Page 14 of Royal Bargain (Royals of the Underworld #3)

LIAM

S he says it so suddenly, I almost think I imagined it.

But the way her eyes drop, the way her whole body curls in on itself like she’s bracing for a hit—no, she said it. And she meant it.

I just stare at her for a second, blinking. Of all the things I thought she might be hiding… this wasn’t one of them.

But it’s like I’m looking at her and I actually see her for the first time. Everything about her, all the stuff I chalked up to personality quirks, or just stress suddenly makes sense.

"Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask softly, not accusing—just sad that she felt the need to hide herself. “Why did you feel like you couldn’t tell me?”

Her fingers twitch, but she doesn’t pull away.

“I didn’t want you to look at me like everyone else does when they find out,” she murmurs. “I didn’t know if you could understand. Maybe you’d see me as broken or too complicated.”

Her voice cracks on the last word, like she hates herself just for saying it.

I brush my thumbs over her knuckles. “Annika…”

She shakes her head, fast and sharp. “You don’t get it.

My father—he never wanted to admit anything was wrong.

Said it would make me look weak. Said I had to act normal or people would think I wasn’t good enough.

Smart enough. He told me if I didn’t learn to mask it, no one would take me seriously. ”

There’s a crack in her voice that shreds something in my chest.

“Everyone at school called me the weird girl. They called me dumb when they wanted to be mean. Quirky when they were being nice. My sisters always thought I was just being difficult when I didn’t pick up on things.

Like I should’ve known better.” She lets out a brittle laugh.

“I was always too much or not enough. Except with Aleksey. He never made me feel like a problem. He used to… sort of run interference when I got overwhelmed. He understood in his own way. But even then, I didn’t talk about it. I didn’t say it.”

She draws in a shaky breath. “But I couldn’t keep hiding it. Not when things between us started falling apart because of me.”

My heart twists at the look in her eyes. It’s as though she’s bracing for me to back away. Like she’s already preparing to be left.

“Hey.” I shift closer, tightening my grip on her hands. “That’s not why things have been hard. And it’s not your fault. None of this is.”

Her gaze flickers, doubtful. I swallow and squeeze her hands. “I have to tell you something, too. I have ADHD. So I get it.”

Her brows lift in surprise, and I give her a sheepish smile.

My lips twist as I think about how it was for us growing up. “I spent most of my life feeling like the odd one out. Even with my brothers.”

I pause, trying to find the right words.

“School was hell for me. I wasn’t stupid—my brain just…

worked differently. I could think fast, solve problems in weird ways, but none of that showed up on paper.

I couldn’t sit still, couldn’t stay focused.

Teachers would get frustrated and lump me into the ‘slow’ group. ”

Annika’s eyes soften, her thumb brushing lightly along mine.

“I’d get bored. Restless. That’s when I started acting out.

” I let out a breathy laugh, humorless. “I wasn’t trying to be a bad kid.

I guess I just didn’t know how to keep myself from acting out when I was bored or stressed.

And when the other kids started picking on me, calling me names, pushing me around, I learned real fast that being quiet didn’t keep the other kids from coming after me. ”

Her hand tightens around mine.

“So I fought back. Got good at it, too. Became the kid no one messed with. And that… sort of became my role. It was the only thing I knew how to do that made me feel useful.”

I glance down, then up again, meeting her gaze. “That’s still how they see me sometimes—my family. The enforcer. Their blunt instrument. And maybe that’s not wrong, but it’s not all I am either. Just like how being autistic isn’t all you are.”

Her thumb is still stroking over the back of my hand in a slow rhythm, like she’s trying to ground me in the motion, or maybe she’s trying to ground us both.

Then she tilts her head, her voice soft but steady. “But… what do you want to do, Liam? If you weren’t the enforcer. If you weren’t just the bodyguard or the backup muscle. What would you choose?”

The question hits harder than I expect.

I open my mouth, then close it. Try again. “I… I don’t know.”

It sounds pathetic, even to me. I look away, jaw tight.

“I’ve never really thought about it like that.

There was always someone who needed something.

Rory with the business. Kellan running interference.

Alannah being the only one of us with brains.

Lucky trying to figure himself out. I just filled in the gaps.

Went where I was needed. Did what had to be done. ”

I shake my head, chuckling without humor. “I think I got so good at playing a part that I forgot I could want something else. Or maybe I just figured I wasn’t allowed to.”

Her brow furrows, and she leans in a little. “You’re allowed to want things, Liam. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s not what anyone expects.”

I meet her eyes, and for a second, I think maybe she sees me—really sees me—the way I tried to see her when she confessed.

“You too,” I murmur. “You’re allowed to want more than just surviving your father’s world.”

She nods, slow and solemn.

And for a heartbeat, we just stay there. Two people with messy, tangled brains and bruised hearts, trying to figure out how to build something that isn’t just survival.

A soft cry breaks through the quiet, high-pitched and insistent.

I rise from the couch, moving without thinking. “I’ve got her,” I say, already walking toward the bassinet.

She’s kicking her little legs, arms flailing like she’s trying to fight off imaginary ninjas. I scoop her up carefully, settling her against my chest. She’s so small, but she makes a hell of a lot of noise for someone so tiny.

“Hey, now,” I ask, swaying with her. “What are you mad about, a stór ? Did we wake you up from your very important dream? Were you flying a spaceship with Uncle Lucky again?”

