Chapter 1 His Perfect Little Heirs #2
Shoshanna continues, “Are you coming back in a few weeks so I can tell you the sex?” She touches her own swelling stomach. “Bronson and I are going to wait. Have you thought about it?”
I know she didn’t ask me, but I answer anyway, my own eagerness getting the better of my patience. “I wanna wait, too. Old school style. Under the moon. In a pool. A doula. Clay pacing beside me.”
“Do I look like the kind of man who paces?”
I laugh because Sir is far too controlled to outwardly portray anxiety like that. “No.”
Cassidy’s soft voice says, “Max?”
He pulls back from her hold, hitting her with a stormy grey gaze bursting with truth. It’s there. Hidden within firmly constructed walls is the most consuming love. “You choose, little one.”
She uses her finger to smooth the ridge between his brows—his permanent scowl of perpetual concern. “We wait.”
“Your turn, Fawn. This will be cold,” she says as she applies the cool gel to my stomach. And now that the attention is on me, butterflies fill my body. I’m worried I might do something wrong, that something might already be wrong, that I’ve failed.
Would he forgive me if I lost another baby? His baby? I couldn’t bear it.
Then, the wand touches me. I remember this part. The last time I was pregnant it all happened so fast. I felt removed, a bit like a monkey or a pet. I didn’t feel as though the baby was mine, but today— I look over at Sir, and this time, he’s not staring at the screen. He is looking at me.
While the wand touches my stomach, as it moves through the jelly, when it applies pressure to a specific spot, Clay Butcher looks at me. “Aren’t you going to look at the screen, Sir?”
“After you do, little deer.”
I didn’t get to see him last time.
Thank you, Sir.
A tear rises to the corner of my eye, but I fight to keep it still, and look at the display just as the same shape appears. A baby shape.
Wait… What is that?
A little bit of air hitches as I inhale sharply at the lovely sight. Then… A heartbeat. No… That sounds different, looks different, God. Is everything okay?
Is he broken?
Did I break him already?
Did I break him again!
I cover my mouth as tears fall down my face, panic reaching up and grabbing me so fast I barely have time to breathe. I don’t feel Clay’s hand take mine until his thumb moves over my fingers.
It grounds me.
“Fawn,” Shoshanna says my name with amazement wrapped around each letter. “You’re having twins. There are two beautifully formed fetuses here.”
What?
“Christ.” I hear Sir mutter from beside me, and I glance at him quickly, then back at the monitor. “You’re perfect, sweet girl. Look what you’re making for me.”
Shoshanna starts to measure the screen and type into the keyboard. While it all happens, I clear my throat a few times, but don’t try to talk because my voice will wobble and crack if I do. I’m overwhelmed.
Twins.
Two.
But—But good things come in three…
Clay Butcher: Number one.
His heir: Number two.
Family: Number three.
This is four… Two heirs. This means I need to start from one again… because— No.
A smile hits my cheeks as the two embryos bounce around each other on the screen. And I decide right now, I can just keep counting to… to forever.
Good things don’t come in three.
Good things have no limit.
Baby number two: Number four.
4th Month Pregnant
I shouldn’t be nervous as I press on the brake with my Converse. My tawny leather skirt sits mid-thigh, and my long-sleeved white body suit clings to my figure, showing off the bump at my lower stomach where butterflies zoom around and babies grow in the figurative flapping of their wings.
I don’t need to be nervous.
After several lessons with Clay, I can easily drive around Connolly’s streets.
For a man who lives by his own rules, a man of infallible nature, he sure likes it when I obey the law.
1: Flat shoes to drive.
2: Two hands on the wheel at all times.
3: Look in the mirrors every five seconds.
Yes, Sir.
There are no other cars on the road. He won’t let me drive during peak hours or even on a main road. I am not allowed to go over forty kilometres an hour. The only reason he is allowing me to do this at all is because he promised to give me anything I wish. I want to learn to drive.
Beside me, Clay pretends his blue gaze isn’t panoramic and measured. He pretends that relinquishing control doesn’t unnerve him. If I didn’t know him so well, the smooth way he sits and his relaxed expression, would sell the idea.
He hates this.
I smile at the shiny red bonnet. “What type of car is this? Is it fast? Is it a hybrid? We should consider the environment because we have enough money to be mindful, don’t you think?
“Attention on the road.”
“I’m a woman; I can do two things at once.”
“Excellent. You are driving and growing my children inside you. Such a clever girl. Now, attention on the road.”
“You’re so condescending, Sir.”
