16. Mary
Mary
By the time Hudson and Lincoln drove me back to Surrey, I’d done what any calm, mature, nearly functional woman would do after discovering she was pregnant with twins.
I’d cried then fallen asleep in the car. When I woke, my cheek was against Lincoln’s shoulder, one hand curled in the sleeve of his coat, and the terrible knowledge that I’d drooled on him again. This was becoming a pattern.
When the car had stopped outside Maeve’s house, the evening pressed soft and gray against the windows. Warm light glowed from the hall, and rain ticked quietly on the roof.
No one moved.
Lincoln looked down at me, strands of silver in his beard caught the low light, so did the drool. I tried to rub it in.
His mouth curved. “Don’t worry about it.”
Hudson sat in the driver’s seat with both hands still on the wheel, watching us in the rearview mirror.
“How long was I asleep?”
“Forty minutes,” Hudson said.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You were asleep.”
Lincoln’s shoulder shifted under my cheek as he laughed. “And you looked tired.”
“I’m pregnant with two people. Tired feels understated.”
Hudson’s gaze flicked to my stomach with what looked like disbelief. It made me want to climb over the chairs and hold him. I didn’t know what to do with that thought.
“We should go in,” I said.
Neither of them reached for a door handle.
“Unless you intend to keep me in the car until the babies are old enough to pay rent.”
Lincoln opened the door. “Don’t tempt me.”
Cool air slipped in. I sat up slowly, and the world tilted just enough to remind me that I’d spent the afternoon having my future changed yet again.
Lincoln’s hand hovered near my elbow as he helped me out of the car. Hudson came around with my bag and the small envelope from the clinic, the one with grainy ultrasound pictures tucked inside. He held it like it mattered.
The front door opened before we reached the steps.
Maeve stood there with her hand in Mila’s, and a look that made me think she’d been pacing the floor waiting for information.
“Well?”
“Hello to you too,” I said.
“Just tell me.”
I looked at Hudson, then Lincoln, then back at Maeve.
Footsteps bound down the hallway. “Are there two?” Mac asked as he appeared next to his sister.
I looked suspiciously at Mac. “Have you got superpowers?”
Mac straightened. “Not yet.”
“Not yet?”
“When I’m bigger, I will be a superhero,” he said. “But Mama says I have to learn socks first.”
“A cruel delay.”
“I know. I want to be a superhero today.”
Maeve gasped, “Two?”
“Two babies,” I said.
Maeve’s eyes filled.
“Don’t. You’ll set me off,” I warned.
She blinked hard. “I’m very composed.”
“You look like a woman about to cry or scream. But just so you know, it’s cold out here.”
Maeve stepped aside. “Come in.”
The hall smelled of lemon polish, warm bread, and the faint rich scent of Maeve’s pack threaded through the house. It was impossible to stand in that hall and not understand that my sister was loved loudly even when the house itself whispered.
Mac went running to the sitting room with Fergus skittering after him like a small, outraged mop.
“It’s two?” he shouted. “Auntie Mary is having two babies.”
Gregor appeared in the doorway to the sitting room, carrying a mug in one hand and a dish towel in the other. Fergus immediately abandoned Mac and trotted to him.
Gregor looked at Hudson and Lincoln, then at me, then at my stomach.
“Mac said you’re having twins,” he said.
“Yes, thank you, Mac should get a job as the town crier.”
The corner of Gregor’s mouth moved. From the end of the hallway, Artem’s voice cut through the warmth like polished steel. “Mary.”
I looked past Gregor. Artem stood in the doorway of his office, and he wasn’t smiling. That was rarely useful data because Artem smiled only when something was either very amusing or about to become legally unrecoverable.
“My office,” he said.
Maeve sighed. “Artem.”
“Now.”
I glanced at Hudson and Lincoln. “Welcome to the family.”
“Feels hostile,” Lincoln murmured.
“It is. But there may be tea. Maeve has turned her alphas into tea lovers.”
