Elara didn't answer right away. "Honestly?" she said finally. "I don't know. But I don't think this is one of those moments where you say the 'right' thing. I think it's one where you say thetruething."
"I can be truthful."
"He's at Silas's house," Elara said, her voice encouraging. "He went back there last week to help his grandfather with some things. You better go now before you lose your nerve."
The ride in the chauffeured car to the Hart estate felt shorter than I remembered. When I reached the heavy frontdoors—the same ones I’d walked through as a ghost months ago—I took a deep breath to steady my racing heart. I reached out and knocked.
The door swung open, and the butler opened his mouth to greet me. But his eyes traveled from my face down to the curve of my belly and then back up. His jaw practically hit the floor. He stammered.
"M-Ms. Landry?"
"Hello, Mr. Broussard," I said, a faint smile on my lips. "Is Killian in?"
"In the library, miss. But... he... he isn't expecting—"
I didn't wait for him to finish. I stepped past him, my flats clicking softly on the hardwood. I walked toward the back of the house.
I stopped at the entrance to the library. Killian was standing by the window, his back to me.
"Killian," I said softly.
He froze. I watched the way his entire body went rigid at the sound of my voice. He didn't turn around immediately. I stepped into the room. Slowly, he turned. His eyes scanned my face first, and then his gaze dropped. The glass of scotch in his hand tilted.
"Chloe," he choked out. "You're pregnant?"
"Yes. That's what happens when you have a lot of unprotected sex," I joked.
Before Killian could find his breath to respond, the heavy thud of a cane echoed in the hallway. Silas Hart rounded the corner, wheeling himself faster than I'd ever seen. The butler must have told him I was here.
"Ha!" the old man whooped, the sound echoing off the library's high ceiling. He threw a hand in the air, his face splitting into a wide grin. "I knew it! I told you. I dreamt of fish."
I laughed. Hearing that come from a seventy-something-year-old white man was hilarious.
"Grandpa, please," Killian breathed, though he still hadn't moved.
"Don't 'Grandpa' me! I told you when you were moping around this house that the girl would be back," Silas said, wheeling himself right up to me and patting my hand with his weathered one. "And she brought a Hart with her. I can feel the stubbornness coming off that belly from here."
Killian set the scotch down on the side table. He took a step toward me, then another, until he was close enough.
"I've missed you, Chloe."
I didn't feel like being nice. "You shouldn't have sent me away."
Grandpa punctuated my comment by shoving Killian with his cane. "You damn sure shouldn't have. Do it again, and I won't have a grandson like you."
“I’m sorry," Killian said, his voice raw. "I was scared—of losing you, of being in the way, of not being enough. I shouldn’t have made that decision for you.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to. I felt vindicated and that was enough for now.
Epilogue
One year later.
The California sun was different from Florida's. Softer. Less like it was trying to kill you and more like it was just... there because it had to be.
I stood atthe end of the porch of Mary's new house, watching Killian unbuckle the baby from the car seat. He was good at it now. He had retired so he had no more wars to fight. Cartier had took over the company. Killian stayed home with Celeste while I went to school. I was determinded to one day be able to help with my family's company. And stop feeling like everybody was doing things for me.
"You ready?" he asked, the baby on his hip.
