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I can’t help but bristle a little at the repeated hints that I might be careless or reckless, or willingly endanger others, but I keep it to myself, nodding meekly. “Of course,” I tell him, and I can see Niall relax marginally in my periphery.
We ride the elevator up to the ninth floor, getting off and following Liam as he takes us down the hall. I suck in a breath as he flashes a hotel-style, matte black key in front of the door, immediately handing it to me as it clicks open.
“Don’t worry,” he says, seeing my expression. “The only people with keys are you and Niall.”
We step inside, and I’m immediately struck by the sight of a beautiful, slender blonde woman standing at the opposite side of the living room directly ahead of us, in profile as she coos to a small dark-haired baby in her arms, pointing to the skyline view outside of the glass French doors leading onto the balcony. She’s nearly ethereal in her beauty, with skin so pale that it almost looks translucent in the late afternoon light coming in through the windows, thin to the point of delicate frailty, her entire body poised with a dancer’s bearing.
She turns the second she hears the door and our footsteps, her blue eyes lighting up as they land on Liam first. The way she looks at him tells me who she is before he even introduces her, and it makes my chest ache, because I know I look at Niall similarly. I’ve seen him look at me the same—but the difference is that he’s fighting it, with everything he has.
“Isabella, this is my wife, Anastasia McGregor,” Liam introduces her as she walks towards us. “And our daughter, Brigit.”
I notice, as she walks in our direction, that she doesn’t move with the same grace that I would have expected. Her body and bearing are that of a dancer, but she walks awkwardly, almost as if she doesn’t want to let her feet touch the ground for too long—quick, stumbling steps. She holds the baby close to her, as if she’s worried about tripping, and there’s a moment of relief that crosses her face when she stops at Liam’s side, smiling kindly at me.
“It’s nice to meet you, Isabella,” she says sweetly. “You can call me Ana, all my friends do. I’m happy you’re here. Come on, we’ll show you around your new apartment.”
She hands the baby to Liam as we walk around, and I feel that familiar clench in my chest at the sight of Liam doting on his new daughter, clearly happy to see her after a day away from the office. I don’t let myself look at Niall, afraid of what I might see on his face observing the same scene. I know he didn’t want children—he’d told me so plainly, the first night we discussed my pregnancy and what it meant for us—but he’d also told me equally plainly that he was warming to the idea, and that he intended to be a present father. Still, I can’t help but fear that somewhere deep down, he resents this—and me—for putting him in this position.
Ana shows us around, taking us through the gleaming new kitchen with black and steel appliances, to the second bedroom that can serve as a nursery, to the master suite complete with attached bathroom. She points out everything from the walk-in closet to the guest bathroom to the linen closet and small laundry room, until we’re back in the living area, near the glass French doors.
“You have a beautiful view,” she says with the enthusiasm of someone trying to sell me the apartment, and I know it’s an effort to make me feel better about my situation, to make me feel at home. I don’t know how much Liam or Niall have told her, but I’m sure she has at least a basic grasp of what’s going on.
“It’s all very lovely. I appreciate—all of this. It’s too much, honestly.”
“You’re the wife of a close friend to the Kings—soon to be one of the table himself,” Liam says firmly. “It can’t possibly be too much. And you’re safe here.”
“We’ll go shopping tomorrow,” Ana says, smiling at me. “You’ll want to find furnishings and décor, of course.”
“But—” I glance around. “It’s already furnished.” It is, though a lot of the furnishing is more modern than I would choose, furniture and décor suited to a model home, not anactualhome. It definitely feels more like a hotel room than my own apartment, and I can see from the expression on Ana’s face that’s exactly what she’s getting at.
“You’ll want it to be to your tastes,” she insists. “This is yours, Isabella. You and your child will be living here, for the foreseeable future. You should feel comfortable. And you’ll need clothes, dishes, other things to make the apartment feel like home. I know you weren’t able to bring anything with you.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble—”
“It’s not any trouble,” Ana insists. “I’m at home with Brigit all of the time. A girl’s day out will be lovely.”
“Speaking of home with Brigit, I’m eager to be back home with both of you,” Liam cuts in, his hand resting lightly on his wife’s back. “We should let Isabella get some rest, I think.”
“Of course.” Ana smiles at me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
My stomach instantly clenches with anxiety as we say our goodbyes and the trio heads for the door, leaving Niall and I alone. I can feel every inch of the space between us, feel the distance, and I want to close it with an almost physical ache. This is my home now, not his, and the truth of that hurts like a blow. He’s going to leave me here, my first night truly alone in all my life, and a strange fear twists my chest. Even in the horror of Javier’s canyon, I wasn’t alone, though I’d certainly felt like it. I realize, to my surprise, that I’m afraid of being left alone in the apartment, with no one else here. I’ve never lived alone.
I want to ask Niall to stay—but I know better. I know what he’ll say, that it’s better to begin as we mean to go on, that we need to face the truth of what this is, platitudes meant to comfort me that will only leave me cold. And I know what it all comes down to in the end is that if he stayed here, we wouldn’t be able to keep our hands off of each other.
“I should go.” Niall’s voice is taut, strained. “Ana will take good care of you tomorrow. I’ll see you soon.”
When?I want to ask, the word clawing at my throat, but I force it down. I swallow hard, nodding, frozen in place. I want to go to him, and I can’t. I want to beg him to stay, and I can’t. I want everything I shouldn’t have, and in a way I almost want him to leave, to get it over with, if he’s going to.
But when he does, finally, it feels like my heart being torn out of my chest all over again.
I stand there numbly for several long moments after the door closes behind Niall, my chest feeling like a yawning, aching cavern. Iwantwith a ferocity that feels almost painful—the touch of his mouth on mine, the warmth of his body against mine, the pleasure of his hands on me, even just his physical presence. I feel as if I’ve lost something, hollow and yearning, and my feet carry me slowly towards the second bedroom, the room that will become a nursery soon enough.
It’s the only one that’s not furnished, its emptiness meant to show off the many possibilities of the extra room. It could be an office, or a guest room, or a studio, or any number of things, but for me the purpose is already decided. I look around, envisioning a crib and a rocking chair, cubbies full of clothes and toys and stuffed animals, and I slowly sink to the plush-carpeted floor, my hand pressed to my flat stomach.
I don’t bother trying to muffle the first choked sob that escapes my lips, or the next, or the one that comes after it. There’s no one to hear me, no one to care, no one to be strong for. The only person who matters, who needs my strength, isn’t even here yet. I double over, pressing my hands to my midsection, crying as if my heart is breaking—because it is.
Everyone is right, in a way,I think miserably. I escaped the thing I wanted to be free of. I won’t have to marry Diego, or some other man I don’t know. I’m pregnant with Niall’s baby, a thing I’d innocently and mistakenly wished for, not understanding the consequences it would wreak. I won’t ever really be alone now, not after the next eight months, anyway—but I miss my family, my sister most of all. I can feel the longing for them the way I feel the longing for Niall, an almost physical pain, a longing for what feels like home. Niall could be my home now, if he let himself, if we could go that far—but he will never really be with me again.
He’d said as much. He wants me—but he’ll fight it, and if there’s one thing I know about Niall, it’s that when he sets out to fight, he intends to win.