Artem turned and walked back into his office, leaving the door open.
We followed because apparently pregnancy hadn’t exempted me from summons. Maeve came too, after handing Mila to Gregor. Mac tried to follow and was redirected by Ivan who appeared out of nowhere with the words, “Who wants to see if Fergus can resist a sausage?”
Mac brightened. “Daddy I, Mama said no sausages for Fergus because they make him explode.”
Maeve pointed at Ivan. “You’re cleaning up after him if it’s in the house.”
Ivan laughed. “We have cleaners, and I made gluten-free sausages.”
“He makes them,” Lincoln muttered. “Who would believe Bratva men would get so domesticated?”
The office door closed behind us before I could hear the outcome, which was probably for the best.
Artem’s office was exactly as intimidating as its owner. Dark shelves, heavy desk, expensive rug, lamps that glowed rather than shone, and a view over the side lawn where one of the Dobermans moved along the fence line with silent purpose.
Hudson and Lincoln stood beside me as Artem picked up a folder from his desk. “Hudson Bale,” he said.
Hudson’s expression didn’t change.
“Thirty-nine. Born in Kent. Educated at Harrow, Oxford for economics, then London Business School. Hudson and Lincoln Holdings, private investment, property development, you have three primary offices. London, Boston, and Edinburgh. No criminal record. Two civil suits settled, both commercial, neither concerning. Known for refusing developments that damage local infrastructure unless remediation is included.”
I blinked.
Hudson looked at Artem. “That’s very thorough.”
“This is the summary.”
Lincoln leaned toward me. “There’s more?”
“There’s always more,” I whispered.
Artem turned a page. “Lincoln Hart. Forty. Former rugby player. Retired after knee and shoulder injuries. Family originally from Yorkshire. Investments tied to Bale since the age of twenty-six. No criminal record. Three public fights in youth, all before age twenty-two, all rugby-adjacent, no charges. Strong ties to athlete rehabilitation charities and currently holds minority stakes in two clinics, both reputable.”
Lincoln stared at him as Artem closed the folder. “You are both financially stable, publicly clean, privately connected, and not stupid.”
“High praise,” Maeve said from the doorway.
“I didn’t say harmless,” Artem said.
“No one would believe you if you did,” I said.
Lincoln bent slightly toward me, voice low enough for a normal room. Unfortunately, this was Artem’s room. “What the hell have we got involved with?”
I laughed before I could stop myself. “You don’t want to know,” I said.
“They need to know,” Artem said.
Lincoln straightened.
Hudson’s gaze moved from Artem to me. He was reading the room now, every detail. Maeve’s stillness. Artem’s folder. The fact that Gregor hadn’t come in, which meant he was probably outside the door. Or walking Fergus. With Gregor, both felt plausible.
“Not because I’m Bratva,” Artem said. “Because Mary is Callum McCarthy’s daughter.”
Hudson looked blank. Lincoln looked the same, and for one glorious second, I loved them for having absolutely no idea who my father was.
“Should we know that name?” Lincoln asked.
Artem’s mouth flattened. “Yes.”
“We don’t,” Hudson said.
“I mentioned him in passing.” I glanced at the rug.
Maeve’s laugh was small and humorless. “In passing.”
I glared at my sister.
Artem set the folder on the desk. “Callum McCarthy is from the Irish mafia. He tried to broker a deal with me to marry Mary.”
Not one muscle shifted in either of them. Where I wished the floor would open and swallow me whole, but floors were unreliable in moments of need.
“Instead,” Artem said, “I saved her.”
Hudson looked at me, his scent turned toward me. That mattered more than I expected. Lincoln’s hands had curled at his sides.
“Mary,” Hudson said softly.
“It’s true,” I said. My voice sounded too small. “Artem saved me. I was in Boston for my safety.”
“Your father knows you’re in England?” Hudson asked.
“Not exactly.”
Artem answered before I could turn that into something evasive. “He has channels. And I know he is looking for you. You were safe in Boston but here, you’re not.”
