11
NIALL
I’m leaving the gym, worn out and a little bruised from going several rounds with one of the guys I regularly train with in the boxing ring, when my phone lights up with a text from Ana. I drop everything—literally—to look at it, because Ana never texts me. She never has any reason to—we only have each other’s contact information in case of an emergency on either her or Liam’s part. As soon as I read the few lines on my screen, though, I’m boiling with an anger that makes my vision nearly go red for a second.
Saoirse talked to Isabella. I thought you’d want to know. It’s my fault, I asked Isabella to come in and meet Brigit. Don’t be mad at her. You might want to check up on her though, Saoirse wasn’t exactly kind. Text me if you need anything.
“That bloody meddling—” I cut off the thought before it becomes more unkind than I want to be. I grit my teeth, reassessing how I’d planned to spend the rest of my day. I can only imagine the state Isabella is likely in right now, and my immediate instinct is to go to her. I wish she’d told me what happened, instead of getting the text from Ana, but I already know the answer as to why. She doesn’t want to upset me or cause more strife—but I damn well want to know when someone’s been unkind to my wife.
My wife.The thought went through my head like a reflex, not like a man already plotting his divorce. I push it out of my head just as quickly, because I don’t want to think too deeply about why that is. I don’t want to think about the future with Isabella that I’ve convinced myself we can’t have.
Standing by my bike, I text Ana quickly to thank her for letting her know, telling her I’m going to check on Isabella. I shoot off one to Isabella just as quickly, letting her know I’m on my way over, and I don’t bother waiting for a response. I’m going to make sure she’s okay regardless.
When I get to her floor, I see the door cracked open. My heart leaps into my throat, my fight reflexes already up at the thought that someone might have broken in, until I take in the multiple tall boxes just outside in the hall. I frown at them, confused as to what’s going on. A moment later, I see Isabella poke her head out, and my breath catches in my throat.
She’s more dressed down than I’ve ever seen her, in soft-looking lounge pants resting low on her hips and a cropped tank top that shows the soft brown expanse of her still-flat belly. Just the sight of that bare flesh, the hint of her hipbones above the waistband, makes my mouth go dry with desire and freezes me in place, wanting to see more. Her thick, wavy black hair is piled up atop her head, and she’s frowning at the boxes as if they present a particularly complex problem. It gives me a moment to look at her unobserved, enjoying the sight of her relaxed and seemingly at home.
It’s not until I look a little closer that I see her eyes are reddened, her lips chapped, as if she’s been crying and biting them. A surge of anger wells up in me, directed entirely at Saoirse, for making Isabella cry.
She sees me a second later and her eyes go wide. “Niall.” She breathes my name as if I’m some kind of savior, like I’ve come to rescue her, and that shouldn’t really be a surprise. After all, I have, over and over again.
“What’s all this?” I gesture at the boxes, and Isabella flushes.
“Furniture,” she says in a small voice, as if she’s worried I might be upset. “Things Ana and I picked up today. They said it wouldn’t be delivered until next week, but—”
“It’s here early.” I fill in the last of the sentence with an easy smile. “Happens sometimes, when they see you have a fancy credit card like that.” I give her a teasing wink. “We probably need to move some of the old furniture out, aye?”
“I know it’s a lot—” Her cheeks flush, and I step towards her quickly, standing close enough that I can slip my fingers beneath her chin, tipping her face up so she’s looking into my eyes.
“As long as you found things that you like, that will make you feel at home here, that’s all I care about,” I tell her firmly. “What Idon’twant is you moving anything too heavy, so head back in for a minute while I go down to the lobby. The furniture in the apartment belongs to the building, so they’ll want to send someone up to make sure it gets to the right place.”
She smiles at me, soft and watery, and I have to fight the urge to lean down and kiss her. She’s so goddamned beautiful, more beautiful than anyone I’ve ever known, any woman I’ve ever been with, and I want her with a ferocity that hurts.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell her gently, managing to resist my need for her, but only just barely.We have to get used to being friends, co-parents, rather than lovers,I remind myself. It’s just so bloody hard when I don’t feel as if I’ve had enough of her—when I feel as if no amount of time, no hours spent in bed with her, could ever be enough.
It’s easy enough to get someone to come up and assist in moving furniture—a few someones, actually. The manager on duty mentioned something about needing to make an appointment, but a quick mention of my affiliation with the Irish Kings produced three able-bodied men able to come up and help move any furniture Isabella has decided she doesn’t want out. While I move the rest in.
“I can help,” Isabella tries to insist when I make my way back upstairs to let her know that help is on its way, but I just shake my head.
“You need to be careful,” I tell her firmly. “You’ve already been through too much in the early stages of this pregnancy, and your doctor’s appointment isn’t for another two weeks still. So sit down on the couch and let your husband do the work.”
A pink flush appears on Isabella’s cheeks at the wordhusband, and I have to ignore the quick beat of my own heart in response, seeing it. Our chemistry is too good, magnetic to the point of being almost unignorable. I never wanted a wife, and yet here I am, lingering at the touch of my fingers against her face, my chest tightening at her reaction to me calling myself her husband.
“I bought a new couch,” she whispers, those liquid dark eyes still fixed on mine.
“Then sit on the old one until we move it. Or I’ll carry you in there myself, and set you down on it.” I narrow my eyes at her, doing my best to ignore the shiver that I feel rippling through her. I can tell I’ve turned her on, and it takes everything in me not to carry her back into the apartment—but not to her couch.
The sound of the elevator door tears me away, and I feel Isabella’s soft, reluctant breath as she steps back too, heading towards the apartment door.
—
It takes a few hours to get the old furniture out of the apartment, and all of the new boxes moved in. When that’s done, the first thing I arrange for Isabella is the couch—a soft, plush sectional in dove-grey velvet—and look pointedly at her until she flops down onto it, glaring at me.
“Fine. I’m not helpless, you know, even pregnant. But—thank you. For all of this.” Her voice softens on the last words, her teeth sinking into her chapped bottom lip as if she’s worried I might find her ungrateful.
I glance over at her. Her hands are pressed between her knees, her cleavage visible in the scooped neckline of the crop top. My cock twitches at the sight, imagining being pillowed between them, something I haven’t tried with her yet. I can picture myself sliding between her breasts, my cockhead brushing against her lips as her small pink tongue flicks out to lick it—
“Niall?” My name is a question on her lips, and I jerk out of my fantasy with a start, well on my way to being uncomfortably erect even in my sweatpants at this point.