Chapter 28
“What the hell am I doing?” Britt’s eyes burned with intensity as she pushed a finger into Lachlan’s chest. “What the hell are you doing?”
Lachlan took a deep breath, suppressing his anger and the rising tide of hope that threatened to overpower him.
He'd spent hours watching Paloma through the security feeds after the alarms alerted him that she’d breached the compound’s boundaries and gone into the jungle.
The King Family's extensive security system had made it easy to track his daughter's path—and see what had drawn her away.
When he spotted Britt on the hiking trail, his heart had stopped.
He'd cycled through the cameras, following their trek to his house, then switched to his in-room feeds. Every gesture, every laugh, every natural interaction between mother and daughter had been like a gift—and a painful reminder of his choice. He should have told Britt about Paloma immediately. Not telling her could’ve robbed them of the blessed reunion he’d witnessed between them.
The rekindling of their natural bond, forming without prompting, had been too precious to interrupt.
He’d kept his distance, hoping that being around Paloma would help Britt remember who she was—remember that she was Brittany Freeman, Paloma’s mother and the woman he loved more than anything in this world.
Everything was going smoothly as he monitored them at intervals, careful not to intrude on their intimate bonding, yet vigilant enough to detect any brewing issues ...
Until a storm named Stacy Jackson blew in.
Stacy’s interruption of Britt's time with Paloma would be trouble, but he hadn't anticipated this level of chaos. The woman standing before him with questions blazing in her fiery gaze was undeniably Brittany Freeman. Her possessive claim over him and his daughter was vintage Britt, who’d frustrated and enthralled him into falling in love with her. But Stacy couldn’t handle having Britt unleashed on her.
She wouldn’t survive it. He’d jumped in his SUV and blazed down the mountain roads to the house, praying he got there before Britt destroyed Stace.
He’d made it just in the nick of time.
“Answer me, Lachlan. And don’t stare at me like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Britt demanded.
“Britt …?” Stacy’s voice was low, full of pain and hurt.
He couldn’t handle both of them at the same time. It was too much. Turning to face Stacy, Lachlan said, “I promise I’ll explain everything later. But I need to handle this … situation now. Can you just go? I’ll call you. Please, Stace.”
The pain etched on her face made him wince.
“Fine,” Stacy said, then extended her hand toward him. He looked down at the key between her fingers. “These are yours.”
Lachlan grabbed the keys as a tear slid down Stacy’s cheek. She turned and left the house, slamming the door behind her.
When Lachlan turned back to face Britt, the sting of her open palm connecting with his face rattled him. More shocking than the pain was the familiar fire in her eyes—this was his Britt, passionate, protective, ready to fight for what was hers. The realization doused his anger like rain on flames.
“Did ye just fucking slap me?”
“Are you cheating on me?” Britt froze. Her eyes grew wide, and panic blazed through her chocolate-brown gaze. She stumbled away from him. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not what I meant. I just … I need to know what’s going on here. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Give me a sec,” Lachlan said, his heart clenching at the sight of Paloma in the hallway. Their daughter had already lost her mother once—he had to handle this carefully. “We’ll talk as soon as I get back.”
Britt turned to see Paloma, then exhaled, her shoulders slumping. “Of course.”
Lachlan walked past Britt and stopped in front of Paloma. “You want to talk, hen?”
“Yes,” Paloma said, reaching for his hand. Her small fingers wrapped around his, trusting and vulnerable. He gently gripped her hand and led her back to her bedroom. Paloma went to the shelf, grabbed her stuffed teddy bear, Mr. Bow, and then plopped on the bed.
“Close the door, please,” Paloma said, her eyes fixed on the open space. He complied and then sat down next to her.
“Wow, I can’t believe you put away all your Barbies. So neat, too. I’m proud of you,” Lachlan said, wrapping an arm around Paloma’s shoulders. The scent of her strawberry shampoo—the same kind Britt used on her since she was a baby—made his throat tight.
"They live in their fancy condo now. Britt says Barbies like to go home after playing just like I do," Paloma said, clutching Mr. Bow.
Her small fingers worked the worn ribbon like Britt did when she was nervous.
The gesture hit him like a physical blow—another piece of her mother living on in their child.
“Aye, is that what … Britt … said?” Lachlan asked, then placed a kiss on Paloma’s forehead.
"Daddy?" Paloma's voice was small, uncertain. "Is it bad that I showed her Mr. Bow?"
The question squeezed his heart. "No, hen. It's not bad at all."
"She has Mommy’s name, and she looks like Mommy, but she doesn't remember us," Paloma said, her bottom lip trembling slightly.
