[Truyện Tiếng Anh] The Next Sin

The Next Sin
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This is shattering Sin. And it’s breaking my heart to watch.

Isobel told me there would be times like this. She said Sin would lose his way and he’d need me to act as his light in the darkness. So that’s what I’ll do. I’ll be whatever my husband needs.

“I love you.” I swaddle Sin with my body and kiss his forehead. I melt against him, becoming a tangible form of comfort wrapping around him in the darkness. “Let’s just lie like this and forget the world for as long as it’ll allow us.”

And that’s what we do. Lie silently until sleep claims us both.

* * *

It’s been a week since Sin killed Grieve’s son. They’ve not yet retaliated. But we know it’s coming and we’re prepared.

Sin’s coping. It was rough for a few days but I see him slowly returning to himself. I’m doing my job as his supporter. I occasionally catch him preoccupied and assume he’s replaying that night’s events in his head. I act quickly to distract him each time I think he could be recalling that night.

Today’s a good day for Sin. I’m glad because we have an important appointment.

We’re traveling to the Assisted Reproduction Centre in London for our first consultation. We fly over this afternoon and will see Dr. Paschall first thing in the morning.

I’m nervous, but not about the things we’ll hear from the physician. I’ve heard it all before. However, hearing the proof of my poor fertility prognosis from a top fertility specialist will be new for Sin. I’m afraid of his reaction.

I fear this hasn’t been real in his mind or perhaps he’s been thinking if he paid the right doctor enough money, I could be fixed. Once it has been confirmed that there’s a very real problem, one that is likely irreparable, it could all come crashing down. For both of us.

I’m packing when Sin comes into our bedroom. He prowls up behind me and snakes his arms around my waist, pressing his lips to the side of my neck. “Hello, Mrs. Breckenridge.”

“Hello, Mr. Breckenridge. I was just about to choose your clothes for our trip since you’ve not yet done it. Would you like a suit, a suit, or … a suit?”

“Ahh. My wife, the comedian.”

I twist in his arms. “That’s all you ever wear.”

“Because I have an image to maintain. How authoritative do you think I’d appear wearing jeans and sneakers?”

I suppose it might be difficult for the brothers to see him as a leader in casual wear. “I see your point, but it’s a little weird to never see you in anything else. You should have a little variety in your wardrobe.”

“You forget I don’t wear a suit to bed.”

True. I adore the low-riding sleep pants, even if they don’t typically stay on for long. “Don’t get me wrong. I love seeing you in your fancy suits. You look ***y and powerful but it would be nice if you occasionally wore something different. Don’t you think you’d get tired of seeing me in a dress every day?”

“Never.” He slides his hand between my legs. “A dress would make for easy access to this at all times. I think I’d like it very much.”

I roll my eyes and shove his hand away. “No time for that, I’m afraid. We have to leave for the airport soon and there’s still packing to finish.”

“Bring some ***ies.” He puts his mouth to my ear and growls. “And prepare to be had often while we’re away.”

* * *

The consultation with Dr. Paschall begins as expected—with discussing my medical history, followed by an ultrasound for a current assessment of all my girly parts. Nice and pleasant as always.

We’re waiting in his office to hear his opinion on how to proceed in pursuing the family we both agree we’ll want someday. I can’t stop looking at the photo on the wall to my right. The use of bokeh initially caught my attention. Now I’m staring at the subject. A beautiful little brown-eyed boy in a blue and cream sweater with matching beanie.

“No matter the verdict, I love you.” Sin steals my attention when he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “We’ll get through it even if the news isn’t promising. I need you to know that before we find out.”

I’ve been concerned about the place his head would be, but now I’m not. “I believe you.”

“Harry couldn’t have loved you more if you’d been his biological child. I’m certain that’s how we’ll feel if that’s the way the cards fall.”

“I know. I could easily love and adore an adopted child. That wouldn’t be an issue for me.”

That’s as far as our adoption discussion gets before Dr. Paschall comes into the office. He wastes no time in getting down to business, beginning with a report on the con***ion of my remaining ovary.

He retrieves the ultrasound picture and moves his pen over an area on the screen. I already know what I’m looking at; this isn’t my first rodeo. “The lining of your uterus looks good so I don’t foresee any implantation problems.”

