Chapter 7 The Interruption #3
The door opened. Cillian came out, his face blank. The mask was back. He walked to Vesper, stood behind the couch, and placed his hand on her shoulder.
"Everything okay?" she asked.
"We need to talk. Alone."
She followed him to the cottage. He closed the door and stood by the window, his back to her.
"What happened?" she asked.
"He wants the test. Non-invasive. A blood sample from you, a cheek swab from me. They can determine paternity from fetal DNA in your blood."
"When?"
"As soon as possible. He's already called a lab."
"Good. Let's do it."
Cillian turned, his face tight. "There's something else."
"What?"
"He said if the test confirms the child is mine, he'll honor the clause. The estate transfers. The research continues. Everything proceeds as planned."
"That's good, right?"
"It's good. But there's a condition."
"What condition?"
"He wants control of the research, the biotech division. He says that if I'm going to inherit, I need to step up. Run the company. Be the face of the family. He wants me to come back to Boston. Sit on the board. Run the division."
Vesper's stomach dropped. "Boston."
"Boston. Full-time. Corporate. The life I left when I got out of the military."
"And me?"
"He said you could stay at the cottage. He'd honor that. But I'd need to be in Boston, running things. Coming back on weekends."
"Weekends."
"That's what he said."
She sat on the bed. Her legs felt weak. "He wants to separate us."
"He wants to control me. The company. The research. The heir. He wants it all."
"And you'd have to choose: the company or me."
"I've already chosen."
She looked up. "What?"
"I told him no."
"You told him no."
"I told him I'm not going to Boston. I'm not taking a board seat.
I'm not running his company. I'm staying here.
With you. With our child. The estate transfers per the clause.
The research can continue without me. If he wants to disinherit me, he can try.
But the clause is legal. Eleanor's will is binding.
The estate passes to biological grandchildren. He can't override that."
"You chose me over your inheritance."
"I chose you. Over everything."
She stood and walked to him. His face was set, determined. Yet, she saw the fear underneath—the cost of his choice.
"What if he fights it?" she said. "What if he contests the will?"
"He can try. My lawyers say the clause is ironclad. Eleanor was specific. A biological grandchild triggers immediate transfer. The child is mine. The test will confirm it. The estate is ours."
"Ours."
"Ours. Yours. Mine. Our child's."
She pressed her hands against his chest. His heart beat fast, hard.
"You gave up your family for me."
"I gave up a company. You are my family."
She kissed him, hard, desperate. Her hands fisted in his shirt. He pulled her against him, his arms wrapped around her, tight, possessive.
"He's going to come for us," she said against his mouth.
"Let him come."
"Cillian."
"I've been in combat zones. I've been shot. I've been blown up. Your father can't scare me. My father can't scare me. The only thing that scares me is losing you."
She pulled back and looked at him. "You're not going to lose me."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
He kissed her again, softer. His hands moved to her face, holding her. His thumbs traced her cheekbones, gentle, careful.
"I love you," he said.
"I love you too."
Outside, the night was dark. The ocean rumbled low. The main house lit up. Elena and Richard were inside, fighting, talking, and trying to understand.
But here in the cottage, it was quiet. Just them. Just the baby. Just the three of them.
She pressed her hand against her stomach. His hand covered hers.
Cillian's phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket and looked at the screen. His face went still.
"What?" she said.
"It's the lab. They can do the test tomorrow. Dr. Marsh already sent your blood work. They just need my swab."
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow. We'll have the results in forty-eight hours."
Forty-eight hours. Two days. Then the world would know. Then the clause would trigger. Then the estate would transfer. Then Richard would have to accept it. Or fight it.
Then everything would change.
"Okay," she said. "Tomorrow."
He put down the phone and pulled her against him. He held her, his chin on her shoulder, his hands on her stomach. Their child grew inside her—real and theirs.
"Whatever happens," he said, "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Not to Boston. Not to the company. Not anywhere you aren't."
She leaned back, feeling his
body, solid and warm. "Then we do the test tomorrow," she said. "We wait and hope."
"And we love each other."
"And we love each other."
The cottage was quiet. The ocean whispered. Eleanor's roses closed for the night, sleeping, and waiting for morning.
In forty-eight hours, they would have answers: the paternity, the inheritance, and their future.
But tonight, they had this: the bed, the cottage, and each other.
She took his hand and led him to the bedroom, closing the door.
Tomorrow, the test. Tonight, just them.