Chapter 50
October—39 Weeks, 5 Days
The National Maternity Hospital was supposed to be the calm, serene, spa-like sanctuary I’d envisioned when I booked the private suite months ago.
Instead—it’s literal hell.
I’m in agony.
Real, biblical, kill-me-now kind of agony.
‘You’re doing amazing, sweetheart,’ Cole murmurs, dabbing my forehead like I’m some delicate flower and not a sweating, snarling demon dreaming up ways to murder him for putting me in this position in the first place.
‘Amazing?’ I gasp as another contraction tears through me like I’m being split in half by a blunt, rusty medieval weapon. ‘I’m not doing amazing, Cole. I’m dying. Actually dying. And this—’ I jab a finger into his chest—‘is all your fault p>
He bites down on a laugh.
An actual laugh.
The traitor.
‘Not helpful,’ I growl. ‘I swear to God, when this is over, I’m going to p>
Another contraction hits like a wrecking ball, and I arch off the bed, gripping his hand so hard he winces.
‘Jesus, Zara—you’re going to break my fingers,’ he says through gritted teeth, still managing to sound amused.
‘I don’t care about your fucking fingers, Cole.’ I pant. ‘I want DRUGS. Where are the drugs? I was very clear in my birth plan—all… the… drugs p>
Dr Kensington offers me a sympathetic smile. ‘You’re nine centimetres dilated, darling. You were eight when you got here. Too late for an epidural p>
I glare at her. ‘How can it be too late for drugs? This is Ireland. We invented drinking through trauma p>
Cole chokes on a laugh.
I love the man, but I swear to God I want to punch him right now. I consider calling my brothers. They’d probably help. Probably. They seem to be warming to my boyfriend these days.
‘Baby,’ he whispers, leaning close. ‘You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met. You survived the fire. You survived my mother. This—’ he kisses my temple ‘—you’ve got this p>
‘I fucking hate you right now,’ I whisper.
‘I know, sweetheart.’ He kisses me again. ‘But I love you p>
Another contraction slams through me, and I crush his hand like a hydraulic press. A growl rips out of me that doesn’t sound human.
‘She’s crowning,’ Dr Kensington turns to the midwife beside her, like she’s announcing dinner’s ready.
‘I am never—ever—having sex with you again,’ I gasp.
‘You said that last month,’ Cole murmurs.
‘AND I MEANT IT p>
‘Sure you did p>
‘Cole,’ I hiss, ‘I’m going to murder you slowly in your sleep for this p>
He strokes my jaw, eyes overflowing with love. ‘Not before you give me our daughter p>
That does it.
My heart squeezes.
My throat burns.
I push.
I scream.
The midwife says something encouraging, but all I hear is Cole.
‘That’s it, baby. That’s it. I’m right here. I’ve got you. She’s almost here p>
And then p>
A cry pierces the air. A tiny, furious, life affirming cry.
And it’s the most perfect sound I’ve ever heard.
My whole world stops.
‘She’s here,’ Cole breathes, voice cracking. ‘Zara—look. She’s here p>
Tears stream down my cheeks as Dr Kensington places our baby on my chest. My heart swells, then explodes into a trillion pieces. Cole watches on with an expression of utter awe.
‘Hi, princess,’ I whisper, tears spilling hot and fast. ‘Hi, my gorgeous girl p>
A stray tear streaks his cheek. He swipes it away swiftly.
He’s crying. The man who stared down my brothers without blinking, who charged into a burning building like it was a minor inconvenience, is openly weeping as he puts his baby finger in our daughter’s curled up little fist. ‘I love you,’ he chokes out—to me, to her, to all of us. ‘God, Zara, I love you both so much p>
‘Hi Tierney,’ I whisper, as our tiny, perfect miracle snuggles into my chest, her other tiny fist gripping my gown like she already owns me.
She owns both of us.
‘Cole?’ I whisper.
He lifts his red-rimmed eyes to mine. ‘Yeah, sweetheart p>
‘I changed my mind p>
He blinks. ‘About what p>
‘Sex. I will absolutely have sex with you again. In about… six months. Because I’m going to need more babies. A house full of them p>
Do I still want to run the most successful Beckett subsidiary?
Absolutely.
I excel at overachieving.
His deep, rich laughter fills the air, along with Dr Kensington’s and the midwife.
‘Deal,’ he murmurs, kissing my forehead, my cheek, my lips. ‘You know I’ll give you anything you want. But I need you to give me something in return p>
I look down at our daughter, then meet his eye. ‘I just did p>
‘Marry me.’ His voice cracks with emotion.
Typical Cole. It’s not a question. It’s a demand. But one I don’t mind meeting.
‘Yes.’ His lips meet mine, our tears mingling.
Our family.
Our future.
And for the first time in my life—I understand my family’s possessiveness. The smothering. The intensity. Because nothing in the world could prepare me for how much I would love my daughter.
Or my new fiancé.