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The chill of my fate wraps around my spine and seeps into my nervous system. Then I have the worst thought I’ve ever had—if we’re married, does he have rights to Finn?
That thought’s replaced by an even worse one. He already has biological rights to his son.
I almost retch. My stomach ties itself up and slithers back into the recesses of my abdomen. For a few minutes all I can do is sit shaking, looking out the window.
When the worst of the horror abates, enough for me to breathe, I stretch my arms in an effort to hide my terror, but I must look like I’m on the edge of a crisis because Kieran says, “Christ, Carra, are you air sick?”
I grip the arms of my chair, squeeze my eyes closed, and try to breathe through the freshly renewed panic. “Not feeling well.”
This has nothing to do with flying and everything to do with him. From sound alone, I know when he rises. There are noises in the galley. He returns with a tiny can of ginger ale, and a pack of crackers. In his other hand is a towel that he’s dampened.
Silently, he places the drink and crackers on my tray. Then lifts my hair with a careful touch and applies the towel to my neck. “I don’t truly know what to do for air sickness. But this helped my sister when she had morning sickness.”
Oh god.
Morning sickness.
I can barely contain the sobs that try to break free deep inside my chest. The thought of Kieran caring for his sister while she was pregnant and sick almost makes me burst into tears.
I did it alone. Months of grueling nausea and vomiting. But the worst was the fear of the unknown life that lay ahead for both of us.
How sweet it would have been to have this big, strong man tenderly caring for me. What I would have given to feel safe and certain about the life of the child we created.
When I open my eyes, the father of my child is sitting across from me with his hands clasped, his eyes shining with emotion. I have no idea what he’s thinking behind those tempestuous irises.
Whatever it is, it’s too intense. I turn back to the window and fight the violent shaking inside my chest. He finally shifts in his seat, leans back, and closes his eyes.
He doesn’t speak to me again for the rest of the flight or the drive to the hotel.
CHAPTERSIX
Agent Max Stone is standing by the valet stand when we pull up. He’s dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and black tie. He looks like an Irish mobster. Except, I know he’s not.
After a sweeping look over the surroundings, Max opens Carra’s door. She recoils and glances at me with a worried expression. “It’s okay. His name is Max. He’s one of your guards.”
The valet takes the car, and we quickly walk her into the lobby, one of us on each side. Two of Max’s guards lead the way. I don’t know them but appreciate their flat lethal eyes and fit statures. They round out the group well.
As we pass through the vestibule, Max passes me a room key and nods toward the elevator. “Already checked in, Mr. Conner.”
Carra keeps her head low and sticks close to me, probably sensing our combined unease.
The seven of us file into the elevator. We inch our way upward, passing the floors at a sloth’s pace. Each second is agonizing. I won’t be able to draw a full breath again until we have Carra safely locked behind closed doors.
No one says a word. Finally, the elevator door slides open to the tenth floor. Before we exit, the two federal agents with Max clear the hallway. After they give us the all-clear signal, we move as a unit to the unmarked door at the end of the hall.
I slide the card. Max enters a code on a keypad. He passes me a paper with the seven-digit code written on it. The heavy metal door opens inward to a long hallway. There’s an identical second door. We repeat the steps to open it also. He gives me a different code.
The security is top notch. It’s the only reason we’re here. Max and I made sure of that when we were planning out all the scenarios leading up to the wedding.
As this door opens, the opulent Presidential suite comes into view. Over three thousand square feet, the lushly appointed penthouse is larger than many houses and is the pinnacle of not only security, but also comfort.
It’s the most elegant hotel suite I’ve ever seen. Not that I’m a connoisseur, but this place is fucking decadent. Done up in cream, gold, and black. Gleaming surfaces, curved sofas. Crystal lights dripping from the ceiling.
Carra’s breath catches. She slows as she looks in disbelief at the view. “Oh, my heavens.” She glances at me, confusion shining in her dark eyes. “When you said a nice hotel, I didn’t think you meantthisnice.”
I step up beside her near the window. “I wanted the best for you. A place I knew you’d be safe until we move into our estate. I know it will feel like prison anyway, but at least it’s a pretty prison with a helluva view.”
Her teeth tug at her bottom lip as her eyes go back to the stunning view of the Chicago skyline. The sun is just beginning to set, and everything is warm, pink, and glittering.
