"Nothing," she said sweetly while mentally rubbing her hands together, "Designer boots and a coat that costs more than this barn."
He muttered something under his breath, but the tips of his ears betrayed him, pink against the cold. Rune gave a surprised guffaw, and for a moment, the tension between them broke like a bubble. His eyes softened in a way she had never seen, then dropped, unwilling and unguarded, to her mouth, curved into a perfect cupid's bow. She tried to brush him off when he hovered, her silence pointed, and her answers clipped. But after a week, he was still there, hovering. Rune felt his intense stare like a touch, and the smile fled her lips. She straightened them at once, pressing them into a firm line as if to erase the slip. An awkward moment stretched between them.
"You never smile at me like that," he muttered, almost to himself.
She turned her head, eyes steady, voice sharper than she intended. "You've never given me a reason to. And I have discovered I prefer to laughatyou."
With that, she turned her back on him and stomped off, but she could feel him trailing behind. She had been amused when he asked for the Wifi password with a doubtful tone in his voice, like he expected her to say that the internet did not exist in these parts. When she hefted a pail of water, he hovered, hands twitching like he wanted to take it from her. "You shouldn't-" he began, only to trail off as she shot him a look sharp enough to slice glass. He bit back the rest, his mouth pressing thin. But he managed to get to the pails before she could do that again. "Where do you want them?" he asked.
Later, in the lambing shed, he turned an impressive shade of green at the smell of afterbirth and straw, backing up a step as Rune crouched to help her nana. His hand went to his collar as if the air had thinned, and she nearly laughed at his expression. Nearly.
Once, when she snapped at him with an exasperated sigh, "You don't belong here, Dorian!" He only stood there, jaw working, then nodded as though he agreed. But he wouldn't leave.
By the end of the week, her patience was gone, and her temper frayed. But his didn't crack. He absorbed it all, her anger, her pointed silences, her barbs, her switching to Welsh deliberately, without striking back. And despite her best efforts, which included sending him to milk a cow that tried to kick him every evening, Dorian was there, sitting at her family's table while her Nana kept taking potshots at him. By the end of week one, Rune couldn't avoid it any longer. Her scan appointment had been pushed back so many times that even shewas nervous now. That morning, over breakfast, she said it as casually as she could manage, eyes fixed on her plate.
"I've got my ultrasound today." A pause, then, with studied nonchalance: "Do you want to come?"
Dorian looked up so quickly it startled her. "Yes." It was like he was waiting for her to throw him a bone. She bit back a sigh. "Fine." He called for Eli and his car, insisting when she tried to tell him she would take the bus. Eli, lounging behind the wheel, was full of easy chatter.
"So, Rune," he said with a grin, "did you ever imagine the great Dorian Albury trudging through mud after you like a lost sheepdog?" Rune laughed, shaking her head. "No. Can't say I did. Don’t make me laugh, though. I am on a full bladder and may pee on your pristine seats." She watched as Dorian's eyes went wider .
He sat stiff in the back, jaw set, arms folded, his eyes flicking from Eli to Rune as though every shared smile was a personal affront. Eli caught it, of course, and needled him more.
"Imagine if the baby turn out ginger," Eli drawled. "World's cruelest payback."
Rune chuckled. Dorian's glare could have stripped paint.
"Nothing wrong with red hair," grumbled Dorian stiffly.
By the time they reached the clinic, Rune was almost relaxed in spite of herself. At the door to the consulting room, Dorian hesitated. "May I come in?" She looked at him for a long moment before nodding once. "If you want." She wouldn't refuse him the right to know his child.
He followed her in, notebook already in hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a neat row of questions on the top page. Runelay back, her hands clasped over her small curve, while the sonographer prepped the gel.
It was cold against her skin. Rune flinched, but the sonographer gave her a reassuring smile as she angled the probe. The discomfort of a full bladder only got worse.
"Alright, let's have a look. Mm, good... intrauterine. That's what we want to see." Rune exhaled slowly. Beside her, Dorian sat forward, pen poised, his attention sharp and unnerving.
"Ah... there," the sonographer murmured, tilting the probe slightly. The monitor flickered, and then a throb filled the room. A heartbeat-rapid, strong, like the flutter of a hummingbird's wing. Dorian expression was. His pen stilled halfway to the page. His eyes locked on the screen, and for a moment he looked... terrified. And something else. Something Rune couldn't name.
She kept her gaze on him, not the screen, watching him as he watched their child. The sonographer adjusted the probe again, her brow furrowing slightly. "Let's just... have another look." The silence stretched, Rune's chest feeling tight with tension. Then came it, a second rhythm, distinct and insistent, layering over the first. Another heartbeat.
Rune's head snapped toward the screen. "What does that mean?"
The sonographer smiled, eyes flicking between them. "It means... twins. Ah, you didn’t know. This is your first ultrasound, right?"
Rune's breath caught. Dorian still hadn't moved, still staring at the screen, his expression a complicated knot of awe and panic. His hand tightened convulsively around the pen, knuckles white, as his world tilted off its axis.
True astonishment swept over his face.
"Two?" His voice was raw.
The sonographer nodded. "Yes. But because it's a twin pregnancy, we'll need to monitor closely. It will be considered high-risk."
The word shook him. High-risk. He scribbled it down as his pulse roared in his ears. He felt a little lightheaded and blamed it on too many cups of coffee. Panic clawed at the edges of his chest. Rune reached for a tissue to wipe the gel from her skin. Dorian sat rigid beside her, staring at the notes he had just written as if the letters themselves might shift under his hand.
Two heartbeats. Two lives. And the man who had sworn never to have children couldn't bear the sudden, terrifying knowledge that he could lose them.
Chapter twenty-six
