Christ, her ass is perfect.
I admit that was my first thought as I watched her saunter away from me with those two children. She was wearing her black leggings, wanting to be comfortable for our flight, and fuck me, but those leggings killed me every time. I couldn’t wait to bite into that ass, pry her apart, sink into her. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I could not have a hard-on in front of these people.
That thought, thankfully, was interrupted by one that was more difficult to define. I tried to work it out as I bragged shamelessly to Kate and Charles about Lydia’s work. I wanted them to know that I loved her for everything she was. I was probably overcompensating for the filthy thoughts about her ass. But that second feeling. It was bigger, warmer. Her hair was hanging down her back, the light from the enormous loft windows was making her face glow, and in each hand was the small hand of a child. I found myself gulping. It was beautiful. Pure. Grand in some weird way. What the ever-loving hell was going through my mind?
I gave Kate and Charles my attention.
“It sounds like you two have quite a lot going on over there!” Kate spoke with a maternal concern. It had a hint of awe, but I could see her worry for Lydia right at the surface.
“Dylan.” Charles cleared his throat. “Eloise told me about your father. I’m very sorry for your loss.” The man was genuine, but there was something in his tone that made me suspect that my aunt had probably aired her own feelings about my father. They hadn’t exactly been close.
“Thank you,” I said, as one should. I hated when people said they were sorry. I never knew what to say to that.
“I can’t imagine the responsibility of taking on Humboldt Park and those responsibilities on top of your architecture career. That’s quite a lot—”
“He’s really kicking ass at it.” Lydia’s voice all of sudden filled the room, and I looked at her reentering. She now had a ribbon in her hair and a toy police belt around her waist.
“Lydia! You said the A word!” Cole stood and gawked at her, indignant, and I found myself laughing. Her eyes met mine, and I laughed harder.
“You’re right, Cole. I shouldn’t have said that.” Lydia was trying not to laugh as she spoke, which had the unfortunate effect of making me laugh harder, which in turn earned me a glare.
I tried to cough down my laugh. “Thanks. Um.” I cleared my throat again. “Lydia is helping a lot with the estate. I couldn’t do it without her.” And I realized at that moment just how true that was. There was no way I’d have been able to think through all of those decisions without her. Or I could, but I didn’t want to. I knew, instinctively, that we were making better decisions together than I would alone.
“Will you two be back in Canada at all on this trip?” Kate asked, looking between us. It made me realize how much Lydia and I had to talk about. Did she even realize that she now co-owned La Belle Reve, the Canadian estate where we’d met?
“Unfortunately not. We have to get back, I’m afraid. As you know, Lydia’s been here for a month. I joined her two weeks ago, but we both have to return to London. In fact, baby,” I said, looking to Lydia, who was now trapped on a love seat between the children. “We should probably think about heading to the airport.”
“Oh, you’re leaving now? What airport are you flying out of?”
I was about to say “New Jersey” or something else vague. If I told them Teterboro, which only serviced charters and private flights, they’d know we were flying private, and in general I tried to avoid sharing that information. It made one sound like a douche bag. Thankfully the shrieks of the children didn’t give me a chance to respond. Maddy and Cole were folding over Lydia’s body.
“You can’t go! We don’t want you to go!” they were saying in harmony. And Lydia was calmly holding them close to her, telling them she’d be back soon, she’d send more postcards.
She looked beautiful sitting there, even with the chaos and shrieks around her. She looked peaceful. And suddenly I felt like an idiot, like a total bloody cliché. Everyone said the second you were married you’d want children, which I’d found idiotic. But apparently it wasn’t. I looked at her, and there was zero doubt in my mind that Lydia would make an incredible mother, and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to make her one. I wanted to see her there with our children.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I wasn’t supposed to want children. I couldn’t be a fucking father. Look at the example I’d had, and I’d vowed not to thrust the life I’d had upon a child. But, Christ, this woman made me want to be better than that, to do better. A child of mine wasn’t destined for the life I’d had. I wanted to see her pregnant with our child. I wanted to see her love that child. And I wanted to see myself through her eyes when I was a father. It wasn’t long ago that I’d told her I wasn’t sure I’d ever want kids, and she’d said, in no uncertain terms, that she wasn’t ready. And now I knew with certainty, as though the idea had taken roots in my bones, that there was nothing I wanted more. But what if she decided she didn’t want to be a mother? What if she was never ready?
“Dylan?”
I looked up and Lydia must have said my name more than once, because everyone was looking at me as though I’d been catatonic.
“Which airport are we flying out of?” she asked.
“Teterboro,” I said mindlessly. Oh, well. I just hoped they didn’t think I was douche bag.
The next several minutes were a blur of hugs, well-wishes, reminders that no, we hadn’t told my family about the marriage yet and yes, please keep it under wraps for now, and of course they’d be invited to the big reception when we had it. I did my thing. I held Lydia’s hand and went into social mode. No one, except for Lydia, I’m sure, knew anything was off. And nothing really was off. It wasn’t as though I’d just started considering completely changing my outlook on a major life decision or anything.
Fuck.
* * *
My phone rang as we boarded the plane, Jack trying to get a hold of me for the fourth time in two days. We’d been playing phone tag, and I wanted to get this over with. It was after midnight in London—I had to give him credit for persistence.
“Jack,” I said.
“Dylan,” he said, having the nerve to sound irritated. “Bloody finally. Your assistant tells me you’re in America?”
“Have been, yes. I’m boarding a plane to return to London now. What’s up?” I followed Lydia on board and sank into the cream leather seat beside her. She was curled into the chair, looking out the window, contemplative. We were about to embark on our last eight hours of having any sense of privacy—I had no doubt that within hours of Lydia leaving our house with that ring on, the papers would be flying through the printer—and I wanted to be off this bloody phone call and back with her as soon as possible. Which reminded me: I had to tell my mother and sister before they found out through the gossip mill.
“Do you have any other intercontinental trips planned?” Jack asked, sounding slightly stressed.
“No, although this trip wasn’t planned. What’s the problem, Jack?”
“The higher-ups are getting antsy, and everyone’s a bit concerned with the time sensitivity of all this. The last thing we’d want is to get word that King was in London and then not be able to isolate him. We think he may be planning a UK trip soon, although we’re still trying to confirm that.”
“Of course—sorry, mate. As fate would have it, I can ease your mind on one count. I’ve successfully been in touch with the Bresnovs, who mentioned the UK trip. They’ve also confirmed that King will be there and agreed to the meeting—”
I heard what sounded like a grunting fist bump on the other end of the line. “Thank fucking Christ. That’s exactly what we needed to hear—”
“I’m glad. I’ll be back by morning, and I’ll have my assistant set something up, and we can discuss details. We don’t have a date yet but should soon.” I stood and walked to the galley to get a water as I finished my conversation. I looked at Lydia settling into her seat and heard myself sigh. “I’m looking forward to this being over, mate.”
“Aww, fuck, as am I. We can’t thank you enough for your help, Dylan.”
“Sure you can—”
“I know. You have my word—the Bresnovs will be taken care of immediately.”
“Thanks, Jack.” As I hung up the phone, I downed the water and looked back to Lydia. I couldn’t wait for this operation to be over. I looked at the woman in front of me, and I wanted to show her, tell her, that I was ready to put everything stressful about my past and present behind us, that I wanted us to be a family.