Chapter Thirty-Five
Killian
Lyra flashes across my thoughts. I left her alone for the day, with Locke’s supervision—I wonder what she’s up to.
She’s been withdrawn throughout most of the trip, sulking because I was harsh with her when I caught her sniffing around Silas.
I haven’t had the time, opportunity, or frankly, the will to smooth that over.
What should’ve been a leisurely trip around Europe with a few events here and there has turned into working all day, every day.
Half of the people on my international teams are begging to be fired, and as soon as I get back to the states, I’ll be running an extensive and thorough review to cut through the noise and avoid another disaster like this.
Thankfully, I have the evening free, which means I can finally get some time with my Little Bird.
The clock to the supposed end of our arrangement is ticking. Though I promised to part from her at the end of our eight weeks together, I’m finding it less and less appealing to be rid of her.
I don’t want to be rid of her. I suppose I’ve grown somewhat attached to her of late. I don’t love her—I’m not sure I’m capable of feeling love—but the evidence of me caring for her is plain to see.
The fact that she might not care for me is irrelevant. She’ll still do what I tell her to do.
The drive back to the hotel is over two hours long, and I take the time to answer some messages, then think as the scenery flies by outside my window. Think of what I’ve been doing and consider next steps.
Lyra’s expecting me to let her go two days from now. I told her I would—I repeatedly assured her that she’s too far beneath me to merit any long-term attention.
That may not be as true as I wish it was. Lyra may be below my tax bracket, but she matches me in ambition. In cleverness. In intelligence and in her ability to read people. She matches me in being a survivor—someone who keeps going no matter how many barriers the world throws up at them.
She might not be worthy of me by virtue of the number in her bank account… but she’s worthy in every other way. In every way that counts. We reside in different worlds, but I’m confident that given enough time and attention, she’ll learn to fit into mine.
I’m not sure exactly what it is I want from her, but I do know that I’m not done with her. Not by a long shot.
My phone starts buzzing about halfway through the drive—Locke’s name flashes across the screen. I suck in a sharp breath. He’s under instruction to only disturb me if something is wrong with Lyra, such as her being in danger.
I pick up the call, trying to curb the urgency in my tone. “What is it?”
“There’s something you need to see,” Locke says.
My heart rises to my throat. “What’s wrong? Is she safe?”
“She’s fine,” Locke replies. “But there’s something you have to know before seeing her again. Let’s talk when you get back.”
“Tell me,” I demand. If Lyra’s fine, then what the fuck is Locke going on about? What’s his goddamn problem?
“It’s a conversation to be had in person. Let’s talk before you go back to the room.”
My jaw tightens, but I don’t argue. When Locke refuses to say something over the phone, there’s typically a very good reason for it.
“Fine,” I say, and hang up. “Go faster,” I instruct my driver, knuckles tightening.
Locke assured me there’s nothing wrong with Lyra, which makes me think she’s done something I’ll need to punish her for.
If she’s been researching Silas or trying to dig into me again, I’ll need to put a stop to it swiftly and succinctly—and use the sort of pain even she wouldn’t enjoy as a deterrent.
I meet Locke half an hour later, when the car pulls up in front of the hotel entrance, I step out onto the rough cobblestone and stride up to Locke.
“What is it?” I demand.
He sweeps a glance around the open space, then waves for me to follow him inside.
He navigates through several corridors on the first floor until we come upon an ancient library.
Wooden and stone shelves line the walls, reaching so high up, the books near the ceiling are a blur.
There are several ladders for people to climb, and a spiral staircase leading to two balconies that hug the walls.
Locke leads me to the back corner of the library, where a few leather armchairs face a fireplace.
We both sink into seats across from each other.
“No cameras or bugs here,” Locke says. “We’ve got a problem.”
“Spit it out,” I hiss. “What has she done now?”
Locke shakes his head. “It's not what she’s done, it’s what you’ve done.” He takes a seat on an armchair—I take the one across from him, bracing my elbows on my knees and leaning forward. “Lyra’s pregnant,” Locke tells me.
My mind momentarily clears of thought as his words filter through my thoughts.
Lyra’s pregnant. Pregnant?
My lips part, then shut, then part once again. My pulse thuds so violently it almost aches. Some unnamed emotion fills me to the brim—something so foreign and unrecognizable, I can’t put a name to it.