“I will indulge this conversation another time. Your safety is more important to me than your sensitivities are,” he declares. I slowly sigh, so he adds, “Christ, fine, it’s a BMW.”
Grinning, I focus on the road.
Ahead, I need to take a left, so I indicate, but a grey car is idling on the side of the road, and as I turn the corner, I edge too wide, narrowly missing the taillight.
The man looks up from his GPS and honks the horn before yelling, “Fucking look where you’re going!”
The commotion shocks my pulse to race into my ears.
“I’m sorry,” I say to the car even though it can’t hear me because it’s an inanimate object and the man can’t hear me because he’s inside it, and— I’m losing my mind. “I’m so sorry. Fuck. I am a shit driver. I’m so sorry. I can’t do two things at once; I can’t even do one. I’m failing.”
Somewhere muted in the sea of pregnancy hormones, rational thought flickers—I know I’m being erratic. Everything just erupts these days. A week back, Jasmine and I were allowed to get a coffee together in the city with only a few henchmen—in sight. I’m sure there were more.
That day, I saw a seat by the window and mentally sat there. After I had ordered my tea, Jasmine and I found it already taken… and I cried. I. Cried. Like, full-blown, how could this happen, that was meant to be for me, this isn’t fair—cried.
And now, my shaky hands fist the wheel and tears spill down my cheeks. My heart races, and the energy beside me is now neither smooth nor relaxed. It’s electrified.
I try not to look at Clay.
Because I can’t fucking do two things at once.
Then, in the rear-view mirror, I watch as one of our black cars parks behind the grey one, another in front, and one parallel to it. The three vehicles lock the car in.
I blanch. “What’s happening? It was my fault.”
“Take this roundabout and head back towards the car, sweet girl,” Clay says, his voice taking on the chilling tone of apathy that I have come to know as a dangerous sound.
I do as he instructs and then pull over just ahead of the convoy of cars.
Once the BMW is in park, I stare ahead, nerves still rattling through me, adrenaline a little potent in my veins.
Clay places his finger under my chin and directs me to him, asking, “Did that scare you?”
I blink at the most powerful man in the city… Hell, maybe the world. “It was my fault, Sir. I went too wide. I fucked up, and I disappointed you.”
“No, you did not disappoint me. But you did miscalculate the turn.” He nods, his clear blue gaze melting into me.
“You were too pleased with yourself for winning our conversation. You need more practise, little deer. You can learn to drive, but there is no need for it. You will not be driving yourself around.”
“I know that.”
“Good.” He leans in and kisses me, dissolving my nerves for a moment under his sweet attention.
Too soon, his lips leave mine and he steps from the vehicle. Smoothing his dark tie down his black shirt, he turns and walks to the grey vehicle that idles quietly.
With wide eyes, I twist to watch my fiancé approach the car that honked at me, and the man being dragged from it by my first henchman, Bolton. Or, as I affectionately call him: Henchman Jeeves.
The man who barked at me looks to be in his late twenties, with blond hair and of average build, wearing jeans and a blue shirt with a wave print on it. Contradictory to his casual attire, the lush fabric of Clay’s black suit moves with each long, meaningful stride as he stalks towards him.
Stopping in front of the vehicle, Clay clasps his hands and waits as Henchman Jeeves presents the man like a gift or offering for him.
Unsettled, I twist the ends of my hair around my finger, but the houses lining the street remind me that nothing too dire can happen. Not here. In this quiet neighbourhood.
But… It was my fault.
The man is still. I can only see the back of Sir’s head now, but the man is nodding nervously. He wipes at his forehead, even though the cool breeze holds the climate at the perfect temperature.
Suddenly, the man looks at me.
Clay clicks to draw his attention.
The man with the blue shirt snaps his eyes back in place and continues to shrink a few feet through the intense conversation. He was already pocket-sized compared to Clay Butcher, but most people are.
Several moments pass, and it’s near silent on this street. Not a single car. It is as though Clay blocks part of the city whenever I have a lesson.
Oh. My. God.
He blocks the streets.
When Clay and the man wander towards my car, I exhale fast. Quickly, I slouch back in the seat as though I wasn’t watching the exchange.
Chill, Fawn.
The man knocks on the driver’s side windscreen with Clay standing just behind him, an ominous presence at his spine.
I lower the window, and Clay kicks the man’s shoe to encourage him to step backwards, to add space.
“Miss, I am so sorry for yelling at you.” The man stammers. “I- I—"
I interrupt, “I went—”
“No. You have a—"
“Do not”—Clay’s voice booms—"interrupt her.”
The man swallows. “My apologies.”
“I overshot the turn,” I finish softly.