to my chest, and this time, when she shoved me away, I rocked back on my heels. “Is our son clean? Fed? Happy?”
“This isn’t about Jake.”
“Answer the question,” she snarled.
“He is.”
“Is the kitchen tidy at the end of the day?”
