61. Claire
Chapter sixty-one
Claire
The last few months have been a blur, much the way my life has been from the very moment he came into it. Flying all around the world to finish my degree, tend to the children, check up on everyone in Costa Rica, and attend the doctor’s appointments Remy keeps setting up for me has made it all blend together.
We’ve been graduated for a month, but I have barely had a chance to breathe. It’s why I’m looking forward to a night off, with just me and Remy… and the tagalong that is a part of the equation for the next six months.
It’s weird that we’ve never had a proper date, considering I’m carrying his baby. That’s about as big a commitment as there is. I mean, I’ve given him a thousand chances to run, and he hasn’t taken any of them yet. I’ll probably give him a thousand more between now and the arrival of this little one, even though I’m pretty sure he’s intent on not taking any of them.
“You look so pretty!” Misty says, watching my reflection in the mirror as I turn, doubting my choice in dress. At just over four months pregnant, I look awkward… not quite pregnant, not fat. I don’t mind anything about this whole experience; I kind of love every minute of it… even the ones where I’m bent over the toilet with Remy rubbing my neck.
“Are you sure?” I ask, catching her eye in the mirror. “I think I look… weird.”
The top is a bit tight, and the waist clings to me so that from the front, I don’t even look any different. But when I turn to the side…
Remy has loved the changes in my body, of course .
Extra sensitivity? Increased sex drive? Bigger boobs? What’s not to like for a red-blooded man? He loves it now, but when I’m batting him away from me in a few months because I’m the size of a house, I bet he’ll be over it all too and eager for his girlfriend back.
“You look like a mom.” Misty smiles, the sides of her eyes crinkling under her purple glasses.
“I guess that’s a good thing.” I say, flipping my hair off my shoulder. “Seeing as there are some kids around here who keep calling me that.”
Her giggle is short but loud and full of joy.
Most of the kids have adjusted fabulously. Misty is no exception, though she is exceptional at everything else. She’s my biggest ally with getting the younger kids to eat their vegetables, she reads (albeit haltingly) to the toddlers before bed every night, and she is my biggest cheerleader. Every time I doubt what I’m doing, she’s there to wrap her little arms around my growing middle. At thirteen, I don’t think she has any concept yet of what life might have been like if none of it ever happened. If she hadn’t been stolen from her mother on their sightseeing trip to the desert, who knows what she’d be up to instead of acting like a mini mom to a bunch of orphans? And if we hadn’t found them when we went to retrieve Kent’s wife, who knows where in the world she would have ended up. Sold to a family who desperately wanted a kid of their own? Sold to someone who would force her to grow up ahead of schedule?
If I have my way, these kids will never know what horrors the world is capable of. It’s a ridiculous belief that I can shelter them all, particularly given that many of them already witnessed their own parents being murdered so they could be taken. No amount of counseling or pseudo-parenting can make up for that trauma, but we’re trying.
I named our home the Lighthouse, and all thirteen kids are legally under our care. Wes reached out to his friend who helped him find Kent’s wife and he ran them through his database, but every one of them was erased.
I’ve always heard it takes a village, and that is probably especially true considering we’ve got a village full of children. They outnumber us, but between all of us, it works. Remy and I moved into the house right after he got out of the hospital—we didn’t plan it that way, but it’s become our home. Rhea joined us with Dimitri a few weeks later. Kent showed up one day and never left.
Then there are the rest of them—Michael, who pops in and out regularly like the fun Uncle, and Wes, who really despises Michael being favored over him. I don’t love him being around and he’s forbidden from being alone with any of them, but he always weasels his way back in. There’s also my sister, who I’ve now spoken probably thirty words to (progress is progress, even when it’s slow), and the senator with his two little ones—my half siblings. I don’t know how I’m supposed to regard them, knowing I’m the one who stole their mother from them. They’re a little scared of me, probably because they can sense that I’m terrified of them, but they’ve made fast friends with most of the children here, and they adore Violet… their older sister who actually acts like one.
Of all the relationships I’ve worked at these last few months, it’s the one with my father that I value most. It’s the one I never knew I needed, but it fills a part of me that I didn’t realize was hollow. The first time he got me alone, we just talked about Lauren… my mother. It’s impossible not to feel the love that he still has for her, even twenty-two years later from the other side of the grave. It reminds me that love isn’t finite—it doesn’t expire if it’s tended well enough.
He's also surprisingly good with children, and the only one I trust to leave alone with them. He’s the one who’s watching them today while Remy takes me ‘out’. He’s been cryptic about where we’re headed.
