Page 11 of His to Keep
“No, I’ve got an implant.” She doesn’t elaborate about how or why she has birth control, but I’m relieved she’s protected. It was irresponsible of me not to check before fucking her.
“So, what was all that baby stuff about?”
“Nothing. Just thinking about our future.” Eilidh offers me a saccharin smile. I return my attention to cooking breakfast, but my sharp-clawed little kitten isn’t done yet. “So, where will we spend our lifetime of marital bliss? Do you have a house for us with a pretty garden and a white picket fence, or do you intend to drag me to some fortified Mafia lair, a converted nuclear bunker, perhaps?”
Removing the eggs, which are now done, from the heat, I turn to her. “What are you trying to achieve here, kitten?”
“Nothing.” She bats her eyelashes in feigned innocence. “Just trying to get a sense of what our future will be like, since you seem to think we’re going to be married.”
“We are going to be married.”
“We’ll see.” There’s a challenging gleam in her eye. “But I’d love to know what you think our life will be like.”
“I haven’t thought about it,” I admit. Beyond taking Eilidh home to New York with me, I don’t have a plan. After what she’s been through, I want to involve her in decisions about where we live, when we have kids, and how she spends her time. The one thing she gets no say in is that we will be married.
“You haven’t thought about it,” Eilidh scoffs. “And here I was thinking you were the man with all the answers. You’re the one who steamed into my life and decided you had some claim on me, after all.”
I’m distracted from responding to her bullshit when my phone, which is lying on the kitchen counter, pings. Eilidh snatches it before I can and reads the message visible on the lock screen.
“It’s from Danny.” She looks up at me. “Who’s Danny?”
“He drove the car last night.” I don’t tell her anything else. She doesn’t need to know his entire resume. I lean across the counter and grab the phone out of Eilidh’s hand. The notification has disappeared from the screen, so I open my messaging app and read what he sent. “I’m getting the messages. Does the girl want anything?” I rub my chin thoughtfully. “Getting what messages?”
Eilidh rolls her eyes. “It means he’s buying groceries.”
“So why didn’t he say that?”
“I assume Danny is Scottish,” Eilidh says.
“Yeah.”
“So, a Scottish man used a Scottish phrase in Scotland. Imagine that.” Vitriol drips from her tone.
Bowing low, I peer up at her. “My apologies for being a big, dumb American, your highness.” In the time I’ve been in Scotland, I’ve come to understand a lot of the different words and phrases they use here, butgetting the messageswas new to me.
Eilidh sighs. “I don’t think you’re dumb, just supremely annoying.”
I grin, not hating that I’m getting under her skin. “So, do you need Danny to pick anything up for you?”
“Yeah, some leggings, a long-sleeved t-shirt, and a pair of trainers.”
“Trainers. Those are sneakers, right?”
“Right.”
“See. No translation required.”
Eilidh shakes her head. “I already told you I don’t think you’re dumb. Ask him to get me the smallest adult size for the clothes and a seven for the trainers. Oh, and I’ll probably need a jacket too.”
“Sure.” I tap out a quick reply to Danny, listing everything she asked for. “Anything else?”
“If he can find a bakery that sells school cake, I’d love a piece.”
“School cake?” I check because I’ve never heard of it.
“Yeah, sponge, white icing, sprinkles. It’s…” Eilidh does a chef’s kiss gesture. “Tell him to get you a piece. You could do with something to sweeten you up.”
“Why would I need cake when I get so much sweetness from you?”
