Page 79 of The Irish Arrangement

He scowled, getting off the bed and glaring down at me. “What?” He shook his head, walking to the bathroom and grumbling to himself as he washed his hands and came back with a washcloth and a tube of lube.

“What?” he demanded, apparently taking my muted protests as a complaint that it stung too much.

He shoved my gag down and arched his brow at me.

“Don’t…” I panted, staring at him. “Don’t hurt me.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Don’t hurt the baby.”

“What?”

I licked my lips. “Please. I’m sorry.”

“What?”

I lost the fight on my tears. One streaked free. “I didn’t feel well. When you stormed off, I was so sick with worry and stress. About you. About my mom. And when Riley brought me breakfast and said I might be suffering from morning sickness when the smell of food turned me off, I thought I’d humor her—and myself—and take a test.”

He frowned, staring at me so seriously that he seemed unable to believe me. “You’re pregnant?”

I nodded quickly, helpless to stop the small smile on my lips. “I took a test and I thought it was a mistake. Declan, I can’t. I don’t know how—I wasn’t—I’m not supposed to be able to conceive. That’s what I believed since I was a teenager. I didn’t believe it, but I took seven more tests just to make sure.”

“You’re pregnant.” It seemed like a question but sounded more like he was trying to convince himself that it was true.

“Yes. I’m pregnant. With your baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I ever married you thinking that I would remain childless. I truly don’t know how this happened.”

“How else would it happen?” he shot back.

I swallowed, so nervous that he would still be so mad. He got off the bed and paced, running his hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry, Declan. For everything. For ever lying and trying to manipulate the situation.”

I’d tell him a thousand times over if that was how long it would take for the truth to sink into his head. I would never stop professing my sorrow and regret there.

When he remained cool and pensive, not coming back to me, I reverted to that pit of dread. That feeling of being out of control and failing.

“Declan, this is what you wanted.”

“It’s kind of a surprise.” He shook his head, looking anywhere but at me as he struggled to comprehend this news. “You just told me that you couldn’t conceive, and now?—”

“I know. No one can be more surprised than me.”

Does he not believe me?

“The tests are in the bathroom. I was hoping and wishing you’d come home so I could tell you, so I could tell you first. But hopefully, I can find a doctor and have them confirm it. And I want to start prenatal care as soon as possible. Anything I can do to help this baby be healthy.” Deep down, I worried about any complications that might arise. I’d been under the assumption that I had reproductive issues, and I couldn’t help but be stressed that making this pregnancy a healthy and successful one would be my next challenge.

“Declan?” I licked my lips, breathless and anxious for him to reply and react in any other way than pacing and not meeting my eyes. “I know it’s a shock…”

Please don’t tell me I’ve been wrong about you. That you do care. And might love me.

He seemed so stuck in his mood, angry and surprised, that I lost all faith.

He’d gotten his heir. That was all he’d ever wanted. That was the end goal.

He no longer had to pretend that he cared about me. He no longer had to try to fuck me or resume any form of intimacy, especially the dark, rough kind that I’d come to need from him to let go.

All I was good for was giving him a baby, but I hated that I couldn’t hold any more value to him.

---