The bruises and scars have finally faded, and the hemorrhaging on my eyes is gone. I feel good… really good. It’s like all the pieces of who I was and who I’ve wanted to be are coming together, finally. I never would have guessed I could be a killer and a mother, but apparently, I have layers.
The ringing of my phone catches my attention. I pause at the name on the caller ID.
“Moose?” I ask, lifting it to the crook of my ear instead of putting it on speakerphone, all too aware of how Misty’s keen eyes appraise my every move.
“Hey, princess.” His voice is deep, but it sounds… sad. I’ve never known him to sound so hopeless, so empty. It immediately sets alarm bells off in the back of my head.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, trying to stay calm. I turn to Misty, and in a lower voice ask her, “Can you find me my sweater? In case it’s cold at the restaurant.”
I see the suspicion in her eyes, but she scampers to my closet and rifles through it all the same.
“Moose.” I prompt. “Are you okay?”
His laugh is rye, and I try to imagine where he is, what he’s doing. “No.” There’s a half second where I think he may break into sobs, but all I hear is a sniffle. “But I will be. I’m actually calling to check on you.”
“Me?” I laugh as Misty brandishes the cardigan with a triumphant grin. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” He asks. “Because you said you were fine the whole time I was hired to shadow you, and you were not fine, it turns out.”
I pause, wondering how much he knows. “I wasn’t.” I agree. “But I am now. Actually,” I see Misty standing behind me in our reflection, watching the skirt of her dress flow out in a circle. “I’m great.”
“Mmm.” He sounds a little unconvinced. “So, no more running off on your own to take down the bad guys, then?”
Not right now, at least. I won’t put my family in danger—not a single one of them. “How did you hear about that? ”
His chuckle is dark, not entirely amused. “I hear a lot of shit in this profession, princess.”
I can imagine his head tipped over a glass of whiskey. “It’s good to hear from you.” I tell him honestly.
I didn’t even realize I missed him until I saw his name light on my phone. Despite my misguided attempts to throw myself at him, and as much as I gave him shit for stalking me, we became friends toward the end.
“You too, Monroe.” I can practically hear the smirk in his voice.
I can sense he’s about to hang up, but there’s something that needs to be said. And I guess I’m the one who needs to say it, so I rush out. “I miss you, you know?”
“My charming personality?” He chuckles. “Who could blame you?”
I roll my eyes, sighing. “Just… take care of yourself, okay?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m taking care of a lot of things right now.”
I’m about to point out that that’s basically the opposite of what I just told him to do, but I swallow it instead. “Call me again, okay?”
“I don’t take orders from you anymore.” He scoffs. But then I hear the undercurrent of amusement, and just before the dial tone plays in my ear, he says, “But I will.”
As soon as I drop the phone onto my dresser, Misty is at my side. “Who’s Moose?”
“Just a friend.” I swipe a hair off her face, where it got stuck to the gloss on her lips. I’ll have to ask Remy if he’s been in contact with him, if he’s really okay, and if there’s anything we can do. But that conversation will have to wait for another day, because Misty grabs my hand and leads me to the staircase.
“She’s coming!” She announces, cupping her hands around her mouth so that her small voice carries down the steps. I can’t help but laugh as she rushes ahead of me and then ushers me down, as if I may have forgotten the way .
“What would I do without my hype girl?” I tease, tapping her on the nose as I pass. Her love language is touch, and she’s comfortable with showing and giving affection. I can’t say the same of all of them, though we’re working on it.
“You won’t have to find out.” She grins, pointing me toward the foyer, which is surprisingly empty. It’s also suspiciously quiet, until a giggle pierces the silence. I follow it to the living room and come to a dead stop as I take in the scene around me.
Paper snowflakes covered in glitter hang from fishing lines on the chandelier, and the Christmas tree in the corner twinkles with an array of colored lights. The air is perfumed with sugar cookies and cinnamon and pine.
And crowding the space is my family.
It's still weird to say. I haven’t gotten used to it just yet. But that’s exactly what they are—my brothers and sisters, my friends and father, my sons and daughters. My eyes pick Rhea’s out first, knowing that she can’t keep a secret to save her life. This has to be her doing.
“What is this?” I laugh, looking at the papier maché ornaments adorning the pine tree.
“Now!” Rhea stage-whispers, and then a loud, collective “ Merry Christmas! ” fills the space, echoing off of the tall walls.
