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Or that they should be his.
Morgan was in shock for the rest of the evening. Two children. A boy and a girl. She was numb. She didn’t know what to feel. She knew they were Constantine’s babies, of course. And she should’ve just said something. Should’ve told him that... She should’ve told him the truth. Not that she had lied, it was only that she had not insisted that no test was needed.
What is it exactly you want? You want him to know without having to be told?
No. She wasn’t that petty. It was just...
She was a burden. To her mother. She always had been.
But now she was having two children, and for the first time in so long...she wouldn’t be alone.
It rocked her, to her core.
Two children.
And she should tell him. Flat out. She should not ask him about possibilities or skirt the issue. But she was...
She was afraid, and it made no real sense.
It does. You are so afraid he’ll reject you. Them.
He wanted the children to be Alex’s so very much, and what if she told him and that loss—another loss for him—made him resent the children?
And she did not possess the ability to burden the Kamaras family financially. There was no way. Their pockets were far too deep. But it was still different than being chosen. Of course it was. She just felt like she would never be chosen.
And he was just so adamant they be his brother’s.
I will never have children. Never.
She wondered why. And wondering about him felt so dangerous.
She was linked to him. Forever. Whether she wondered about him or not. The danger had already happened, in that sense.
The thought of it made her shiver.
By the time she went to sleep, her dreams were filled with images of him. Dark and brooding. Avenging.
But also the way he’d been as a lover.
No less dark or brooding, and there had been something avenging about the way he’d thrust inside of her body, but he’d been...tender at moments. Intense, too. Rough.
He’d contained everything and given it all to her and the last five months without him had been torturous.
She woke up early and crying.
Wondering if the grief that had invaded her chest five months ago was really from the tragedy of the loss of a man like Alex, or if it was simply her personal grief over tasting Constantine once, and then never having him again.
There was a firm knock on the door and she sat upright in bed, even as the double doors to her fairy world opened wide.
And it was not a servant pushing a gilded tray into the improbable bedroom, no. It was Constantine.
Even at dawn he was in a dark suit.
Clean-shaven, perfectly put together.
The only indicator that all was not well was a faint shadow beneath his eyes. And she wondered...
She wondered if he’d slept at all.