He skips to another view and moves the pen over an area of white with dark polka dots. It resembles a grainy, black-and-white photo of a piece of Honeycomb cereal. “Your ovary is enlarged and these dark areas are fluid-filled cysts.”

Even I can tell they’re larger and more numerous than my last scan. That means the disease process is worsening. Not great.

“Have you been experiencing pain in your right lower abdomen?”

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Every day. “Yes, but it’s minor compared to what I had with my left ovary several years ago.”

No way I’ll ever forget that kind of pain. It was so horrible that I begged my doctor to remove the thing without any hesitation or concern for my fertility.

Sin asked why I hadn’t mentioned the pain to him. I proposed several vague reasons but I wasn’t being honest. The truth is I didn’t want to acknowledge the pain. To do so was to admit that the cysts were growing, bringing me another step closer to losing my ovary. And fertility. It was easier to pretend it wasn’t happening.

“Are the cysts bad enough to warrant removing my ovary?”

“Not yet, but you’ve had significant change since your last scan. I can’t say how long that’ll be the case.” Relief and fear simultaneously course through me.

“You’ve not been actively trying to conceive so let’s talk about what we know.” He laces his fingers and props them on his desk. “A pregnancy hasn’t spontaneously occurred despite several months of intercourse without contraceptive. Because we know your history, I’d assume it didn’t happen because you aren’t ovulating. I’ll want to run a panel to be sure. Once we confirm that, we could try Clomid for a while to see if we can get you ovulating, but I don’t predict that being successful considering the size of your cysts. It’s a gamble—and potentially a costly one—since we’re not sure how long this ovary will last. I’d rather not leave this to chance in case history decides to repeat itself.”

This remaining ovary feels like a time bomb that could detonate at any moment. I hate that feeling.

“I’m recommending we induce ovulation as soon as possible. We should do another egg retrieval with fertilization and proceed with a fresh embryo transfer via IVF. Any embryos not used should be cryopreserved.”

What?

“Why are you recommending we push forward with the IVF now?” I ask.

“Let’s say we do the retrieval and get six quality embryos. You freeze and bank all of them. You decide in three years you’re ready to do the transfer but two are badly degraded by the freezing process. That leaves you four possibilities—two attempts if you use two of the embryos on each IVF. Worst-case scenario, neither yield a successful pregnancy and you lose your ovary in the meantime. At that point, your only options are your banked frozen eggs from two years ago, which yield an even lower success rate than embryos. Should those prove unviable, you’re down to using donor eggs fertilized with your husband’s semen.”

I don’t want to even begin to try to sort out the emotions stirring as I consider that last possibility.

“The upside to proceeding with the IVF now is figuring out if you need to have a repeat egg retrieval before the opportunity is no longer there.”

Dr. Paschall isn’t saying it but he must think I’ll lose my ovary soon. That’s the only reason he’d push for this. “If we don’t move forward, we’re putting all of my eggs in one basket and hoping it doesn’t get dropped.”

“Yes. Quite literally.” Dr. Paschall peers up at the sonogram picture and then back to me. “If having children of your own is important to you, I wouldn’t recommend waiting.”

“If we decide to do it, how soon are we talking?” Sin asks.

“Your wife will require stimulated IVF. It’s a two-week cycle from the time you begin medications until the egg collection. Once the eggs are fertilized, we will choose the best two after three days and the transfer will happen at that time.”

A tiny little ball of life will be placed inside me seventeen days after the start of the medication. No. Make that two microscopic little beings. That’s unbelievable. And completely nuts.

“Go ahead and make the appointment. Take the next week or so to think it over and make a decision. You can always call back and cancel if you decide you don’t want to go through with it.”

As we leave the clinic, my emotions are all over the place. I’m thrilled all hope isn’t lost but I thought we’d have more time. I have tasks to do first—important things a baby will hinder.

Sin gives my hand a squeeze. “Hello? Earth to Bleu.”

“I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

“I said we should talk. About this. How about over lunch?”

I’m not sure I can handle a big meal. “What about a coffee and pastry instead?”

I’d love to have one of Starbucks’ new chestnut praline lattes but we settle for the first café we come upon. We choose a lonely table near the back in hopes of privacy for this conversation I think neither of us wants to have.

I sip my caramel latte. When it burns my tongue, I set it aside to cool.

“Not good?”

“I can’t be sure. I think it may have scorched my taste buds.”

