Epilogue
Lyra
Six months later…
What does an utterly obsessed billionaire do when your pregnancy sickness is so awful you can’t eat? He hires a Michelin-starred chef and nutritionist to plan out sustainable meals around your every craving, that’s what.
The kicker is that my pregnancy team travels with us. We’ve barely been home since I found out I’m pregnant and broke the news about three months after the tribunal. Killian promptly married me and whisked me away on an extended honeymoon to keep me out of the public eye.
He strides out of the villa’s office just as I’m looking longingly at the empty bowl of fried pickles, seriously deliberating if I should scoop up the few crumbs at the bottom.
“Morning.” He makes his way behind me, tilting my chin up to give me a lingering kiss while his free hand lowers to my stomach, cupping my quickly swelling belly. “How did we sleep?”
“Fine. It was very hot,” I murmur, frowning. We’ve come back to the states so Killian can do a tour of his domestic factories and meet with his teams—presently, we’re in the dry heat of Arizona. “I think the AC bottoms out at about 70.”
He rubs my bottom lip. “We’ll head out of here tomorrow. How do the Netherlands sound? I imagine you won’t have an issue getting too hot there.”
I bite my lip, feeling my eyes sparkle as I gaze up at him. “I’ll check my calendar. I'm so busy growing our baby these days, I find I barely have my free time. And my husband, well… he likes to eat up all my free time.”
“He must realize how lucky he is to have you.”
One of the waitstaff manning the estate where we’re staying walks in. Killian doesn’t look away from me as he orders a coffee and sinks into the chair across from me. “You look tired.”
“The morning sickness has gone, but I’m having a harder and harder time finding a comfortable position at night,” I murmur. “Only a few more months to go until we meet Berry. Then we’ll really forget what sleep is.”
We started calling the baby Berry after my first ultrasound, when we were told she’s the size of a Berry. At our last appointment, we found out we’re having a girl, and the nickname stuck.
“I’m already vetting a full staff to help us out. Besides, we’ve already agreed I’ll be taking night shifts—you’ll get to catch up on sleep.” He taps his thigh, arching an eyebrow. “Why are you all the way over there?”
“Excellent point.” I switch seats from my chair to his lap, relaxing against him with a sigh.
“Much better.” He kisses my hair. “An advance reader copy of your book is arriving today.”
I perk up, twisting to look at him. “What? Where?”
I finished edits not too long ago, and my agent promptly informed me that my book had sold at auction for a three-book, seven-figure deal.
The second the first advance hit my bank account, I nearly passed out.
I’m sure being Killian King’s wife certainly helped prompt some interest in my work, but still…
being a real author is a dream come true.
He smiles indulgently. “It’s en route via courier, Little Bird. It’ll be here any minute.”
I can’t stop my exuberant smile. Knowing my book is coming out is one thing; actually seeing the finished, publish-ready product will be surreal in itself.
“How much did you have to do with how quickly my book sold?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“Nothing, though I was entirely prepared to intervene, create a publishing house, and buy it myself if need be,” he responds, so quickly I believe him.
“You’re an excellent author, Lyra. You deserve recognition.
I would’ve intervened, but I didn’t have to.
” He strokes his hand over my stomach. “When will she start kicking?”
“Any day now.” I’m four months along, so I’m awaiting feeling Berry’s kicks as eagerly as Killian.
In fact, I don’t know which one of us is more excited.
He spoons me every night with a hand on my belly.
He wakes up whenever I wake up, and immediately asks me if I need anything—water, anti-nausea herbal tea, a snack, a spanking or hard fuck to put me to sleep.
I once asked myself what kind of husband and father Killian would make; now I know the answer is an obsessed and extremely loving, often overbearing one.
“Tell her to hurry up,” Killian says seriously. “I want to feel her kick when I talk to her.”
It’s a habit he’s developed—talking to Berry morning, night, and at all hours in between. He talks to her more often than he talks to me. He spent the first couple weeks lecturing her on making me sick, while also reminding her how excited he is to finally meet her.
The maid returns with Killian’s coffee tray, and a package tucked under her arm. “This was just dropped off for Mrs. Black,” she says cheerfully.
I perk right up, snatching the package from her hand when she extends it and tearing it open with my teeth. Killian’s chuckle tickles my back as I rip off all the wrapping paper, toss aside the note from the publisher and my agent, and look at the cover.
A sense of completion fills me as I look at the art, the title, and my name stamped next to it. My first book, in my hands. My husband with me, our baby inside me.
“Looks good,” Killian says, picking up the note and reading it. “Apparently, there’s already quite some buzz surrounding it.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, eyes prickling with tears. The first one rolls over my lid and trails down my cheek as I turn, throwing my arms around him and burying my face in his neck.
Our relationship had an unusual start, granted.
The road to get here was long, winding, and arduous, but if I could go back in time and give myself some advice the day I met Killian, or the day he captured me after I’d been on the run…
I’d tell her to hold on. That in the end, he would be the best man for her.
“You’re very welcome.” He kisses my cheek.
“I love you,” I say, the words coming out on a sob. “I wasn’t supposed to, but now… I can’t live without you.” Pregnancy hormones have brought out a lot of emotion in me.
“I know, Lyra, and I love you too. You’ll always be my favorite Little Bird, and my very best good girl.