“Sorry,” I croak, and she shakes her head in my dark, bleary gaze.
“No need to apologize, Delaney. I can understand why you’d be overwhelmed. I remember you being so upset that your autonomy and privacy weren’t respected, and that doesn’t just dissipate in 4 months, no matter how intensive the therapy,” Jen says with a warm, gentle smile. Like the sun in London. It’s muted and weak. Grabbing a handful of tissues, I rub my face haphazardly, but the tears don’t stop. “I can imagine as well why you’d be worried that it’d happen again. That this man, Baron, treats you with respect, and you don’t want to lose that?”
“It’s . . . less about that,” I sniffle hard, blowing my nose into the bunch between my fingers. My nose is clogged, but nothing comes out—no, now my face just hurts and burns and feels heavy all at the same time. “And more—more about everyone else.”
“Your brother Eamon, who used you as a pretext to take out a major competitor moving in on his business. Or Keenan, who put you in that situation in the first place, based on a selfish lie due to his own insecurities? If I remember it right,” Jen pauses as I nod, not specifying who. “We’ve talked about how blame hurts you even more than it hurts your brothers, Delaney. So, allow me to posit a question?”
“O-okay?” I reply, tossing my drenched tissues in the trash before grabbing another handful.
“Why would you tell them about your pregnancy at all?” Jen asks, and I still. Blinking at her, anger threatens to melt my cheeks.
“That’s the problem, isn’t it! I didn’t tell anyone about my rape, but somehow, everyone knew about it and used it for their own fucking shite! So why shouldn’t I assume that no matter what I do to keep this quiet, someone will find out and tell everyone in the world!” I struggle to keep my voice level, but I can’t stop it from cracking. Jen hums softly, leaning back in her chair to steeple her fingers thoughtfully.
“I see. You’re afraid of your pain being hijacked, and then . . . your brothers just went back to their lives and left you alone to fix the damage they’d caused,” Jen says wisely, and I look over at her through aching eyes. “Delaney, that’s not anything to be ashamed of. It’s precautionary because you’ve experienced something horrific, and your family picked it apart and used the parts they wanted without any regard to how you feel.”
“D-did you know Eamon has a video?” I ask with a dreadful groan, and Jen loses herself for a second. She gasps and sits up sharply, just so slightly, in shock. I nod grimly. “Aye . . . and he was never going to tell me. He keeps it in a safe in Seattle like it’s something he expects to pull out and flash around, like a watch. Bran told me that he threatened to release the video and ruin Petra Frey . . . but that he said he wouldn’t actually do it. I can’t even trust Eamon anymore. I can’t trust anyone anymore, Jen.”
“B-but,” Jen pauses to clear her throat, but she’s mad. Oh, she’s madder than I’ve ever seen her as she forcefully leans back in her big, leather chair. “You trust Baron enough to put your mental health in his hands, Delaney. In a way, or more ways than just one, you have faith in him—a faith similar to the unshakeable belief you have in Bran. What about him, do you think, makes you trust Baron the way you have?”
“I asked him . . . why did he approach me?” I whisper hoarsely, memories bringing back some warmth to my frigid, ice-covered cells. “And he said h-he didn’t know why. He wasn’t thinking. He just came over.”
“Was it you that initiated the sexual aspect of your relationship with Baron?” Jen asks almost tentatively, and I nod. “Why? What made you take that leap?”
“Baron. I’d been working at his hotel for a week or so after he literally begged to hire me. He knew about some projects I worked on how successful they were, and he wasn’t going to let me go. I accepted, because . . . I mean, you don’t really go around telling people you worked for Cormac Quigley,” I trail off before shaking my head viciously. Not wanting to get too sidetracked. That’s in the past. “Um, so, aye. I took the job. About a week after I started, he brought me Thai food . . . and I hate Thai food with a passion. I can barely stand the smell. Baron didn’t know it, though, so I told him, and he . . . he said he knew one of his employees loves Thai food, so it wouldn’t be wasted.”
Pausing to smile fondly at the memories, it strikes me how hard it is to remember them. The good times. Gulping harshly, I take a heavy breath before continuing. “He didn’t try to tell me that so-and-so restaurant makes the best of whatever, or that I should just try it, and he’ll eat it if I don’t like it . . . Baron said it’d be stupid to celebrate my first week with something I hate. It made me realize, you know, h-how much I’ve compromised over the years. How much I’ve put up with . . . because I just fall in the background. How tiny my voice had become, and Baron, he was basically a stranger, and he made me feel like I mattered. Maybe, I rushed it, but despite the sh-shame . . . and the anger . . . and the disgust . . . I’ve never, not a single time, felt regret.”