Her cries taper off into little hiccups, and I start pacing a worn path across the room. The floor creaks in all the familiar spots, but the rhythm settles her. It always does.

Behind me, I hear the soft rustle of Annika getting up from the couch. “You’re really good with her,” she says.

I glance back. She’s watching me like I’m something she can’t quite believe is real.

“She likes the stories,” I say, giving Lily a bounce. “Especially the one where Alannah convinced me to break into a school theater to steal a prop crown. She falls asleep right around the part where I get arrested.”

Annika lets out a quiet laugh, and something eases in my chest at the sound.

“You’re more than just comic relief, you know.”

I lift an eyebrow.

“I mean it.” She comes closer, her voice steady, her eyes full of something that feels too big to name. “You’re more than the muscle. More than backup. You’re patient, and kind, and gentle with her. With me. You’re not just good at this, Liam. You’re good.”

My throat tightens around the words I don’t know how to say.

I look down at Lily, who’s slowly blinking up at me, her tiny fingers fisting in the fabric of my shirt.

“You really think so?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

“I know so.”

Her words stick with me—cling to something deep in my chest like they’re trying to root there.

I look away, rocking Lily gently as she starts drifting back to sleep, her little body heavy and warm against mine. “I took the job with Burns,” I say after a beat, “because I wanted people to see me differently. Not just the guy you send when something needs to get broken.”

Annika doesn’t say anything, just watches me like she’s waiting for more.

“I thought if I did this—ran the campaign, handled the logistics, made it a success—people would finally stop looking at me like the screw-up brother.” I shrug, shifting Lily slightly.

“But it’s been hard. The schedule’s a mess, I keep missing things, forgetting follow-ups, losing track of stuff.

My brain’s not built for tight timelines and moving pieces.

I get overwhelmed, freeze up, or hyperfocus on the wrong thing. I’m trying, but…”

I trail off, the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. I hate admitting this. Hate saying I’m not good at something that matters.

Annika steps in closer, her voice low but sure. “Then let me help.”

I blink, surprised. “You’ve got enough on your plate?—”

She cuts me off with a gentle look. “Liam. I love organizing. Schedules, lists, sorting chaos into something manageable? That’s my thing. I’ve had to rely on routines and systems my whole life to function—what if I could build something that works for you too?”

Her words hit me like a balm. Not pity. Not annoyance. Just… support. From someone who gets it.

“You’d really want to do that?”

Annika nods. “We can try different systems. Color codes, checklists, maybe a shared calendar or a whiteboard. Whatever makes it easier for you to stay on top of everything without burning out.”

I stare at her for a moment, heart tight in my chest.

She doesn’t think less of me for struggling.

She thinks I’m worth helping.

“Yeah,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Okay. That sounds… amazing.”

Lily lets out a tiny sigh, her fingers unclenching as she fully drifts off. I glance down at her, then at Annika. “Think she’s out enough to put down?”

Annika smiles, and it’s soft in a way that makes my chest ache. “Let’s try.”

We move together, quiet and careful, and I lower Lily into the bassinet with both of us hovering like she might wake at the slightest sound. But she stays asleep, her face relaxed in that milk-drunk baby way that somehow makes all the chaos worth it.

Annika tugs a light blanket over her and lingers for just a second, brushing a gentle hand over Lily’s dark curls.

Then we drift back to the couch, both of us moving slower now, like neither one of us wants to break the calm that’s settled between us.

I grab my tablet from the cluttered coffee table and hand it to her, rubbing the back of my neck. “You really think you can untangle the disaster that is my to-do list?”

She raises an eyebrow, already scrolling through it. “Oh, baby. This is nothing.” She says it like a challenge, like she’s about to wage war on my chaos and absolutely win.

She curls her legs beneath her and starts asking questions—what tasks are urgent, what’s flexible, who I can delegate things to.

I answer, half in a daze, watching her work.

Her fingers move fast, her expression focused, and I realize I’ve never seen her look this at ease.

It’s like she’s slipping into her element, reshaping my mess into something that actually makes sense.

“I color-coded the priorities,” she says, handing the tablet back after a few minutes. “I split your campaign stuff from the family obligations. Everything that can be moved is in blue.”

I glance down at the screen, blinking. “How the hell did you do this so fast?”

She gives a small shrug, lips twitching like she’s trying not to smile. “Told you—I like organizing. Makes things feel less tricky.”

I’m still staring at the screen when she nudges me lightly with her shoulder.

“You’re not a screw-up, Liam,” she says quietly. “You’re trying. That counts for something. It counts for a lot.”

I look over at her, throat tight. There’s something in her expression—gentle and steady—that makes it hard to breathe. Like she sees something in me I’ve been too scared to believe in myself.

I don’t even know what I’m doing, exactly—maybe it’s the hour, maybe it’s just her—but I reach out. Slowly. Just in case she needs space.

She doesn’t move.

Our lips meet in a soft, lingering kiss. No urgency. No fire. Just something solid and warm, like the start of a promise.

We stay like that for a beat too long, foreheads resting together, her fingers curled loosely in the hem of my shirt. My hands are still cradling her face like I’m afraid she might vanish if I let go.

Her eyes flutter open, searching mine—and just like that, I’m gone again. Wanting her. All of her. The fire and the fear and the brilliant mess in between.

I stroke my thumb across her cheek. “Do you wanna go upstairs?”