Page 88 of Ruthless Claim

My spine stiffens. “There’s no second husband,” I hiss in irritation.

“Or maybe it’s simpler than that.” His eyes gleam. “Maybe the Santoro princess just doesn’t know how to say the thing and is sitting there rearranging her pasta waiting for someone to come along and make it easy for her.” He picks up his wine. “As usual.”

I stiffen.

“Because that’s what happens, isn’t it,” he continues conversationally. “When something is hard. You wait for someone else to either guess it or make it easier and in the meantime you just—perform. Do the face. Move the pasta around.” He gestures at my plate. “God forbid Valentina Santoro actually just say the thing.”

My jaw is so tight I can feel it in my back teeth.

“I’m not—” I start.

“Four days,” he cuts in. “Whatever this is has been sitting on your face for four days and you’ve had approximately forty opportunities to say it and instead you’ve been”—he does the gesture again— “this. Very polished. Very⁠—”

“I’m pregnant.”

The word flies out of me. I’m so fucking pissed that my hands are shaking slightly and my face is hot.

The nausea has spiked from the adrenaline and this is…this is not how I wanted to do this.

I wanted to be calm, and instead I’ve just detonated it across the dinner table because he fucking pissed me off and found the nerve that always gets me.

“There,” I snap. “I said it. Happy?”

He’s staring at me, eyes wide, fork still clenched in his fist.

“I’ve been trying to tell you for four days,” I continue, because I’m too rattled to stop now and the words are just falling out of me. “Four days, Cillian. I’ve had this—I found out and I’ve been trying to find the right way to say it and you just”—I gesture at him furiously—“you and your—you always do that, you find the exact thing and you push it until I—” I press my lips together. My eyes are stinging and I’m furious about that too. “So yes, the thing I wasn’t telling you is I’m pregnant. And I’m definitely pregnant because I took five tests and they were all really fucking positive. So.” I sit back and cross my arms. My heart is slamming against my ribs. “Now you know.”

Silence.

He’s still staring at me with that wild-eyed look, and he hasn’t moved a muscle.

Meanwhile, my face is hot and tears are brimming behind my eyes.

I am so mad at him for making me blurt it out like that and so terrified of what he’s going to say and so nauseous that the room has a slight shimmer to it.

“Cillian.” My voice comes out smaller than I mean it to. “Say something. You’re actually scaring me.”

The fork drops. It hits the edge of his plate with a sharp sound and bounces onto the table, but he’s still staring at me.

“You’re…” he breathes but unable to finish his sentence.

“Pregnant,” I nod, my lips trembling and my throat hurting from the force of keeping back tears. “Yes.”

He pushes back from the table.

I flinch. I don’t mean to. It’s just—he moves so damn fast.

I’ve spent my whole life in rooms where fast movements mean something and my body doesn’t always distinguish.

He sees the flinch and a look crosses his face.

It’s not shock, but it’s something softer. He crosses to me in three strides and he pulls me up out of my chair.

My mouth opens to say something, but then I’m folded into his arms so abruptly that I make a small, undignified sound against his shoulder.

He holds me so tight I can barely breathe.

“We’re going to have a baby,” he says, and his voice is rough and completely unguarded. I’ve never heard it like that before. His hand comes up to the back of my head. “Valentina. We’re going to have a baby.”