“I feel like you already know what you should do, but Delaney,” Jen smiles at me sympathetically. I hold my breath as anticipation races through my veins, sucking the heat from my face and hands. “You don’t need anyone’s permission to disown your siblings, Delaney. That’s your right as a human being to decide who you want to be around, regardless of the blood flowing through their veins. If you don’t want anyone to know, telling Baron doesn’t seem like it’d compromise your security. I suggest you stay a few days and clear your mind and heart. You don’t have to come see me if you don’t want to, but I can recommend some incredibly therapeutic hotels in the area.”
I think about what I know I’m going to have to do when I get back home, and even though I’m perfectly fine with disowning my family, I don’t think I’m in any way ready to admit to Baron what’s going on. What if I tell him about the baby and everything we have changes? As it stands right now, we aren’t even a legitimate couple. We’ve never needed to put a label on what we are, but now with this baby coming, I think I should be something more than just his employee that he fucks on occasion.
I grimace and look down sharply.
Jen folds her hands in her lap, “What is it? What are you thinking about that’s making you so uneasy?”
“Aye, I was thinking about having to go home and tell Baron about the baby.” A deep breath shutters through me, “I can’t say I’m looking forward to that.”
She leans forward in her chair, a tight pensive look on her face, “Why is that? I thought you said he was supportive?”
“Aye, he’s been supportive while we’ve been together simply having fun, but a baby is something else altogether. I don’t want anything to change, and this baby is evidence that everything will.” I let my head fall back and close my eyes for a brief moment before I continue talking, “You know there are times when Baron and I are getting intimate, and something will remind me of that dreaded day in the pub. I can’t have sex in the dark. I told Baron this, and he told me he was happy that he found himself a lights on girl. It’s endearing. How the hell are we supposed to have sex with the lights on when there’s a toddler running around? What if he doesn’t want anything to do with a kid. What if this baby and my baggage are just too much to handle?” I can feel the tightness in my chest beginning to ramp up, and Jen puts her hand up to stop my ramblings.
“Delaney, I’m not completely familiar with Baron besides what you’ve told me, but if your assessment of his character is correct, then I highly doubt he will disappoint you in these ways. Though even if he does, what does it matter?” Jen stands up from her desk and walks over to me. “Delaney, you’re by far one of the strongest people I have had the pleasure of meeting. You were met with great adversity, surviving a vicious attack as you have. You didn’t know what you were going to do after that incident either, but you moved forward, you got a job, you’re providing for yourself, you’re living life and getting stronger every day even if you don’t realize it. If Baron does decide that he doesn’t want anything to do with this baby, it’ll be hard, but you will survive, you will move forward, and you will continue to get stronger with or without him. I have faith in you, Delaney, and though it may be hard for you to see it right now, you have all that you need inside yourself to make it through this.”
Her words cut me to the core, and I can’t help but smile brightly at her. As far as motivational speeches go, Jen sure can give a good one. I want to stay around for a little while longer, maybe get in another session or two before I head back to London and face Baron head-on.
CHAPTER7
BARON
“Why was Hans even in this shithole to begin with?” I question absently, but there’s no one around to answer. Shrugging to myself, I glance up at the large skyscrapers and endless glass panels reaching for the clouds. “It’s not like I can ask him, I guess. Seattle, hmm?”
“He was here to pretend to be half the hotelier you are,” Looking up at the hotel’s general manager, I grunt and jut out my chin at him. He holds out his hand; he looks rather older than his age, and his picture doesn’t do him justice. I shake his hand, and he smiles politely. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Baron. I hope I’m not overreaching in saying that Hans caused a lot of problems for a lot of people.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I half-joke with a dry, humorless chuckle, and the man nods. What was his name again? Shine? Sheen? Some fucking weird American name. “Remind me of your name again? I apologize, but all of this was extremely last minute, and I still have no clue what I’m even doing here.”
“Shawn Jacoby,” I nod at his reply and crack an apologetic half-smile. “And you’re here to facilitate a deal with Eamon Gallagher, Liam Mackenzie’s main man here in Seattle. It was a deal preceding Petra Frey’s, ahem, blunder.”
“But she’s trying to smooth it over using me, someone like Eamon, while Klaus goes around begging for table scraps across the world,” I grumble to myself, rubbing my face in aggravation. “Fine. This gives me an opportunity to gauge for myself how faulty my mother’s thinking has become for me. I imagine this is all pomp and ceremony?”
