Chapter 24
LEILA
Ronan arrives early in the morning, the sound of tires on gravel waking me.
I watch from my bedroom window as his car pulls into the courtyard.
Even from this distance, I can see the tension in his movements as he strides toward the house, his phone pressed to his ear, probably barking orders at whoever's on the other end.
I didn’t sleep well. I lay awake for hours, rehearsing what I'm going to say, how I'm going to break the news. Every version sounds wrong in my head, first too blunt, then too apologetic, then too needy.
He doesn’t come upstairs right away. I force myself out of bed, my stomach swirling with nausea that could be from either the pregnancy or my rampant anxiety, and grab a pair of tights and my favorite sweaterdress.
I throw my hair up in a messy bun and hurry downstairs, hoping I can make it long enough to have a conversation with Ronan before the morning sickness hits. Maybe if I don’t eat anything.
I find him downstairs in the entrance hall, talking to Colin. He looks up at the sound of my footsteps, and for a moment, his expression softens, the hard lines around his eyes easing.
"Are you all right?" he asks, crossing to me in two quick strides. He reaches up to touch my face, pushing back an errant piece of hair as his fingers brush my cheekbones. A shiver runs through me, one that I try to hide, but from the expression that crosses his face, I think he sees it.
"I'm fine," I manage, though having him touch me like this, seeing the genuine concern in his eyes, makes my chest tight with nerves over what I have to tell him. "You didn't have to come back."
"Yes, I did." His voice is firm, final. "Tell me about yesterday. Everything."
“It’s really just what I already told you.
” I run over it with him again—making the appointment, Dr. Walsh’s clinic, noticing the sedan after Colin started checking his mirrors on the way home.
He listens the entire time, intently, his jaw tight as I relay all the details.
Everything except the one that, to me, right now, feels like the most important.
"I want you to have a full security detail anytime you leave the grounds," he says finally. “More than what you went with for your appointment. I’d prefer you didn’t leave at all, but I know your mother needs to see her doctor, and you want to go with her.
And I'm having the perimeter security upgraded. "
"Ronan, that seems like overkill—"
"It's not." His tone brooks no argument. “This is what I know how to handle, Leila. Trust me on this.”
I nod, biting my lip. I feel like I’m being crushed by the weight of what I need to tell him. Clearly, I’m not equipped for keeping secrets, or maybe I just care more about Ronan than I’m willing to admit.
"Can we take a walk?" I ask abruptly. "I need some air, and there's something I want to talk to you about."
He looks at me curiously, and I wonder if he can see the secret I'm carrying written all over my face. Finally, he nods. "Of course. It’s cold outside. Do you want to go out?”
“I could use the fresh air,” I admit. “If you don’t mind the cold.”
“I’m fine with it. Grab your coat,” he adds, and I feel a warmth in my chest at the concern in his voice when he says it.
He cares about me, I think. Maybe not in the way that makes a lasting relationship, not in the way my mom seems to think he does, but he doesn’t want me hurt or uncomfortable or needing anything in any way.
He does his best to keep me satisfied and happy—except in one respect. And, I think grimly as I go to get my coat and scar and boots, it didn’t matter in the end, anyway. I guess once was enough.
We walk out into the gardens, which are bare this time of year, only a few winter-blooming flowers scattered throughout the otherwise stony space. We’re silent for several minutes, and I grapple with how to start. I still haven’t been able to figure out what I’m going to say.
We end up walking in silence all the way to the edge of the garden, where I can see pastures out in the distance, still green despite the weather. I think I can see sheep and a few blanketed horses roaming.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can also see the flicker of black, the security team roaming the estate and trying not to be overly obvious.
They’re never going to be more than shouting distance away, and although it makes me feel safer, I also feel a flicker of claustrophobia.
I’m not used to having so many people around, watching me all of the time.
"Ronan," I begin, then stop. My hands are shaking, and I clasp them behind my back to hide it.
"What is it?" He stops walking and turns to face me fully. "You've been nervous since I got home. What's wrong?"
"I need to tell you something, and I need you to let me finish before you react."
Something in my tone must alert him, because his expression grows guarded, the calm from moments ago disappearing.