“How’s your pumpkin bread?”

I nod. “Good.”

“I’m not sure how you’d know. It looks like all you’ve done is pick at it.”

I don’t know. I can’t recall tasting the few bites I’ve taken. I’m too preoccupied. “I don’t have much of an appetite.”

He reaches across the table and covers my hand with his. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

I’m not sure how to put my feelings into words when I’m incapable of sorting out what’s happening in my head. And heart. “The consult didn’t go as I expected.”

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“Agreed.”

Good. At least we’re on the same page.

“I’m thrilled we weren’t told a pregnancy was a hopeless cause.” Now here comes the part where I must choose my words carefully. “But I’m terrified of doing this so soon. We’ve only been married six weeks.”

“I feel the same. I’m very happy Dr. Paschall believes we have a chance but I wasn’t expecting him to advise us to proceed so quickly. I thought we’d do the retrieval now and implant in a year or two.”

He looks as uncertain as I feel. I see it in the lines of his forehead, in the way his lips turn down at the corners.

“We aren’t ready to do this, are we?” I ask.

“No.” He releases my hand and sits back in his seat. “But are we prepared to let what might be our only chance at having a child slip through our fingers because it’s sooner than we’d like?”

The timing is horrible. “Unfortunately, we aren’t blessed with the luxury of waiting until we’re ready. It seems it’s now or possibly never.”

It feels as though my life revolves around an inconvenient schedule due to circumstances out of my control. It’s disheartening.

“I need time to think about this. I can’t decide today.” And probably not tomorrow, or even the next day.

“I say we enjoy our day together and talk about it after we’ve had time to adjust to the idea.”

“Agreed.”

Chapter Twelve

Sinclair Breckenridge

Bleu’s never been to London. In fact, she’s pretty much never been anywhere so I thought she’d be excited to see the sights. Although her camera is hanging around her neck, she hasn’t taken a single picture. She’s too absorbed by what I can only assume is an internal battle—probably the same one I’m struggling with. I know because she’s paying far more attention to the infants and children we pass than any of the iconic places we’re visiting.

We browse the gift shop at The Tower of London after finishing our tour. We make the circle and end up in the children’s section. She picks up a royal guardsman teddy bear from the shelf. “He’s cute.”

I disagree.

I’m Scottish, so for me, it’s a symbol of oppression. Our conflicts with England are centuries’ old and still run deep. I’ll never be a fan of anything representing the English. I avoid this place. I wouldn’t be here now if the Assisted Reproduction Centre didn’t have the highest successful pregnancy rates in IVF.

Bleu wasn’t reared here. She doesn’t understand how many Scots feel toward our southern neighbors. But she’ll come to know since she’s going to spend the rest of her life in Scotland.

She studies the toy another moment before returning it to the shelf. She almost looks regretful about it. “Do you want the bear?”

“No.” She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“I’ll buy you any Scottish bear you want, but not an English one.”

“You look angry.”

“No worries. It’s nothing to do with you.”

I attempt to distract Bleu—and myself—with sightseeing. It’s a long day by the time we return to the hotel. My leg feels the miles by the time we return so once we’re back in our suite, I remove my prosthesis. “****, I’m sore from all the walking we did today.”

“You should’ve told me. We didn’t have to stay out all day.”

It wasn’t a problem earlier. In fact, I didn’t notice the discomfort until an hour ago. “It was fine all day. The walk back was when it started giving me trouble.”

I pushed myself too far in an attempt to keep Bleu’s mind off the baby stuff. And mine. Mission not accomplished.

She plops on the floor in front of me and reaches for my leg. “Here. I’m going to rub it for you.”

I don’t want her doing that. “No.”

“If my feet hurt, you’d rub them for me. In fact, you’ve done it for me before—more than once if I recall correctly.”

“Aye, but this is different.”

“You have pain in your lower extremity and I want to make it better for you. It’s no different than what you do for me.”

But it is. She just can’t see that. “It’s my stump. Not my foot.”

“True. It’s not your foot because you only have one and it’s on your other leg. Stop being stupid and let me massage it for you.”

She’s determined to make me feel better as she rubs her hands over the end of my amputated leg. “Better?”

I don’t want to hurt her but she needs to understand why I don’t want her doing this and why it’s different from rubbing feet. “Muscle is what’s massaged. That’s why it feels good. My stump is mostly skin-covered bone and there’s not a lot of sensation. It’s not a pleasant feeling. That’s why it’s not the same thing.”

