Page 6 of His Remorseful King
I screw up my face. She’s not even wearing an engagement ring, and she’s telling people we’re married? I don’t even know what her vagina looks like. I was blackout drunk when she claims we had sex. “Husband?” I choke on the word.
“Well, soon enough,” Camille says, turning to me. She holds out her hand for me to grab. “Once you decide to move to town.”
The mother of my child is certifiable.
“You’re not from around here?” Holly asks, taking up the stool next to a computer monitor. Her gaze is on me as she helps Camille lift her shirt and instructs her to move to her side.
“Boston.” I reach for Camille’s hand, reluctantly.
Mostly because I want to be as close to the baby as I can, when I can. She’s bonding with the baby now, while he grows inside of her. And I’m not even around enough for him or her to get used to my voice. They won’t even recognize the sound of my words when they’re here, and the knowledge of that hits me right in the gut.
“We have to get some profile pictures first. Count fingers and toes, and check on the size of baby’s heart, and such. Then we’ll check the sex,” Holly says, pressing the end of the wand in her hand against Camille’s growing stomach.
The image flicks onto the large flatscreen on the wall. I can easily make out the baby’s profile. A head, a cute little button nose, and cheek structure. The rest of the body is kind of a blob. But then I catch the flutter of the heartbeat, and my heart stops.
This is my child. Despite the negative events that have rippled into effect since the creation of this baby, they’re here, growing inside of someone I barely know. My chest feels tight and I know it’s because the reality of my situation is finally sinking in.
Camille and I have to figure out a compromise. Because I refuse to be away from my newborn for more than a few hours, and whether or not she likes it, I’m going to be an active parent.
Holly continues the scan, making comments about how cute the baby is, showing us a 3D image of a thumb-sucking little alien.My baby.That alien is my baby.
“Alright. Here’s the moment of truth,” Holly says, sucking in a dramatic breath of air.
“Drum roll,” I say, rapping the knuckles of my free hand against the bottom of the chair I’m using.
Camille giggles and we both wait for what Holly will say next.
“It’s a boy.”
“You’re lying,” I say, mostly in shock.
Holly laughs, shaking her head. “I’m not. Your baby is a boy. Congratulations.”
A Murphy boy. And while I’m the second son to my father, this son,my son, is technically the heir until Callum, my older brother, has children. Pride rushes through me. I know my life is hard. It’s not a safe environment to raise a child. But family always comes before the crime, before the empire my father built. I’ll always put my kids before that, just the way Da did.
Camille smiles, turning toward me. “That’s amazing news. Daddy will be excited to hear.”
“Will he?” I ask. Why would her father care what the sex of her baby is? She’s not a son and doesn’t have the responsibility of furthering their family name.
She nods, wiping the gel free from her stomach. “Yes. What grandfather wouldn’t want a grandson? This is his first grandchild.”
“We’re all finished,” Holly says. She prints off a few photos and hands them to Camille.
After she excuses herself, I stand from the chair. Grabbing Camille’s arm, I help her climb off the hospital bed. “Would you like to grab lunch? We can try to figure out the logistics of our… relationship.”
Camille glances up at me, a genuine smile on her face. It’s the first one I think I’ve seen since the evening we met. She never seems to be a miserable person, but she does seem superficial. Like the only things that make her happy in life are material items. So the genuine happiness I catch now is something I’m not expecting.
“Sure,” she says.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I force myself not to pull it out. I can give her my attention for a little longer, so I do. I listen to her as she explains her day. We walk out of the office and the town car I hired to bring us here is waiting at the curb.
Once we’re settled into our seats, she rattles off the name of a restaurant to the driver and I pull out my phone. Three missed calls from Callum, two from Scotty, and seven text messages. That’s not good. I glance at Camille. “I’m sorry. My brother is calling me. I need to call him back.”
“That’s fine,” she says, her hand falling absently on my knee.
I do my best not to flinch away from her touch. I don’t want to give her the wrong impression of our relationship, but I also don’t want to make her feel like I’m repulsed by her either. Before calling, I open up my text messages.
Callum:Where the bloody hell are you???
