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I sit up, gently dislodging her in an effort not to wake her up. Pain lances through my head, and I press one hand to my forehead, gritting my teeth. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a hangover this bad.
Slowly, I reach for my phone, ignoring the waves of nausea and jagged pain slicing through me.I’ve gotten in fistfights that left me with less of a headache,I think grimly, opening it up to see the texts from Liam.
There’s a few, but the gist of it is that Connor and Saoirse’s son was born early this morning, a boy they named Sean Graham McGregor, healthy and the future heir to the Kings. There’s a text sent a little while later asking me if we can get together for a beer this afternoon, and while my stomach instantly revolts at the thought of more alcohol, I have every intention of dragging myself to our favorite pub.
I know my friend well enough to know what feelings Liam is having right now. Connor’s heir has been born, the son that will step in front of any son of Liam’s for the seat at the head of the Kings one day, and a child that is biologically his. I know for a fact that Liam loves Brigit to death, that he sees himself as her father in every way that matters, but I also know that it’s hard at times.
Quietly, I get up from the bed, wanting to let Isabella sleep while I shower. She looks beautiful in a heart-aching kind of way, curled on her side with her tangled dark hair around her face. I can see a mark on her neck from my mouth last night, and that sends a shudder of desire through me all over again, my cock twitching with need. It takes everything in me not to wake her up with my mouth between her legs, urging her to one orgasm and then a second on my cock, but I know better. Every time we do this, it will make it harder and harder to walk away in the end.
I love her. I can’t deny that, and I want to be with her. I want every morning like this—without the guilt and the bloody hangover, but mornings like this nonetheless. That feeling only settles deeper in my chest as I walk into her bathroom, seeing the detritus of her day to day scattered across the counter—hair products, makeup, skin care, soap in the shower that smells like flowers, a package of bath bombs in a little cubby. The bathroom feels distinctly feminine, and I feel as if I’m getting a peek intoher, who she is beyond what we’ve shared with each other.
I don’t want to leave, and that’s a problem. If I feel like even a place like this, an apartment so unlike me, could be home simply because she’s here, then I’m more lost than I thought.
I take my time in the shower, knowing I’ll have to wake her up and say things she doesn’t want to hear when I get out. I have to use her things, the floral soap and hibiscus-scented shampoo, and when I get out I feel as if I’m wreathed in her still, even though I’ve washed away all traces of last night.
Putting on my clothes from last night isn’t the greatest feeling in the world after a shower, but I do it anyway, walking back out into the bedroom. Isabella stirs as I do, her eyes blinking open sleepily, and a small smile curls the edges of her lips as she sees me standing there.
She pushes herself up against the pillows, her gaze sliding over me as she holds the sheet to her breasts, and I have a momentary wish that she’d drop it, that I could get one more look at her like this. I know it’s not something I should ever have again.
“Last night was—” I start to speak, still not entirely sure what it is that I’m going to say.A mistake?That’s not the truth. Maybe it was, but I don’t feel that way.Incredible?That would be true, but it won’t help us navigate the way forward. For the first time in my life, I can’t see a clear path, and that scares me as much as anything.
“Don’t say it.” Isabella shakes her head fiercely, her voice soft and pleading. “I can’t handle hearing you say it was a mistake. It didn’t feel like one to me, but I understand if—” She sucks in a breath, pressing her lips together. It’s clear from the quiver in them that I can see even from where I’m standing, the watery shimmer in her eyes, that she’s trying not to cry.
“I remember what you said before,” she says softly, her voice a little choked. “That you wouldn’t be able to stop if we were together here—like that. That it would change things. But it doesn’t have to.” She breathes in quickly again, a small gasping breath, as if she’s trying to force herself to stay calm and say what she needs to say. “We can pretend that it didn’t happen.” Isabella tilts her chin up, swallowing bravely. “I don’t ever want you to feel like I’m trying to force you into a relationship. I know that’s what everyone believes—that I got pregnant to trap you. I know you don’t believe that—but I want to be clear. If we were together—really together—I would want it to be because it’s what we both want, not just because we’re having a baby together.”
Her voice cracks on the last word, and she puts a hand to her mouth, turning her head to one side. I see her shoulders shake, and I can’t help myself. I walk towards the bed, intending to reach for her, but she holds up a hand before I get to the edge, shaking her head.
“Isabella, I swear I’m not trying to hurt you.” I’ve never felt so bloody helpless in my life. “I never expected any of this. I—”
“I love you.” She turns back to me, her eyes glittering with tears, some streaking down her face. “I know it’s the wrong time to say it, but what if it’s never the right time? I knew it before last night, but that only solidified how I felt—how I feel. I understand why maybe you can’t ever love me. But I wanted you to know.”
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. For the first time in my life, I’m left entirely speechless. The words that come to mind areI love you, too.For all that I shouldn’t, for all that I haven’t known her long enough, logically, to know such a thing—I do.
“Isabella, what I felt last night—”
Before I can finish the sentence, before I can even decide entirely how Iplannedto finish it, Isabella suddenly lets out a cry of pain. It’s almost a shriek, a sound I’ve never heard from her before, as if the cry rips all the breath from her lungs as she doubles over nearly flat on the bed, clutching her stomach.
“Oh god, oh no—” She gasps aloud, ripping back the sheets. “No, no, no—”
She looks up at me, her wide dark eyes terrified, and I see instantly why.
Across the white sheets, between her thighs, is a steadily spreading pool of red.
16
NIALL
For the second time in far too short a space, in my opinion, I’m sitting in the waiting room of a hospital—and this time, not for someone else.
The fear has settled like a rock in my gut, leaving me sick and cold. I haven’t been alone since the moment Liam answered my frantic phone call and followed me to the hospital behind the ambulance. He’s sat here with me for every minute, and I’m glad of it, because I feel as if I’m going insane.
The last words Isabella says to me can’t be that she told me she loves me, and I didn’t even say it back. And if we lose the baby—
I’ll keep her safe no matter what, but any semblance of support from the Kings will withdraw if there’s nothing to tie her and I together irrevocably. Having that extra barrier of safety means a great deal, when there’s still a possibility that someone might try to harm her. And as for she and I—
“She going to be fine, Niall,” Liam reassures me, watching the series of expressions on my face. “Even if the baby—”
“I can’t think about that.” I press my hands over my face. “I feel like I’m going bloody fucking insane. Before this, I didn’t even want to be a father. And now the thought of something happening to our child—I feel like my fucking soul is being torn out by the roots. It’s bloody unbearable.”
