Chapter two
Damon and Connie's Home, London
Emma
Only two weeks ago everything was working out.
I was finally on summer break from university before moving into my third year of law studies.
The ten thousand pounds host payment I received for carrying a child for someone else was safely placed in my bank account.
My pregnancy was progressing well, and, in the process, I’d found people I truly care for in Damon and Connie, and they seemed to care for me.
Then they took her from him—from us, from her unborn child. Connie McKinney was shot dead in cold blood, and no one knows why.
Her final moments run through my mind hourly.
She knew she was going to die. The attacker was brazen, lifting the weapon in broad daylight in full view of the supermarket's CCTV cameras.
The local news station played the whole event uncensored.
Although the image was grainy, the scenario was clear.
A premeditated killing. A chosen victim, and a hitman executing the job. She was gone before she hit the ground.
Today is the day that I’ve been dreading.
We say goodbye to Damon’s wife and my future baby’s mother.
This isn’t where I expected to end up, it's not where I planned to be, but I have nowhere else to go.
I can't leave a baby with a father so broken.
He doesn't know one day from the next. The past two weeks have shown he’s not the strong, infallible man I believed he was.
To have your life partner taken so brutally, just when you thought the plan was coming together…
you were getting everything you both ever wanted and now, she’s gone.
He's hardly spoken since it happened, barely uttered a word.
I feel like part of him blames me, even though I know that's not true.
He wishes it was me left cold on the concrete and not her.
This arrangement was meant to end. When I agreed to be the surrogate to their child, the clock was to start counting down to my final obligations once the baby was born, but now I don't know what to do.
The Damon I came to know is missing. He's not in a fit state to be a father.
He’s a good man, that's obvious, but he’s broken, completely lost without her.
I thought it would be easy to have a child for someone else.
I never wanted my own, but being pregnant has changed me in ways I was not expecting.
This baby is mine even though the agreement says otherwise, and the little bundle growing in my belly deserves a calm and happy home.
I've not asked him about his plans once the baby is here.
He will need a nanny. The child will need a mother. Who better than their biological one?
"Are you ready?" Damon calls. He’s standing on the other side of my bedroom door, barking through the wood.
His manner is curt. Gone is the kind man of a few weeks ago.
"Emma, the car will be here in a few minutes.
Are you ready?” he repeats, this time irritation bubbling below the surface.
I imagine him standing in the hallway, muscles tense with that now-familiar pained look marring his face.
"I’ll only be a moment,” I reply calmly. “You told me the car wouldn't be here for another hour, why the change?"
"There's not a change, you didn't fucking listen."
I snap my jaw shut, not wanting to respond with the sharp words that sit on my tongue.
“Get ready and meet me downstairs. If you make me late for my own wife’s funeral, I’ll…”
He trails off, not finishing his sentence.
I remain silent. He’s hurting. He’s lost.
My retaliation will do no good. All I can do is provide silent support, even if he doesn’t realize it.
Once I hear his heavy footsteps retreating, I turn back to the mirror.
Sitting at the dressing table, I survey my hair which flows freely over my shoulders.
My plan was to twist it up out of the way, but now I won’t have time.
The waves at the bottom, which I hate, sway across my bare skin, but it will have to do.
I'm not dressed yet, but the black dress hangs on the wardrobe.
It’s simple enough with a sweetheart neckline, fitted but not too tight, finishing a fraction above my knees.
Plain black pumps sit below it, ready for my already tense toes.
My bedroom, one of the three spare rooms, is beautifully decorated.
Connie had an eye for interior design; the whole house looks as if it's straight out of a shopping catalog.
As I glance around the space, I take in the stunning furnishings: textured wallpaper, silk sheets, and highly glossed furniture all in tones of gray and silver.
Each wall displays beautiful artwork, and everything blends with the perfectly stained wood floor.
This house is so far removed from the student accommodations I left to be here, it’s absurd.
My attention returns to the mirror as I finish applying my makeup—simple pink lips teamed with beige shadow and pale skin.
I don't want to stand out today. Although my pregnancy is public knowledge, I'm not sure what information people possess.
