Page 190 of Ruthless Claim

They put her on my chest and my arms instinctively come around her. She’s still crying, her tiny face scrunched up in outrage. She’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my entire life.

“Hi,” I whisper, in awe of this tiny creature. “Hi, sweet girl. I’m your mama.”

She quiets slightly at the sound of my voice, and something in my chest cracks open and doesn’t close again.

I look up at Cillian.

He’s staring at her with an expression I have never seen on his face before. Like something has undone him completely, down to the foundation, and he doesn’t mind at all.

“Cillian,” I whisper, my cheeks sore from smiling. “Look at her.”

He looks at me and his eyes are wet. “She’s perfect,” he says roughly. “You’re perfect. I can’t—” He stops and swallows. “I love you so much.”

I choke out a wet laugh, feeling our daughter nuzzle against my chest. “I love you too.”

The doctor is doing something that I’m only distantly aware of. My entire world is this baby, this man, and this moment.

A nurse comes by and takes my baby from me.

I want to protest and scream give her back but Cillian goes with them, hovering over the nurses and watching whatever they’re doing. I relax slightly.

Cillian won’t allow anyone to hurt her.

But the more I watch, the more I see him fall to pieces over our daughter.

When they bring her back, she’s swaddled in that ugly hospital blanket with a tiny pink knit hat on her head. Cillian holds her like she’s made of something irreplaceable, which she is.

“Hey, little one,” he murmurs, staring at her in awe. “I’m your dad.” He pauses, drawing her closer and pressing his lips to her small forehead. “And I promise I’m going to spend the rest of my life keeping you safe.”

My throat tightens so fast it hurts and tears prick my eyes.

This man. This dangerous, ruthless, occasionally infuriating man who married me as a political transaction and somewhere along the way became the person I would burn the world down for. He’s holding our daughter like she’s the axis everything else turns on.

“Nora,” I say hoarsely.

We’d debated—argued—it for months. Cillian has objectively awful taste in names, and we managed to narrow it down to a top three. Nora was on there, but I wasn’t sure of it. But when I look at her tiny face, I know.

Cillian looks at the baby, studying her face. “Nora Brennan,” he says softly, trying out the name.

“Nora Gabrielle Brennan,” I correct him. “After Gabriel.”

He’s quiet for a second. “Nora Gabrielle Brennan,” he says softly. He looks down at her. “What do you think, Nora? Do you like your name?”

Nora yawns enormously and falls asleep.

Cillian laughs, quiet and low, the kind of laugh that’s mostly just breath. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

By evening the room is full. I was born into a family that treats privacy as a loose suggestion.

Leo, Emma, and Seraphina arrive within the hour. Emma makes a beeline for Nora and immediately starts crying, which sets me off again. Leo stands in the doorway with the car seat, looking at his baby sister holding a baby and doing an extremely unconvincing impression of a man who is not emotional about it.

“You look terrible,” he tells me, his eyes bloodshot.

I give him my most withering glare. “I just gave birth, Leo.”

“Well I know that. I’m just saying, you might want to—” he moves his hand around in the air.

“Finish that sentence,” I say sweetly, but my eyes promise death. I used to beat up my brother when we were kids and I’ll do it again. “Please. Finish it.”