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“It’s not about what either of us want,” I say softly. “You know that.”
“I do.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, and as I turn to go I feel Niall’s hand on my wrist, pulling me back into his arms. I feel his hard body against mine as his hands plunge into my hair, his lips crashing down against my mouth, and I can feel him pouring every ounce of desire that he has for me into that kiss, all the longing, all the need, everything he feels.
“I hope this isn’t the last time,” he whispers. “I’m not going to say goodbye.”
“Neither will I,” I whisper back against his lips. “Just goodnight for now, Niall.”
I leave with a heavy ache in my chest, tears prickling at my lids, frustration pulsing through every part of me. It hurts, it all hurts sofuckingbadly, and I can’t help but wonder as I stare out of the window on the ride home how I could have gotten everything I fought so hard for, and still feel as if it’s all so much worse than it was.
21
SAOIRSE
Two weeks later, I stand at the bathroom sink, staring glumly down at the pregnancy test in my hand. My period is a day late, and though I know with the level of stress I’ve been under that doesn’t mean much, I hadn’t been able to stop myself from testing. It’s very clearly negative, though, and I let out a long sigh as I set it down on the counter, feeling my stomach sink.
I hadn’t known what result I wanted. Now I do. Getting pregnant means the effective end of my sexual relationship with Connor, for a while anyway, but the alternative is to keep suffering through how much I want him, fighting every time to keep him from seeing how I feel, embarrassing myself in the face of his cold detachment—or worse—anger.
Every time we’ve fucked since that afternoon when he told me to spread my legs on the bed has been the same. Nightly, or whenever he seems to get an inconvenient erection, he tells me to bend over, or lie down, and open my legs for him. And I, because I apparently can’t resist him and the intense chemistry between us, come for him every time, no matter how detached the sex.
Sometimes more than once.
I’d want that back, even the most detached times with him, if it were over. But if I’m pregnant, at least it willbeover. I can grieve it, and start the process of moving on, instead of feeling my heart ripped out every time I’m reminded, daily, that I’ll never have what I really want from my husband.
But I’m not pregnant, and so it will continue.
I hear footsteps behind me, and jump a little. It’s Connor, and when I glance at him, I see him looking keenly at the test on the counter.
“I’m not pregnant,” I tell him coolly.
“That’s fine.” He jerks his head towards the bedroom. “We’ll try again.”
“I—shit.” I wince as a cramp squeezes my belly. “Give me some privacy?”
I come out a few minutes later to see Connor lying on the bed, propped up on the pillows, still clothed. I can see from the interrupted line of his trousers that he’s half-hard, and despite myself, I feel a thrill run through me.
It makes me feel powerful, knowing he’s so aroused by me. Even as he swears he doesn’t want me, that he’s only fucking me to knock me up, that he’s just filling me up with his cum as much as possible to increase the odds—we’ve had sex every day, usually more than once.
I walk towards the bed slowly, and he leans up, grabbing me as soon as I’m within reach and pulling me atop him. “We have a dinner to go to tonight,” he says sharply. “A charity gala. But there’s more than enough time to work on this little problem of ours before then.”
I hesitate. “I—I started my period. I don’t know—”
The change is instant. Connor pushes me off of him, his face hardening as he gets off of the bed. “There’s no point then.”
“We could still—I could—” I don’t know why I’m arguing. It’s just that I want to touch him, I want that closeness with him. Even just sex is an intimacy, and I know that will go away eventually.
“Unless I’m trying to get you pregnant, I won’t touch you.” Connor’s face is hard. “I’ll be back later. Make sure you’re ready by seven.”
“Why are we going to a charity gala? You’re not—”
“I might not be head of the Kings yet,” Connor says sharply, cutting me off. “But we’re part of Boston society, and I need all the connections I can get. So do your job, and be my lovely, poised wife tonight, yes?”
It’s the last thing I want to do. Liam and Anastasia will be there, other Kings. It will be a tense, stressful night, and I’ll have to do it in a tight dress and high heels.
But I get dressed anyway, because it’s part of the job. Part of what I signed up for—and I’m good at it.
I choose a long blue sapphire silk gown I’ve worn before, the same shade as the sapphires in my ring, with nude Louboutin pumps and sapphire jewelry. I put my hair up tonight, twisting it into an elegant updo, and slide two sapphire and gold hairpins into the side of it. By the time my makeup is finished, my phone is buzzing with a text from Connor that he and the driver are downstairs, and I grab my clutch, hurrying down to meet them.
