“You’re both to get married and produce an heir, or risk being disinherited.”
“What?” we both said in unison.
“And there’s more,” our grandfather said.
“Such as?” I asked.
“Only the first to accomplish this task will take over my throne.”
“That’s crazy, Daideó. I don’t want to marry or have children right now,” Kingston said as he rose to his feet.
“And I’ve been there and done that, or at least part of it. You?—”
“Silence, garmhac. That sham had been annulled, and you know it.”
The word annulled made it seem like some legal proceeding, when in fact the marriage had only ended because he’d brutally murdered my bride, then cut her beautiful cerulean eyes out of her head. I’d only had a few hours on our wedding night to stare down into them, and now the memory of what happened later was all I could remember.
Her eyes and the pain in my chest that had yet to fully heal. And it never would. As the years had passed on and no matter what death-defying thing I did failed, I’d come to realize that I deserved nothing more than the pain. Reagan had deserved none of it, and I knew any woman I used to fulfill this ultimatum would pay for my sins, too.
“I’m not interested, so let Kingston have it all. I’m out of here.”
“Garmhac,” my grandfather said in warning, then repeated himself as I refused to come to heel. My only response was that of the door slamming behind me as I left the study and his house.
“And to think I rushed an orgasm for this shit.” Disgusted, I got in my car, then peeled out of the driveway.
QUEENS, NEW YORK
Glancing down at my cell phone, I knew my daughter was going to be late for school again. If she was, it would make me late for work. I desperately needed to keep this job after I’d gotten laid off from my previous one and hadn’t been able to find employment for several months afterward, which basically drained any savings I had managed to accumulate over the years. And it wasn’t much.
“Ciara!” I called out to my daughter. “We need to leave now.”
“I’m coming,” she said, and moments later appeared at the top of the stairs. “I needed to get R.C. for show and tell.”
I looked at the stuffed animal in her hand, and one that had my sister’s voice on a small chip in the bear’s ear. I had helped her name the damn thing after getting it made for her on her last birthday. R.C. could stand for Reagan Coughlin as much as it did for Rowan Coughlin. Although I had survived, my name had died instead of my twin’s. At least until I had it legally changed.
I was no longer Reagan, or even Rowan Coughlin, as I’d pretended to be for several weeks after my sister’s and mother’s brutal murders. I was now Rowan Lynch, and the child I had with Cillian Brannington was also a Lynch, so she would never know the monster that had fathered her, or the evilness of that side of the family that ran through her veins.
I only wished I could’ve banished him from my memories as easily as I had rid myself of my legal name. Most of my thoughts of him were ones of pure unadulterated rage, but on some of the lowest and loneliest nights, I would remember the boy he’d been before that night, and more of my heart would shatter.
It didn’t help that our child had his eyes. Thankfully, she had my red hair, but her face was all Cillian. Sometimes, I wondered how I could look at her when I saw him and still love her, but I did. She had been the only thing to keep me going after being orphaned. Wanting and needing to provide a stable life for her had been my driving motivation, and it would remain so for as long as I lived.
“You’re not mad at me, Mommy?” she asked, and as I saw her lip slightly quiver, I smiled at her.
“No, baby. We just need to go so I don’t have to sign you in again.”
“I sorry, Mommy. I’ll wake up a whole fifty hours early tomorrow.”
I leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “You don’t have to get ready that soon, but I’ll take a few minutes earlier than today.”
“Gotcha,” she said as she grabbed her book bag from the couch, which also doubled as my bed when it was pulled out.
We left right after, and after getting into my Celica, we headed from one end of Queens to the other where her school was located. The clinic I worked for was in Brooklyn, which was only ten minutes away from her school. Traffic had actuallycooperated with me, so one of the teachers was still outside when I pulled up along the curb.
“I love you, baby,” I told her, before leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Have a good day at school.”
“Love you too, Mommy, and don’t forget my reci...ahhh...ree?—”
“Recital,” I finished for her, then added. “I won’t. I’ll be there in the front row.”