“How do you know?” is what manages to escape my lips.
“She was out this morning,” Locke says. “Went to a café, then stopped by a pharmacy before coming back here. I tipped the maids assigned to your room to let me know if they saw anything odd.” He reaches into the pocket of his pea coat, and withdraws a vaguely-familiar looking stick.
A pregnancy test with a blue cap. He hands it over to me, and I gaze down at it.
Two unmistakable pink lines sit in the center of it, indicating pregnancy.
“There are two others just like it, both showing the same result,” Locke says. “There’s no mistaking it. She’s pregnant.”
Pregnant. Lyra’s pregnant. With my child.
“I thought you told me she’s on birth control,” I mumble, struggling to process the fact that I now have an heir brewing in an infuriating woman’s womb.
“She is, and I’ll bet she takes those pills religiously. But she was sick a while ago, right? Took antibiotics with penicillin? Those can fuck with the effectiveness of birth control. And, if not for that, oral pills aren’t 100% effective. They’re close, but there’s still a small risk.”
I swallow, still staring down at the test.
“The good news is that she seems intent on taking care of it,” Locke says.
“I checked through her call logs—she made an appointment with her gynecologist for the day she gets back to the city. I had your IT guy check into the doctor’s system; reason for the visit is to terminate a pregnancy.
” He leans back. “It won’t be a problem. ”
“She’s not terminating anything,” I hear myself say, and as soon as the words are out, recognition dawns on me. The strange flutter in my chest isn’t anxiety—the emotion sending my blood singing isn’t horror. It’s elation.
I haven’t felt elation since I was a boy who was gifted a puppy that I didn’t get to keep. I haven’t felt bright in years—my life has been a series of goals and ambitions that I dedicate myself to achieving. Fatherhood has always been low on the list, but now that it’s a reality…
My god, I want it. And not just with anyone—with Lyra. This is the perfect excuse to keep her and to make her my own. This is the opportunity I’ve been subconsciously searching for, the reason to hold onto Lyra I’ve been looking for. Now, she can’t leave… and I realize I don’t want her to.
I wasn’t ready to be done with her. The end date of our arrangement—a mere two days away—was repulsive. I figured I’d keep her around for a while, but now, I recognize that I don’t want her to leave at all. I want her, period, and if there’s anyone who’s fit to give me children, it’s her.
There’ll be a steep learning curve. She’ll need to learn to live in my world, something I previously considered impossible, considering her temperament and convictions…
but her resistance may prove to be a good thing.
Her stubbornness and dedication to useless morals is admirable—she has many admirable qualities, ones I hope are passed onto our child.
Our child. The very thought feels right, like it’s the last piece of a puzzle I didn’t know I was missing.
Yes, there’ll be a learning curve for both of us.
I’ve never aimed to dull Lyra’s fire—merely ensure it wasn’t turned towards me—and that’ll remain the case.
I’ll have to learn to accept the fact that she can’t be boxed in, and she’ll have to learn to accept me as I am and let go of her futile resistance.
“Killian,” Locke says carefully. “Think this through. Having a child with her out of wedlock—”
“It won’t be out of wedlock.” I finally pull my eyes away from the pregnancy test and meet Locke’s gaze.
“We’ll get engaged shortly, and marry before the baby’s born.
” My brows touch. “Or after. I’ll leave that up to Lyra.
” I’ll have to learn to cede some power to her.
A queen to my kingdom can’t remain as powerless as a fuck-buddy I keep around for personal amusement.
Lyra will need to learn to wield power, and I’ll need to learn to give it to her—in measured doses.
“Killian, can you hear yourself right now?” Locke demands. “You’re talking like someone who belongs in a mental asylum. You don’t want Lyra to sire your children. The plan was—”
“The plans have been changing for some time,” I say sharply. “Just because I haven’t let you in on the changes yet doesn’t mean they haven’t been brewing.”
Locke’s eyes close for a moment, and he shakes his head. “I understand you’re infatuated—”
“I’m more than infatuated.” I don’t yet have the courage to put a name to the emotions I feel towards Lyra, but I know damn well they’re much stronger than mere infatuation. “I’m… attached.”
Locke stares at me. “You’re in love,” he realizes, sounding shocked. After a moment, he shakes his head and stands. “If you decide to keep her, there are several problems.”