It’s chilling to not know what I'm walking into.
Will it be a situation filled with dark looks and staged whispers?
After the conversation I overheard yesterday, uneasiness fills my belly.
To stay home and hide is far more appealing.
I had been walking past Damon’s office toward the kitchen when I heard raised voices from behind the closed door. Two men, one of which was Damon, and another I didn’t recognize.
“Is it true?” the unknown male voice bellowed.
“Of course it fucking isn’t!” Damon snarled in reply. “How could you accuse me of such a thing? The day before her funeral?”
“Don’t swear at me, you bastard. My daughter is dead, and I know you’re to blame. It’s fucking convenient you have a pretty little thing in the wings to take her place.”
“Father…”
“Don’t ever call me that again. Do you hear me? Your right to call me father died on the same cold ground my daughter did.”
There was the sound of smashing glass. I imagined one of them throwing an object across the room.
“Listen to me, McKinney. I’ll find out what happened. Someone will pay for Connie’s death with their own blood. And I don’t give a fuck who it is.”
“I swear on my unborn child’s life that there is nothing between Emma and me.” I balked at the statement. “You have it wrong. I’ve loved your daughter since we were kids. She has been the only woman I’ve ever wanted. If you don’t see that, you’ve had your fucking eyes screwed shut for two decades.”
“You better hope that declaration proves true,” the man growled.
The heavy wooden door swung open, the frosted glass designed to allow light to enter the room vibrated frantically as the door bounced off the pristine white wall.
I ducked into the downstairs bathroom, not wanting to be caught snooping.
From my hiding place, I peered around the doorframe.
An exceptionally tall man with peppered gray hair stormed into the hallway.
He was smartly dressed in a sleek black suit.
Damon appeared behind him in complete contrast wearing red athletic shorts and a matching sleeveless tank top.
His strong arms and legs were exposed, covered in intricate tattoos.
“Father,” he repeated. The man who must be Connie’s father spun on his heel to look at him.
His face, although aged, was handsome and trimmed with a perfectly groomed mustache and beard.
His expression narrowed to one that can only be described as disdain.
Damon took a breath, steeling himself before speaking.
“You will always be a father to me, whether you believe these abhorrent lies or not. Connie was my world. My rock. I’ve lost her; please don’t take our family from me too based on idle gossip.”
“What is your plan with the walking womb?” Connie’s father’s mouth twisted nastily with the question. The description was like a direct punch to the stomach. “Do you plan to keep her here? Play happily families?”
“I plan to complete the agreement Connie and I made with Emma, because that’s what my wife wanted.” He emphasized the words my wife. “This baby was Connie’s dream.”
“But it’s not her baby. It’s not even her bloody egg. That child has none of my daughter’s DNA. There is no benefit to you keeping it.”
“It?” Damon roared, losing control. He stepped forward, invading the other man’s space.
Even though he is tall, he had to look up slightly to meet his father-in-law’s stare.
However, his muscular frame overshadowed the other man.
“The parentage of this child is irrelevant. Connie will always be their mother. If I can honor her by raising the child she yearned for, I will.”
“And how is that going to work? How many hours a week do you spend at work? Since your promotion, Connie said you’d hardly been home. When do you have time to be a father?”
“I’ll make time.”
“No, you’ll employ another woman to bring up the child. My daughter will be forgotten. You can’t do it all, Damon. If you want to remain within my family, get rid of it.” Before Damon could respond, Connie’s father turned and left.
I watched as this broken man dropped to his knees and rested his head in his hands.
He muttered something to himself, inaudible but pained.
I stepped out of my hiding place; the sound of my footsteps caused him to look up.
His eyes were filled with unshed tears. My heart broke for him all over again, as it’s done every day for two weeks.
“You heard that?” he whispered, and I nodded. “I’m sorry you had to, but he’s right; the child will never know their mother.”
“We will make sure that doesn’t happen,” I said, lowering myself beside him to sit on the floor. “Every day they’ll be told who their true mother is, and that she loves them with all her heart.” His mouth quirked into a small smile. “I’ll help you.”