“Can we open presents?” Tyler asks, tipping his thumb behind him at the tree with all the excitement of a typical six year old on Christmas.
I don’t even know how to answer that, because I don’t know where it all came from… or why .
“In a minute.” Remy says, coming to my side and wrapping an arm around mine.
“I’m confused.” I admit, when he only stares at me like he’s expecting some sort of thank you. It’s beautiful, I’ll give him that, but I’m not sure why he decorated the house five months early, particularly given that every time I step out the door, I feel like I may melt .
“It’s Christmas.” He says, as if that’s self-explanatory.
“No.” I laugh. “It’s July.”
“Exactly.” Remy grins. “The first night I met you, you were celebrating Christmas in July. Rhea warned me that you took it seriously.”
“Not this seriously.” I laugh. “You’re going to confuse the kids.”
“They’ll be fine,” he promises. “They really enjoyed helping me set this up.”
“It’s… beautiful.” I smile, reassuring them that their effort hasn’t gone to waste. It really is beautiful, despite how confused I am.
“Yeah,” Remy says, though his eyes don’t leave me for a moment. When they do, he looks out at the scene he orchestrated. “It’s almost perfect.”
“ Almost ?” I tease, trying to imagine what could possibly be missing.
“Almost.” He nods.
And then, he sinks to one knee at my side and takes my hand in his. “We missed our first Christmas together because I was too stupid to admit that you’re all I need. And I couldn’t possibly wait ‘til this December to ask you to be my wife, because I think we’re going to be busy with our daughter then.”
I stare at him, my nose crinkling at the mention of ‘our daughter’. We haven’t figured out the baby’s gender, though blood test results could have given us a conclusive answer by now. It’s not that I don’t want a daughter, but he’s hellbent on the idea of it, and I think it may be a boy.
“We’ll be busy with our baby ,” I correct him, for probably the thousandth time since I told him I was pregnant.
“Baby girl,” he nods. “So, I figured I’d get this out of the way now…”
He brandishes a ring— a beautiful solitaire I hadn’t even noticed him holding.
All at once, I realize what’s going on, and terror shoots to my toes .
“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper, leaning into him. “I’ll give the baby your last name regardless.”
“I don’t just want the baby to have my last name.” He laughs. “I want you to have it, too. I told you that.”
“Come on,” Wes chuckles. “This can’t really be a surprise, can it?”
“Nope.” Victor winks when I catch his eye. “He told me months ago that he was going to marry her whether I liked it or not.”
“Okay, maybe I should have waited to do this in private.” Remy laughs, shaking his head and focusing on me again. “I want you to marry me, Claire. I want this … it’s unusual, but it’s our family and I love it. But most of all, I love watching you every day growing our daughter, healing the hurt for not just me, but all of us. I want to celebrate Christmas in July for the rest of my life… with you.”
“Remy,” I breathe. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if there are any words that fit a moment like this.
“I…” I can’t believe this is what he really wants. It seems so… normal , when we are anything but. We haven’t been normal from the start. Our match may have been preordained by some twisted bitch called fate, but that doesn’t mean that this is what was in our cards.
“Do it for me.” Rhea says, drawing my attention to where she’s standing, tucked under Dimitri’s arm. She’s holding Charlie, who’s got a fistful of her hair in his sticky fingers and a candy cane in his other hand. “I’ve always wanted you to be my sister. Make it official.”
“Marry us.” Michael teases. “We’re all a package deal now.”
“Oh, God,” I sigh. “If Michael is part of the deal, I can’t accept.”
There’s a moment where my words hang in the air, like everyone’s trying to decide whether there’s any truth to them.
“That’s rude, Claire!” Michael gasps, holding a hand to his chest as if I’ve just critically wounded him. “I thought we had something! ”
“I can replace him,” Remy assures me, his mouth tilting up just the slightest. He leans into me, and I realize he’s still down on his knee. “I can replace any of them, but not you.”
It’s so absurd I want to laugh, but instead, I end up crying. It’s just a single tear… not the first I’ve cried, and I guarantee it won’t be the last.
“Yes.”
The word’s barely left my mouth when Remy slips the ring on my finger and the ceiling explodes in a blast of confetti and glitter like snow. The squeals of the kids eclipse almost everything, but I can hear the chorus of cheers from the adults too.
I don’t even get a chance to admire it, because he grabs my wrists, placing my hands on either side of my belly, and plants a kiss right in the center of them.
“Hear that, princess? I’m making an honest woman of your mom.”
THE END