Page 61 of Ruin Me Sweetly

The drive was, somehow, both agonisingly slow and entirely too fast. Luke drove with both hands locked at ten and two, jaw set, glancing at me every few seconds until I finally told him to watch the road before he killed us both trying to save five minutes.

Streetlights blurred past the window in long amber streaks. Between contractions, I focused on my breathing, on the low hum of the car heater, on Luke’s hand finding mine at every red light and refusing to let go even when the light changed.

By the time we reached the hospital, the automatic doors sliding open onto a wash of bright, sterile light, my contractions had settled into a steady, punishing rhythm.

A midwife met us at check-in, calm and efficient in a way that made Luke visibly relax half a degree, and within twenty minutes we were being shown into a private maternity suite—soft grey walls, a wide reclining chair for Luke that he immediately declared “adequate, but not ideal,” and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the car park, the evening sky beyond them bruising slowly into violet.

“You paid for a better view,” I said, breathless, as another contraction rolled through me.

“I paid for the best room in the building,” he corrected, already unpacking my hospital bag with the focused precision of a man defusing a bomb, laying out my things in some private order only he understood. “You’re having our son in comfort, darling. Non-negotiable.”

I laughed, then groaned, then laughed again, gripping the bed rail as the midwife checked my dilation and murmured something reassuring about progress.

Luke hovered at my shoulder, pale, magnificent, utterly useless, and exactly where I wanted him.

“Not long now,” the midwife said.

Luke’s hand tightened around mine.

“Not long now,” he echoed, quieter, like a promise to himself as much as to me.

I began to pant.

He was coming.

Soon.

But soon turned out to be several hours.

Chapter 30

Luke

I was shell-shocked.

But the proof was in my hands.

A tiny bundle. Tired and pink after his journey through the birth canal.

Lewis had arrived. All 8.6lbs of him.

Bella looked exhausted, but it never once distracted her from tracking Lewis when he wasn’t in her arms. Once his tiny crib was wheeled into her room, we were both utterly enamoured. As I sat watching them, I couldn’t fathom how some men could ever bring themselves to harm their wives or children.

“The kids are on their way, and I’ve messaged Rhea,” I whispered.

She sank back into her pillows with a faint smile.

“Isn’t he beautiful?”

I hummed in agreement, glancing at his delicate features. He looked like a mixture of both of us—Bella’s hair, my features. His eyes still seemed to be calibrating, or something like that. His eyes were a greyish-blue colour, but this would change. I trusted Bella’s judgement, given her experience raising Amber. This part of baby education was one area I’d apparently missed out on.

His tiny mouth suddenly opened, and he yawned.

What wizardry was this?

He was so frikking adorable.

“Pass him over.”