"All right," he says carefully.
I take a deep breath, then another. There's no good way to do this, no gentle way to ease into it. I might as well just tell him, rather than continuing to draw it out. "I'm pregnant."
The words hang in the air between us like something turned physical by the weight of what I’ve just said. Ronan goes completely still, so still I wonder if he's even breathing. His face drains of color, and I watch as understanding dawns there.
“So, our wedding night.” His voice is flat and emotionless, and my stomach twists in knots.
“Yeah,” I whisper. It couldn’t be anything else; that’s the only time we’ve actually had sex.
"Christ." He runs both hands through his hair, turning away from me. "Bloody fucking Christ, Leila."
"I know this wasn't planned. I know this complicates things—"
"Complicates things?" He spins back to face me, and there's something wild in his eyes, something that looks almost like panic. "You have no idea… this changes everything. This is… this is a fucking disaster."
Inexplicably, I feel tears spring to my eyes. I don’t even know if I want this, but something about hearing him refer to the pregnancy as a disaster feels like a stab to the chest. "It doesn't have to be—"
"Doesn't it?" His laugh is harsh, bitter. "We had an arrangement. A temporary arrangement. And now..."
He can't seem to finish the sentence. Instead, he starts walking away from me, his strides long and angry. I’m not sure if he’s going back to the house or somewhere else, but something in me resists letting him just walk away from this.
"Ronan, wait!" I hurry after him, my heart hammering. "Where are you going?"
"I need to think."
Something snaps in me. "Think about what? About whether you want anything to do with your own child?" My chest feels like it’s aching. I hadn’t expected him to be this… angry. This cold. It doesn’t feel like the Ronan I know.
He stops so abruptly that I almost collide with his back. When he turns to face me, there's something dangerous in his expression. I take an involuntary step backward.
"You don't understand," he says, his voice deadly quiet. "You don't understand what this means."
"Then explain it to me!" The words come out louder than I intended, sharp with hurt and frustration.
"You can't just walk away from this. This was your idea, remember?
The marriage, the arrangement, all of it.
You're the one who came to me with this deal, and now you're going to abandon me because it got messy? "
"I'm not abandoning you." His jaw is so tight it sounds like he’s speaking through his teeth.
"Then what are you doing? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're running away."
"I'm trying to protect you!" The words explode out of him with a force that makes me flinch. "I'm trying to keep you alive!"
I stare at him, trying to make sense of his anger. "What are you talking about?"
For a moment, he just stares at me, his chest heaving like he's just run a marathon. Then he drops down onto a stone bench nearby, running his hands through his hair rapidly.
“I was married before you.” He says the words rapid-fast, like he needs to get it out before he changes his mind. “Her name was Siobhan.”’
I bite my lip, wondering if I should tell him what I overheard. But secrets aren’t going to help things between us right now, and if he can be honest with me, I owe the same to him.
“I know,” I whisper. “I overheard your dad talking about her when you were arguing about me. I didn’t hear… much. Just that you were married.”
Ronan looks up at me with surprise, the anger fading for just a moment. “And you didn’t say anything?”
“I thought you’d tell me when you were ready.” I swallow hard. “It looks like I was right.”
“I—” He takes a breath, dropping his hands onto his knees and rubbing them back and forth. “Yeah. I wasn’t ready to talk about it with anyone.”
Something twists in my chest. “Did you love her?” I hate how small my voice sounds when I say it, as if that should matter to me. But the thought of him loving this former wife, being devastated over however he lost her, makes my heart hurt.
“No.” His voice is flat and hard. “No, in fact, I’d go as far as to say I hated her. She hated me, too.”
My eyes widen. “Oh.”
“It was an arranged marriage. Connections, all of that. She was a good match for me on paper, as a mafia boss, and my father was preparing to turn things over to me. I wasn’t really given the choice to say no.”
That startles me. I’d never imagined a man not having a choice about something in this world. “So you married her?”
“We both agreed to the marriage. We didn’t like each other, but she was accepting of the fact that she needed to marry for her family’s advancement. It was the most straightforward kind of arranged marriage,” he adds. “No feeling, no confusion, just paperwork. But I—”