Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
“Dara—”
“Get out,” I snap, about to blow.
He grunts, leaves, and I barely hold back until I hear the door shut.
God, what a fucking nightmare.
I finish up and the sickness wanes enough that I can shower and put on clean clothes. I find a text from Kathryn making sure I’m okay.
Dara: Well, I puked in front of him. Or almost did. Pretty sure he heard me screeching like a dying raptor though. He came in while I was having my normal session.
Kathryn: Are you okay? What did he say?
Dara: Looked terrified, honestly. Wanted to help. But I don’t want him to remember me as a disgusting puke monster so I yelled at him until he went away.
Kathryn: You’re carrying his child. In his eyes, you’re nothing but a glowing princess.
Dara: Yeah, glowing, because whatever I spewed out of me earlier is like radioactive or something.
Kathryn: TMI, hon. I love you. Are you sure you’re okay? I’m not sure how I feel about you staying with this guy. I can be there in ten seconds if you say the word.
Dara: I’m fine. Just figuring things out. Go to work, I’ll keep in touch.
But am I okay? I’m honestly not sure. I brush my teeth, try to do something with my hair, mostly fail, and end up putting it in a messy bun because nothing else works. I drift from the suite into the hall and follow the smell of coffee to the kitchen.
He’s sipping from a white mug, leaning against a counter, wearing black joggers and a tight black t-shirt that hugs his muscular chest. I stand there staring at him as the lovely early morning sunlight slants in through his house’s big windows, making him look like a freaking god.
I almost forgot how attractive this man is.
It’s supremely unfair, given that I’m trying my best not to feel charmed by all this luxury.
Except his scowl from last night remains like a mask, which helps with the whole liking him thing. “You okay?” he asks.
“I’m fine. Can I have some of that coffee?” I sit on a stool at the island, trying to regain some of my ladylike composure, whatever there is left of that. “The morning sickness comes and goes. I’m used to it.” Well, not really, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Every day?” he asks, getting me a cup. “How do you take the coffee?”
“Fill it halfway, please, with a little milk. Not too much,” I say, accepting a half-full mug. “And yeah, every morning, like clockwork. Sometimes one round, sometimes more than one. Today you got to witness a two-fer.”
“Lucky me,” he murmurs. “I’ll speak with your doctor and see what we can do to ease your discomfort.”
“It’s morning sickness. Unless it gets really bad, I’m pretty sure I have to gut it out and get through it. Besides, I don’t have a doctor yet.”
He looks horrified for a moment before his expression hardens. “You’ll see the Crowley family physician this afternoon then.”
“Sorry, the what now?”
“We have a family physician. His name is Dr. Bard and—”
I hold up a hand. “How rich are you, exactly?”
His face falls into a smug smile. “Very.”
“Yeah, no kidding. This house, a family physician, property all over the city… are you like Boston royalty?”
He pauses for a moment like he’s considering that. “More or less, we’re something like that.”
“I was joking. Seriously, who are you people?”
He comes around the island, pulls a stool close to mine, and sits. I’m intensely aware of his proximity. “My family runs the largest criminal organization on the East Coast.”
My jaw drops open. His face is completely serious, and if anyone else said that to me, I’d assume they were joking.
But he spoke like it’s the plain truth.
And it makes sense.
The clubs, the cash, the crew. The people doing his bidding late at night.
All of this screams either extremely old-world money or something very shady.
“Right, okay, criminal organization.” My hands are shaking as I take a sip. “Which makes you, what? A mafia guy or whatever?”
His nose scrunches. “Mafia is for the Italians. We are Irish. We run a criminal organization called the Crowley family. My brothers and I are all captains within the hierarchy, along with several other prominent, powerful individuals. Each of us has our own lieutenants, soldiers, and associates to manage, along with businesses to run and rackets to control.”
“Like a freaking movie,” I whisper, trying not to laugh out of sheer insanity.
“Exactly.” He tilts his head, studying me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Nope. Not at all.” I take another sip of coffee. “Definitely not okay. But I think I’m so numb that it’s not really hitting me.”
“Good. Because I have more news.” He shifts closer, puts a hand on my leg. I blink at his fingers lying gently on my bare skin, right beneath the hem of my comfortable shorts. “We’re getting married.”