“I’m not?” I whispered.
“He isn’t currently a direct threat inside my territory, but he remains a threat if Mary moves without protection.”
“Artem,” Maeve said. “She can’t hide forever.”
“She’s pregnant. She’s more vulnerable than ever,” Artem said.
Lincoln took out his phone and everyone looked at him. He tapped the screen, lifted it to his ear, and turned slightly away, one hand braced on the back of the leather chair. “Tom,” he said when the call connected. “I need a bodyguard for my omega.”
Nobody in the room moved.
My omega.
My brain, which had survived learning about the twins, Artem’s background check on my alphas, and the public discussion of my father’s habit of trying to marry me off like an inconvenient estate asset, simply stopped.
My omega.
Lincoln continued speaking, voice low and practical. “No, not tomorrow. Tonight. Surrey for now, London after that. Female if you’ve got someone suitable. Omega-aware. Discreet. I’ll send details.”
I stared at him because he had said it so easily.
My omega.
Maeve looked at me, then smiled in the worst possible way.
I pointed at her. “Don’t.”
Her smile widened.
“Maeve.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You want to.”
Hudson was watching me too, with eyes that had gone warm and serious.
Our omega.
I looked down at my hands because looking at either of them too long felt like agreeing to something my heart had already signed without getting any legal advice.
Artem sat behind his desk. “Good.”
Lincoln ended the call and turned back. “Someone can be here in two hours.”
“I have security,” Artem said.
“And now she has ours.” Lincoln’s words were calm and unmovable.
Artem studied him.
Lincoln didn’t look away.
I waited for the room to tilt into alpha nonsense. Instead, Artem gave one short nod. “Acceptable.”
“How generous,” I muttered.
Hudson came closer, stopping at my side. “Mary.”
“Yes?”
“Are you all right?”
I rolled my eyes, but he deserved it. “I’ve learned I’m carrying twins, been summoned to a Bratva office, listened to my father’s crimes summarized for the men who accidentally impregnated me, and acquired a bodyguard via telephone. I’m splendid.”
Lincoln bit down on a grin.
Maeve laughed under her breath.
Hudson touched the back of my hand with two fingers. I turned my hand and let my fingers turn into his.
“You’re not a problem to manage,” he said.
The room faded a little, though not completely. Artem remained behind the desk. Maeve watched everything with bright, careful eyes. Lincoln stood near the chair, mine in a way I wasn’t ready to really accept.
But Hudson’s fingers held mine, and I could breathe.
“I know,” I said. It wasn’t entirely true.
Artem leaned back in his chair. “You will stay here tonight.”
“Will I?”
“Yes.”
“And tomorrow?” Hudson asked.
Artem looked at him. “Tomorrow you may discuss logistics with Mary like adults, assuming everyone remembers she isn’t cargo.”
“I’m standing here,” I said.
“Yes,” Artem said. “That is why I said it.”
“We’ll look after you, Mary. Just give us a chance to prove it,” Lincoln said.
“Okay,” I whispered.
Maeve’s smile had turned suspiciously pleased. I ignored it, which was mature and showed growth. Probably.
The office door opened then, and Mac poked his head in. “Daddy Ivan said Fergus didn’t eat the sausage.”
Maeve closed her eyes. “Mac. Did he send you to tell me that Fergus didn’t eat the sausage?”
Mac considered the question then closed his eyes tight.
“What are you doing,” Maeve asked him.
“Using my superpowers.”
“To evade the question?”
“To ask Daddy I how I should answer.”
Gregor appeared behind him, holding Fergus under one arm. Fergus looked deeply satisfied and not at all repentant.
“He ate all the sausage,” Gregor said. “I’m going to make Ivan come for a long walk until Fergus has… How do I say it? Evacuated himself.”
Maeve sighed as she glanced at Mac. “And you can go too.”
Maybe my life was a disaster. It might always have been one. But at least I didn’t have to pick up after Fergus.