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“I just...I need time. I need to figure out what’s going on. With Carmen, with your dad – everything,” he said, frustration tingeing his voice.
“And while you’re figuring things out, what am I supposed to do? Continue being your unwed, pregnant girlfriend?” I retorted bitterly. His face tightened at my words, but I didn’t care. The fear and uncertainty that had been simmering beneath the surface were beginning to bubble over. “Wait. Not your girlfriend. Because we’re not even a couple, right?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean, Tristan?” I demanded, feeling the heat of anger rising in my chest. He stayed silent for a moment, his eyes avoiding mine. An array of emotions flit across his face, each one more unreadable than the last.
“I want to protect you,” he finally muttered, not meeting my gaze. “I need to ensure we’re safe before we...before we make any commitments.”
“Great–”
He stood up suddenly, then walked up to where I was, turning me around. “How can you be pushing for this now when you’re already in mortal danger?” he asked. “How can you want this?”
“If I’m not married to you, then what protection do I have when you’re not around?”
“All my protection,” he said. “I love you, Ade.”
“Well, that’s not fucking enough, is it?”
He swallowed. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t give you everything you need.”
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, his words hanging heavy in the air as I bit back the urge to scream at him. I felt cornered, trapped in a reality that was spiraling out of control with each passing second.
“Come on. Get ready. I have to go home and meet with the estate’s lawyer. Liam and Kieran are going to be there and I need to make sure everything is in place for you and the kids,” Tristan said finally, pushing himself off the door frame.
“Your brothers are going to be there?” I muttered, unable to hide the bitter edge in my voice. Tristan sighed, rubbing at his temples with a look of exasperation.
“Yeah, they’re heirs too,” he said. He looked at me then, really looked at me. His gaze was intense yet somehow distant, and in that moment, I felt more alone than ever.
I nodded slowly, swallowing down the lump forming in my throat. “Fine,” I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Do what you need to do.”
“You were right. You’re coming with me. I’m not leaving you by yourself.”
A surge of resentment bubbled up inside of me, stinging like lemon juice on an open wound. “I’m not helpless, Tristan,” I retaliated, my voice laced with hurt. But as I saw the flash of worry in his eyes, my anger deflated slightly.
“I know you’re not,” he said gently, moving closer. His warm fingers brushed against my cheek, a soothing contrast to the frigid air that filled the apartment. “But we’re in this together, remember? And this concerns our kids. You should be there.”
The words hung in the silence between us, resonating with a weight that bore down on my heart. I nodded reluctantly, knowing deep down that he was right. We were in this together, for better or for worse. Even if he didn’t want to marry me, we would have to know each other for the rest of our lives.
A gust of wind blew past my window, carrying with it the chill of the Boston winter. I crossed my arms over the swell of my belly and sighed. Across the room, Tristan looked like a man on a mission, brooding but determined, beautiful yet terrifying in his intensity.
“I’ll finish getting ready,” I muttered, pushing myself away from the window and heading towards my closet.
Nothing fit me properly anymore. After what felt like an eternity, I finally emerged wearing a loose, black shift dress that barely contained my bulging stomach. A quick look in the mirror confirmed that I looked just as tired as I felt. My eyes were puffy and rimmed with red, my skin pale and clammy. But there was no time to make myself up, no energy left to put up a façade. Today, I was raw and it showed.
“You look beautiful,” Tristan said.
“Yeah, right.”
His eyes softened, his gaze traced the contours of my exhausted face. “You do,” he insisted. I chose not to argue, shifting my attention to the task at hand.
“Do we need to leave now?” I complained. Still tired. Still nauseated.
“Yes,” he agreed with a nod, his gaze lingering on me with an intensity that I had come to recognize as worry.
The car ride was silent and stiff, each of us lost in our own thoughts despite sitting side by side. Every so often, Tristan’s hand would find mine and give it a reassuring squeeze, but the gesture did little to quell the tumult within me.
As we pulled up in front of the imposing Callahan estate, my breath hitched at the sight of it looming against the Boston skyline. A fortress against the world and an extravagant reminder of how far from ‘normal’ our lives were. I hadn’t really gotten used to Malachy’s mansion, where Tristan had grown up, despite the fact that I’d spent almost every night there since Malachy had died.
