Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
WREN
Three months later
Loudly humming the song from my winning karaoke performance, I’m trying to be like Dolly—happy and counting my blessings, not my fears.
Sire grins, his inked hand warmly holding my waist, his other swiping the keycard to our hotel suite. Steaming over my ear, he gives me goosebumps, “My beautiful angel is drunk.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You stood on a hotel bar, singing about bean enchiladas into an empty tequila bottle like you were on the bow of the Titanic.” He holds the door open for me. “You’re drunk.”
“Since when do I need tequila to sing? Delphine and Vale emptied the bottle. I didn’t touch a drop.”
I flop onto our sumptuous bed while he strips down to his black boxer briefs.
This five-star Mercier Hotel in Mykonos, Greece, is paradise. Axel and Ruby’s wedding tomorrow will be perfect. The whole family is here for their joyous celebration.
While I’m hiding my pain.
I’ve had months to fear this day. Months of watching Sire go through tests and preparations. He’s in top shape for the surgery but insisted on waiting until after Axel’s wedding. He wouldn’t miss it.
And I don’t want to miss my last hours with him. I won’t sleep. I won’t cry, either. But he’s too beautiful, half-nude and crawling over me. God, he takes my breath away, searching my eyes like that. His are so blue and full of love. “So, you’re sober?”
I nod, not sure if I should tell him. Will it make this better or hurt even more?
“But you threw up tonight.”
I nod again. Is it normal to be this afraid of losing someone?
“And you didn’t drink any alcohol?” He reasons, “I mean, you haven’t for months.”
He’s fighting the truth, too. Sometimes, it’s too precious to dare speak it aloud.
“Wren?” He blinks. “My sweet angel?” His eyes swell. “Are you—”
“I’m pregnant,” I whisper, choking on a sob. Thankful. Scared. Happy. Terrified.
He nuzzles his nose to mine, his breath in awe. “My angel, you’ve answered my only prayer. You’re having my baby.”
“We are having a baby together because you’re coming home to us,” I demand through tears. “You made a deal with me. Remember?”
He groans, capturing me in a desperate kiss; that’s his answer. He makes love to me; that’s his wish. He kisses my belly, his tears spilling over my flesh; that’s his hope. He holds me all night; that’s his promise.
I’m only six or so weeks along, and I know I will have Sire’s child.
But someone … please tell my heart … I’ll have my husband, too.
The wedding was a dream. Axel, our ice king, melted at the sight of Ruby in her stunning dress. He swiped tears away.
Standing in the line of bridesmaids, I glanced at the army of groomsmen. At each inked king blinking back tears, too.
God, Nadine raised her sons right. They’re true men, not afraid to cry or kill for love.
All night at the reception, Sire danced with me. He sang with me, too. We brought the house down with our Dolly and Kenny duet while Axel danced with Ruby to it.
It was their day, and I swore to myself I’d be brave. I wouldn’t make it about me. I smiled, sang, and had fun. I danced with every king and laughed with the queens. When I barfed, they thought I was drunk. When I cried, they thought it was out of joy.
It was half true.
But now Axel and Ruby are locked in their honeymoon suite. The reception is over, and Sire has invited the rest of the family back to our hotel suite.
Gathered on sofas and chairs, we’re admiring the view from our terrace overlooking the sparkling night ocean. Heels are kicked off. Ties flung aside. Drinks are in hand.
All are relaxed until Sire lifts his glass, establishing his cover story.
“I’m leaving tomorrow on a mission trip to Ukraine.”
Nadine replies calmly, “Bless your heart. No, you’re not.”
“Mom,” he matches her tone, “you know I need to go where I’m called.”
“Young man,” she forgets his age, “you are called to keep your ass by your wife and family. Let someone else save the world.”
“So, I can save the world in the States but not abroad?”
He’s got a point, and Nadine doesn’t like it.
“For how long?” Jace tries to smooth the tension.
“I’ll be gone for a few months, helping a parish deliver food and medical supplies.”
Sire’s preparing for the worst. He really is going to Ukraine for a few weeks.
From there, he’ll text pictures to all, securing his cover story.
Then, he’ll go to Moscow, where we have no idea the tricks Ruslan will pull, the delays he’ll force, or how long Sire will have to wait to be strong enough to travel home.
“But what about Wren?” Vale curls on Nash’s lap, but worries about me, “That’s too dangerous for her.”
Sire nods, revealing, “She’s not going with me.”
“No!” Delphine protests. “That is too long for a wife. Wren will be lonely, yes?”
Delphine mirrors everyone searching my face, fearing I’ll falter.
There’s not a filter big enough to keep my mouth closed, but I try.
I do this for my family.
Sire swallows, squeezing my hand. He hates every damn second of this. So do I, but we have no choice. “Wren will stay home with you all. Keep her safe for me.”
Nash lowers his dark brows, doubting, “So you’re leaving Wren? The love of your life? For months?”
“Yeah, but he’s doing it to help others.” Grant jumps in, defending his brother. “Our nanny was Ukrainian. We can speak the language, and they really need help over there. Besides, Wren’s strong as hell. She can—”
“Wren is a grown woman. She can speak for herself,” Nadine interjects, eyeing me with compassion. “Wren? How do you feel about this?”
Feel?
It’s all I can do.
It’s all I can hide.
Nannie used to tell me, “Country girls don’t retreat. They reload.”
I lift my chin and Sire’s left hand to my lips. Kissing what’s left of the finger he gave for me, I vow, “I fell in love with a man who sacrificed himself for others, including me. And I won’t stop loving him now. I support him. I’ll be fine.”
Sire cups my face, pulling me into a kiss. “God, I fucking love you so much,” he murmurs over my lips.
He won’t stop kissing me while the others descend into a debate about humanitarian aid versus self-preservation.
His warm lips find my ear, his ringed hand holding mine tightly grasped over my belly. Our baby.
“I love both of you,” he whispers. “Have faith, Angel.”
I do have faith.
Until seven weeks later.
When Sire stops calling from Moscow.