"I know, hen. It's hard when someone doesn't remember who they are."
"Do you think she's my real mommy? The one in the pictures?" Paloma's eyes shone with hope that made his chest ache.
"I'm trying to find out."
"I want her to be my mommy. She plays with me just like you said mommy would." Paloma hugged Mr. Bow tighter. "Can she stay even if she's not my real mommy?"
“I don’t know, hen,” Lachlan hedged. There was no guarantee that he’d be able to convince Britt of the truth. That she’d stick around to be with them.
"But I like her," Paloma said with a pout.
“I do, too,” Lachlan admitted. “I need to go talk to her about grown-up stuff. Promise me you’ll stay in your room, okay?”
"But Daddy, you always lock the door anyway."
“Stop being a smart arse, would ye?”
“No bad words, Daddy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you,” Paloma said, tugging at the bear’s bow. "She knew Mr. Bow's name, Daddy. Just like that! Can you help her remember the rest?"
"I hope so," Lachlan said, his heart aching with the same hope he saw in his daughter's eyes. "But don't get your hopes too high, okay?"
"Okay," Paloma said, but he didn't believe her. How could he when his hopes were higher than hers? He was asking his little girl to do something that he couldn’t.
Easing out of her bedroom, he joined Britt back in the living room, where she paced across the space.
“You lied to me,” Britt said, her voice low and cold.
"You're the one who taught me that omissions aren't lies. 'The absence of something is nothing, so it can't be a lie.' Remember?" The words felt like a lifeline thrown between them.
“You were in a relationship with Brittany Freeman. The two of you had a child together. That’s why you agreed to be my bodyguard. You think I’m her, even though I … don’t,” Britt said.
“You don’t?” Lachlan asked, removing all distance between them.
His hands rested on Britt’s waist, securing her next to him.
He stared into her defiant eyes, consumed with a love she was fighting to deny.
But it was there. He could read it like he had seven years ago. “What do you feel right now between us?
“I don’t know what I feel.” Britt raked a hand through her thick tresses.
“Sure you do.”
“How can you be so sure?” Her voice cracked. “I can’t even trust my own mind. My own memories.”
“That’s why your feelings are the one thing you can trust above anything else. I heard what you told Stacy. You told her that I was yours.”
“You are mine,” Britt said, then reached out to caress his face. “I don’t understand why I feel like this toward you. It doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if you’re Brittany Freeman. Because I one hundred percent belong to her—”
“Then I want to be her,” she said, tears clogging her throat.
“I don’t want to be confused about who I am anymore.
I want to be yours and for you to be mine.
And I want like hell for that little girl in that room to be my little dove.
The one I felt kicking in my body when I was pregnant.
That’s my memory. Mine! That wasn’t in the audio documentary of Brittany’s life. ”
“You are Brittany. I know that as surely as I’m breathing.”
“You can’t possibly know that.”
"Listen to me.” Lachlan cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. "DNA doesn't create love. Your memories are yours because you lived them."
“What if you’re wrong? I don’t know if I could survive you being wrong, Lachlan! It would be worse than waking up with no memories. To have a life within my reach that I desperately want and then find out from some cruel twist of fate that it’s not mine to have. It would kill me.”
Lachlan slipped his arms around her waist. “There’s an easy way to get answers.”
“How?”
“DNA test.”
“Right. If I’m Brittany Freeman, the DNA test will show that Paloma’s my daughter. And if I’m not …”
“You are,” Lachlan said, certainty resonating in his voice.
“But if I’m not, I lose all of this. I lose you.”
“You’ll never lose me, Britt.”
“Even if I’m not Brittany Freeman. Even if my real face is some other face,” Britt asked, clinching his shirt in her hands. “You can’t tell me that your feelings wouldn’t change.”
“My feelings for you won’t change, regardless of what the DNA test says,” Lachlan said. "You're still you—the woman who knows our daughter's teddy bear, who slaps me when you think I've wronged you. Those aren't coincidences."
“You refuse to consider that it’s possible that test could prove I’m not Brittany Freeman.”
“It won’t,” Lachlan said. “I know who you are, Britt. My soul knows you. You can’t fool me. The DNA test is for you, not me. I just need your permission to do it.”
Britt collapsed against him. Lachlan held her tight, breathing in her familiar scent. Three years of mourning—and here she was, back in his arms, fighting the very truth he'd known from the moment he saw her. His Britt had always been stubborn that way.
Her words were muffled against his chest. “Do it. I want to know if I'm Brittany Freeman."