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“That’s not her name,” Jane says. “After what happened, after what you did for me”—I’m shaking my head, but tears are already flooding her eyes—“youdidhelp me, Donnelly. You made sure Thatcher was there with me.”
Anyone would’ve done that, but I don’t argue. “What’d you name her?” is all I ask.
“Maeve. It’s Irish,” Jane says. “It meansshe who rules. And in Irish mythology, she’s a goddess.”
Irish.
Because of me. My gaze clouds with more emotion, and I look down at Maeve Moretti. A baby goddess is the perfect addition to the Cobalt Empire—and to Jane and Thatcher’s new family.
I sniff hard to keep tears at bay. “I think she’s already living up to the name.” Carefully, I hand her back to her mom. “It’s beautiful, Jane.”
Except my stomach has sufficiently twisted into a pretzel. A bad feeling bites at my heels, and it has nothing to do with the new parents. Everything to do with my situation.
It’s a me thing.
I make a smooth, unsuspecting exit, letting them have their calm, happy night with Maeve.
Once I manage to sneak past the camped paparazzi in the parking lot, I find the security vehicle and drive back to the penthouse. “Call Xander’s Dad,” I tell the car.
“Calling Xander’s Dad,” the automated voice responds.
It rings a handful of times.
“Wake up, Lo,” I mutter.
Finally, the line clicks. “Why the hell are you calling me at two a.m.?” His groggy voice floods the car, and I detect slight worry from him.Slight. Maybe I’m hallucinating it.
“You gotta run the article. Today or tomorrow, as soon as possible.”
“What?” he snaps, still sounding half asleep. “We’ll talk about this another day. Shouldn’t you be sleeping? In bed? Tucked away? You just delivered ababy.”
Not just any baby.
A Cobalt baby. I could ask Oscar’s husband Jack about how this will shift public perception, but I know fandoms. I knowthisfandom, and once they hear I delivered Jane’s daughter, it’ll do the inverse of what we’ve been trying to accomplish.
“I had to cancel dinner with my dad tonight,” I remind him. “Forthis. He’s not dumb. He’s gonna think I’m like Thatcher or Farrow to your family. Like I’m more than a no-named, replaceable bodyguard, and I have to be no one.”
Lo is quiet.
My dad won’t trust me if he thinks I’m more loyal to the famous ones than to my own flesh and blood.
“Please,” I’m begging here.
I’m scared of being caught in this lie.
Terrified, really. ‘Cause they won’t take me snitchingon themkindly.
“I’ll think about it,” Lo says.
I scrape a hand through my hair before returning it to the wheel.“What’s the hold up, Xander’s dad?” I ask, trying to keep my voice leveled. “Who cares if it has typos?”
“It’s not about the typos, and you know that,” Lo says with a deep, irritated sigh.
“It’s about Luna,” I’m guessing, since she’ll need to endure this fake feud between her dad and me, the guy she loves. I get it, but if her enemy is the media or my family, I’m going to steer her away from my family—every damn time.
He doesn’t deny that Luna is the center of everything. “I’ll call my publicist at 8 a.m. and we’ll go from there.”
It’s the best I’m going to get.
