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It’s hard for me to focus the next morning.
I have my first meeting for my charity foundation, but my thoughts are all over the place. Connor didn’t come home last night—or he stayed out late and slept in a guest room, I don’t know which. I’m not sure I care.
His behavior yesterday—making me lay down and spread my legs for him to come inside of me like a fucking broodmare—wouldn’t have been as hurtful if not for the other night. After all, that’s what we agreed to. Cold, passionless fucking for the purpose of procreation. But—thatwasn’tthat, exactly.
He hadn’t just coldly fucked me. He’d used my desire against me, mocked me, known that I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from taking pleasure in it. It hadn’t been emotionless—it had just been thewrongemotions.
And after the other night, when he’d been so drunk he’d pretended to be William, it hadreallyhurt. Because now I know there’s something else there. Some deep part of him really does want me—wants more than just to fuck me, even, but he can’t let it out.
Not unless he’s drunk and pretending to be someone else.
I take a deep breath as I get out of the car in front of the huge building where I’ve rented an office for the foundation’s meetings, straightening my black jacket. I’ve dressed professionally today despite the heat—black pencil skirt, cream silk blouse, black jacket and high heels, wanting to look the part. A woman in charge of her own destiny.
I press my hand against my stomach as I stand in the elevator, thinking about yesterday, My period is due in two weeks, and I can already feel nervous butterflies every time I think about it. If I’m pregnant, that’s it. I will have done my duty, and as long as it’s a son, Connor will leave me alone until he decides he wants another child. I’ll be free to move on, to sleep with whoever I please once I’ve had the baby and I’m ready to—even Niall.
Niall. I feel a small jolt of excitement at the thought of him, soured only a little by Connor’s request. And at the same time, an aching feeling of regret.
If I’m pregnant, I’ll be free of behavior like Connor’s yesterday—but I’ll lose everything else, too. The moments where his resistance slips, and there’s real passion between us. Nights like the one with “William.” The pleasure I get from being with him, pleasure that I know I’ll never be able to replicate with anyone else, no matter how hard I try.
But if I don’t find a way to detach from him, I’m only going to be breaking my own heart.
I push the thoughts out of my head as I stride into the conference room, meeting the others. Sofia and Caterina are here, back in town for the meeting, as well as Maggie, who finally agreed to help, and Sasha Federova, who I hadn’t met before this but wanted to include after speaking with Caterina.
“I’m Saoirse McGregor,” I introduce myself as I walk up to the pretty strawberry blonde. She smiles up at me with sweet hazel eyes, taking my hand and shaking it firmly.
“Sasha Federova. Thank you for having me.”
“I think you have a unique perspective.” I gesture around the room. “I’ve asked each of you here for a reason, although I hope our board will expand with time. Sofia Romano and Caterina Andreyva are here because they are a part of influential families—Caterina’s husband at one point had ties with the same networks we hope to help the victims of. Maggie Woods is a schoolteacher, and someone who has a perspective on how this affects children—as does Caterina. Maggie can add a different socioeconomic perspective, as well.”
“That’s a nice way of saying I’m in a different tax bracket than you all,” Maggie says with a laugh, leaning back, and Sofia and Caterina both chuckle politely. Sasha glances at her with a grin, and I have a distinct feeling that they might be friends, for all that Sasha seems much more shy.
“Sasha, as a survivor, can help us in a unique way. You’re all here because I value your input. Maggie and I will be able to work closely together here, and I’ve requested that the three of you fly in on a monthly basis for meetings if possible, or we can conduct them remotely. Is that still possible?”
“That’s fine,” Caterina agrees. “As Sofia and I get closer to our due dates and have newborns, we’ll switch to remote meeting, but for now we can come in person.”
“I think Max might be able to help, too,” Sasha says softly. “I could–talk to him about it, or Caterina can.”
There’s an odd, tender note in her voice when she says his name, and I look at her curiously. “Who is Max?”
“Maximilian Agosti,” Caterina answers. “He’s a former priest under my husband’s protection. He absolutely might be able to be of some help, and I can certainly talk to him.” She glances at Sasha, and I see a flicker of concern in her face–the entire situation seems curious. A trafficking survivor, a former priest, and the Russian Bratva.
There’s a lot to unpack there, but it’s not really my business, so I just nod, smiling at them both.
“Perfect.” I sit down, looking at my notes. “Let’s get started, then?”
The meeting goes much more smoothly than I’d expected. Sofia is quiet, with very little input, but Caterina and Sasha more than make up for her silence. And when we’re finished and everyone is packing up, I stride around the table towards Sofia, clearing my throat.
“Can we talk for a moment?”
Sofia frowns. “Sure,” she says finally, getting up. “What is it?”
“I know we’ve had our differences,” I tell her calmly. “And I know you blame me and Connor for what Anastasia is going through right now. But wecannotbe enemies. The alliance between our families is bigger than that. Connor has been working hard, along with your husband and Caterina’s, to make that alliance a reality and bring this all to fruition without violence. You can’t keep being at odds with that—and your friendship with Anastasia can’t keep getting in the way.”
Sofia presses her lips together thinly. “I’m not like you and Caterina,” she says tightly. “I wasn’t born into this, not really. My father kept me sheltered from it until he died—and tried to long after, as well.” She pauses, frowning. “Ana wasn’t born into this either, Saoirse. She’s a part of this world now for the same reason I am—because she fell in love.”
Something in me snaps tight at that, a bitter resentment that I know is borne of the problems in my own marriage. “That’s both of your mistakes, then,” I say stiffly. “I expect that you won’t keep letting that get in the way of what our husbands are trying to accomplish.”
And then, as she stares speechlessly at me, I turn away to go back to the others.
