Chapter 25
It’s been four and a half weeks since Dr Tessa confirmed my pregnancy.
Four and a half weeks of adjusting to the fact I’m sharing my body with a tiny human being. My tiny human being.
Four and a half weeks of trying to accept that I am going to be responsible for another person for the next two decades, at least.
Naturally, I called Livvie the second I left Dr Tessa’s office. She and Nico spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of shock in my apartment. Livvie mourned her drinking buddy, while Nico’s primary concern was how much maternity leave I planned on taking. They sank two bottles of wine, while I ate peanut butter with a tablespoon straight from the tub.
I’m not showing. Not yet, at least, but I’ve had to go up a jean size, and my boobs are like two watermelons. Any day now, someone is bound to notice—which is why I’ve decided to break the news to my family today.
Big Beckett Sunday dinners are a regular occurrence. Sometimes we meet at James and Scarlett’s, today we’re at my parents’ place—the house I grew up in. It’s a mansion; there’s no point pretending it’s anything else. With its marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and a dining table long enough to host a UN summit, it’s safe to say it’s grand.
One thing it’s not though, is quiet.
Especially on a Sunday.
My nieces and nephews are shrieking through the hallways like tiny feral wolves. James’s toddler is scaling the banister of the grand stairs like it’s Everest. Caelon’s kids are playing tag in the huge hallway, while my mother, Vivienne, is floating around filling everyone’s champagne flutes and pretending the chaos is charming instead of the reason we all drink—or used to drink, in my case.
And in a few months… there will be another child to add to the madness.
A flutter of panic ripples through me. My hand instinctively gravitates to my still-flat stomach. Fifteen weeks. Almost four months. I’m somehow growing a tiny human who has a heartbeat, arms, legs, fingers, and the audacity to already be making me cry over advertisements for baby formula.
I need to tell them.
I need to tell them now.
The housemaids have cleared the plates.
I can’t put it off any longer.
I’ve never had a serious boyfriend.
Never brought a man home.
Never even admitted to liking someone for longer than five minutes.
And now?
Now, I have to tell my family I’m pregnant with a baby whose father I don’t even know the name of.
‘Drink?’ Rian appears at my elbow, brandishing another bottle of Beckett’s Black Label, like a professional sommelier.
My stomach tightens. The smell still churns my insides. I force a polite smile. ‘No thanks. I’m good p>
He narrows his eyes, assessing me from head to toe like he’s scanning for malware. ‘You never say no to champagne. It’s your love language p>
Yeah. Well. It used to be.
I shrug and take a sip of water instead. ‘I have a lot of work to do later, prepping a proposal for a client p>
‘Workaholic,’ Rian teases.
It’s two tiny words—I’m pregnant—all I have to do is say them. But the words are lodged in the back of my throat.
At the other end of the table, Ivy, Avery, Scarlett, Layla and Rebekka are all in deep discussion regarding Avery and Killian’s Christmas wedding venue. Layla is listening, but her eyes keep drifting to Sean. My parents are fetching more champagne because apparently no one has had nearly enough yet. Maybe it’ll soften them up for the blow I’m about to deliver.
‘I can’t believe Jack O’Connor still hasn’t surfaced,’ Killian says from my left, his voice low and lethal. His jaw tenses as he spits out the words. Instinctively, he scans the room, like our enemy is liable to jump out from anywhere. We’re in the safest house in Ireland. Fifteen security staff are stationed around the perimeter, and our own personal bodyguards are all in the building.
James exhales sharply. ‘I can’t believe there hasn’t been a sighting of him on any CCTV since he ran into the woods. No cars flagged, no transactions, no burner phones. Nothing. How is that even possible p>
Killian circulated images of Jack O’Connor throughout the family and staff, but no one has so much as glimpsed even a lookalike.
‘He has no assets, no money, and no friends left,’ Caelon adds. ‘His oldest son has been transferred into solitary, in case he tries the same stunt as his father p>
‘Could he be working with anyone?’ I ask quietly. To me, it’s the only plausible suggestion. ‘Could someone be hiding him p>
‘Like who?’ James’s attention turns to me.
I hate saying the name, but it’s the only loose end I can think of. ‘Christopher Cole p>
Caelon’s fingers whiten around his wineglass and he visibly stiffens—precisely why I didn’t want to mention the man who put a hit on Caelon’s first wife, Isabella, which resulted in her untimely death.
Killian’s long, low, rumbling laugh is as rich as it is rare. ‘He’d have a hard job helping anyone from where he’s buried deep in the Wicklow mountains p>
We must be one of the only families in the world where it’s normal to discuss murder over Sunday lunch. Thankfully, Ivy, Avery, Scarlett, Layla and Rebekka are all still animatedly engrossed in wedding talk. I’m sure they have some idea about the family they’re married to or are marrying into, but the boys try to keep them out of it as much as possible.
A shiver dances down my spine.
The one saving grace of not knowing California’s true identity means that my brothers can’t torture it out of me, hunt him down like a pack of lions, then tear him to pieces for knocking up their little sister.
Caelon clinks his glass against Killian’s in a silent toast. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if O’Connor is dead p>
‘We’d never be that lucky, would we?’ James shakes his head, clearly baffled.
‘I’m beginning to reach the same conclusion. But still, don’t let your guard down for a second,’ Killian warns us all grimly, eyeing us in turn. ‘Silence isn’t always safety. For all we know, he could be biding his time, luring us into a false sense of security. Until I see his dead body myself, we stick to the same increased security measures p>
My parents return from the kitchen with two more chilled bottles of Beckett’s Black Label, because apparently, they haven’t had enough.
‘Are you sure you won’t have a drink?’ My father’s eyes crinkle as he beams at me. It’s taken years, but he’s finally settled into retirement. He no longer pops into the Beckett Building on Grafton Street, preferring to travel Europe with my mother. They still look at each other with hearts in their eyes. Their love is the reason we all exist. They must be so proud of the family they’ve built together.
I’ll never have that.
I’ll never look at my child with his father by my side and feel that shared sense of amazement. And I never wanted it, but now that it’s not an option, I feel bereft somehow. Robbed of a future I was never interested in until I realised I’d never have it.
‘Honestly, Dad, no.’ I hold my hand up to stop him pouring me a glass. ‘I’ve an early appointment tomorrow p>
I don’t mention that the appointment is with Dr Karly Kensington, the country’s best obstetrician, to discuss the secret grandchild growing in my stomach.
I push my chair back from the table and stand. One by one, my family members stop talking. Every eye in the room is on me.
‘Are you quite alright, dear?’ My mother asks, slipping into her seat at the top of the table.
‘I have some news.’ I suck in a deep breath and will my pulse to stop thundering in my ears.
‘Go on then,’ Rian smiles at me encouragingly.
Killian and James exchange a look of concern. Ivy clasps her hands together expectantly. Scarlett sits straighter in the chair. Even the kids fall quiet in the corridors.
‘I’m pregnant,’ I blurt, as heat floods my cheeks.