Page 52 of No Knight (My Kind of Hero #3)
Ryan
Twenty-nine weeks, and I have two million pounds in an investment account. I also have an office—a home office on the same floor as Matt’s—with a window overlooking the garden and a picture-perfect window seat.
The room wasn’t an office the day little Flip did her thing—that’s how we’re referring to the baby now. From me, it’s still “She’s moving—Flip is kicking—come quickly and feel!” And from Matt: “So strong, Flipper, my maneen—my little man. We’ll have you kicking conversions for Ireland in no time.”
Another game we’re still playing, but I digress.
The morning after Flip’s first flip, my office was a bedroom. By the end of that day, it looked like something out of an interiors magazine. In fact, an interior designer turned up that morning unannounced, carrying a half dozen concept boards, mood boards, and Lord knows what else.
We chatted, I made my choices in a daze, and then by the time Matt got home that evening, the contractors were already finished. My complaints fell on deaf ears, but my thanks were well received when I threw myself against him in a hug.
And he hugged me back, and his hug was solid. Fortifying. Like a power pack, recharging my world.
Working from home—though not my home—is pretty great. It’s warm and it’s comforting, and I can pop down and chat with Mary when she’s here. I have everything I need—software, hardware, a desk the size of a runway, and an office chair that looks like it belongs in a spaceship.
Got to take care of those back muscles. And I don’t mean by spontaneous orgasms.
The work isn’t taxing. It’s fun and exhilarating—like playing the slots. Sometimes frustrating, but that’s okay because I love it. And it means I have something else to concentrate on and something else to talk about when Matt is home.
“ They always leave. Did I not teach you anything, girl? ”
I press my hand to my stomach as though to protect my baby. Protect her from who, though? My mother is dead.
Who’s gonna protect her from you?
My heart begins to pound, and I practically stumble like a drunk to the pretty window seat. This is not happening now, I recite silently as I drop to the cushions. I made my peace with my past, with my decisions. I stepped away from all that rage, all that hate ...
I put aside my yearning and my mother want. I made peace with the reality she couldn’t be that for me.
Merciless. The word echoes in my head.
How could she expect mercy when she had so little for me?
I glance out the window, the aged glass distorting the view of the garden ever so slightly. Spring sunshine spills over a lawn recovering from a cold winter. Birds hop around a pond; a willow’s branches seem to offer a hug to the ground. Inside the room, I wish there was someone to hug me.
All I wanted was to be loved. To be shown a little kindness.
In the place of that embrace, I wrap my hands around my stomach.
Matt would hug me, given the chance. Because he’s decent and kind and generous and good, and maybe that’s what happens when you grow up in a regular family. You learn to be loved. And how to show love.
He loves our baby. He’d love me too, if I’d let him.
But I won’t let him, because if he knew the truth, it would ruin everything.
He deserves someone better than me. Someone better than a killer queen.