“Emma, you have a life to live and plans to fulfill. Our agreement doesn’t change. You will have this child then move on.” My stomach fell. Those were not the words I wanted to hear. “There is no place for you here long term.”
“Maybe,” was the only word I could manage past my lips as I pushed myself up to stand. Now was not the time for this discussion. What he didn’t know was that I had no plans to leave. “Do you want a cup of tea? I was going to make one.”
“No thank you,” he replied, rising then disappearing back into the office and closing the door.
His voice shouting once again into my bedroom snaps me from my recollection. All I can make out is “hurry up” and “the car is fucking waiting.” I automatically roll my eyes as the handle rattles on the door.
“It’s locked,” I shout.
“I can see that,” he snaps back, then I hear him striding off.
Once I'm happy with the final result of my preparations, I stand and move to the wardrobe, removing the black dress from the hanger and slipping it on. With a final look in the full-length mirror, I make my way toward the door and out to a day where I'm not sure what to expect.
When I reach the front porch, Damon is waiting not so patiently.
He paces back and forth like a caged animal in the small space.
A petite woman stands at the entrance steps smoking a cigar.
I blink to ensure I’m not seeing things.
Her dyed, jet-black hair is tied tight into a knot on her head, while her fine-boned face is heavily made up with eccentric colors.
Cherry-red lips move into a sad smile as she turns to face me.
“Mother,” Damon says, looking between us. “This is Emma.”
“Hello, Emma, I’m Marjorie. It is lovely to meet you, although I do wish it was under better circumstances.” She holds a dainty hand in my direction with long, painted black nails. “How are you keeping?”
“I’m okay,” I reply, taken aback by the question, my plan to stay invisible disappearing with the query. Damon wrings his hands together, unsettled by the conversation.
“Your pregnancy is progressing well, Damon tells me. Twelve weeks I believe?”
“Fourteen,” I correct her with a glance at Damon. He holds my gaze for a moment, then drops his eyes away before resuming his pacing once more. “I thought the car was here?”
“No,” he says abruptly. “But I wasn’t taking any risks at being held up.”
“You lied to me?” An unfamiliar sensation stabs my chest. Hurt, I think. He didn’t trust me not to ruin today. “I would have been ready when you needed me.”
“I wasn’t taking any chances.” He doesn’t look at me, but his cheeks flush a soft red, I think in embarrassment.
My focus remains on him as I take in his appearance.
The dark suit he’s wearing strains across the muscles beneath it, covering the array of tattoos below.
He’s handsome, but not in a pretty-boy way.
He has strong and determined features with eyes you could get lost in.
I find myself staring, even though I shouldn’t.
His mother clearing her throat breaks the moment and reminds me where I am. Immediately, guilt consumes me for ogling a widower on the day of his wife’s funeral, a man more than a decade older than me, whose child I am carrying thanks to a financial arrangement.
“When should we expect the car, son?” Marjorie says.
“Waite called. They will be here in ten minutes,” he replies. She nods, obviously knowing who the man called Waite is. I’ve met him a few times, too. He’s a fast-moving lawyer in the city.
Marjorie fills the ten minutes of silence with idle chit-chat.
She asks me about my studies, my childhood, and my hobbies.
I don’t have much to tell her. I answer evasively, not lying but not providing any personal information.
I’m careful to keep my secrets close. There is so much people can’t know about me; it would be too dangerous for everyone involved.
After another round of interrogation, Damon lifts his hand.
“Mother, enough. Emma doesn’t need to tell you her life story. Leave her alone.”
He glances out of the door as three black limousines stop in front of the house.
Harrison Waite pushes open the back door of the front car.
He is in his early thirties, wearing an identical suit to Damon’s.
He walks up the front path, a solemn expression cemented on his face.
When he arrives in front of his friend, he pulls him into a hug, which surprises me.
Damon McKinney doesn’t look like a man you hug.
“How are you?” the man says softly, his eyes searching his friend’s face for a clue to how he’s feeling.
“Dead inside,” he responds bluntly. “This is it, Waite. It’s time to say goodbye.”