She stops and looks up at me. “Okay. But I still want to make you feel better.”

She moves to her knees and glides her hands up my thighs. “What about this? Better?”

I like the place this is going. “Not quite there but it’s a definite improvement.”

She stretches to place her lips against mine and sucks my bottom lip into her mouth. “I’m going to make you feel so damn good.”

She moves her mouth down the side of my neck. “You’re definitely moving in the right direction.”

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“Getting warmer, huh?”

“Aye.”

She loosens the knot of my tie and lifts it over my head. She pulls the bottom of my shirt from my pants and begins unbuttoning it, starting at the top. When it’s open, I sit up and she pushes it from my shoulders before tossing it over the arm of the sofa.

She places her palms on my chest and pushes me so my back is pressed against the sofa. “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

“Whatever you say.”

She kisses the center of my chest while tracing the tips of her thumbs around my nipples. They harden and she pinches them, sending a tingle straight to my ****. Or maybe her mouth moving down my stomach is the culprit.

Bleu reaches the waistband of my trousers and tugs the button open before lowering the zipper. Her hand reaches inside and frees me. She looks up at me and licks her lips. “Am I getting warmer?”

“Definitely.”

She lowers her mouth and presses her tongue just above my balls, dragging it in a slow, upward motion along my length. She reaches the head and sucks it into her mouth, swirling her tongue back and forth across the tip while holding the base.

She looks up and we make eye contact. “Still just warm?”

“No.” I suck air through clenched teeth. “You’re on-****ing-fire.”

She smiles before taking me back into her mouth in what I’m predicting will be the best blow job ever.

I lace my fingers through her hair as her head bobs up and down over my ****. Her hand cups my scrotum and she gently rolls my balls. This kind of massaging, I can stand. She can do it any time she wants. “Mmm … you’re making me feel so damn good, just like you said you would.”

I’m going to come very soon. I’m not sure how Bleu prefers that to happen. But I know how I feel about it. She’s my wife, not one of my previous conquests. I don’t plan to treat her as such. “Bonny. I’m about to come. I don’t want to do it in your mouth.”

Her head lifts but she’s still close enough I feel her warm breath on my dick when she speaks. “It’s okay.”

No. It’s really not.

I’ve done it plenty of times and it was always with one thing in mind—to convey to the woman I was with that she was nothing more than an object I was using for my own gratification. I don’t want that for my Bonny Bleu.

I caress my hand over her hair. “Stop, baby.”

She does as I ask and looks up at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Not a thing in the world.”

I tug on her hands—willing her to stand—and she follows my cue. I unfasten the bottom button of her shirt and work my way up. She’s wearing a pink-and-white-striped bra, trimmed in black lace. Something about it reminds me of Paris. “Ooh la la.”

She trails two fingers down her breastbone between her tits. “Do you like it?”

“Aye. So well I think you should keep it on a while longer. I like the way you’re all stacked up there.”

When I’m finished, her shirt joins mine on the couch and I go to work on her trousers. Her shoes are already off so she kicks out of her pants.

She’s wearing matching knickers. No surprise there. My lass always wears paired ***ies for me.

I grasp her arse cheeks in my hands and pull her forward, pressing my nose against the satiny triangle barely covering her. I inhale deeply. “You smell like the best kind of aphrodisiac. I can never get enough.”

I slip my finger into her elastic waistband and pull back, dipping my nose inside. “I like these knickers very much but I’d prefer seeing them on the floor.”

She pushes her fingers through my hair. “I think you’ve mastered all the ways to make that happen.”

“I’m sure there’s always room for improvement.”

I glide my hands over the arse of her knickers and hook my fingers over the back waistband. I scrunch them in my fisted hands and drag them down her legs. She steps out and I crumple them against my nose. I breathe in Bleu’s aroma. “I could very well develop a panty fetish because of your scent, my dear Mrs. Breckenridge. It’s divine.”

“Then I’d have to call you a weirdo. Or *** fiend. That’s probably more appropriate.”

“I assure you I’ve been called much worse.”

I grasp her behind her knee and place her foot on the sofa so I have better access to what I want. She grasps my shoulders for balance as she stands on a single foot.

My hand palm side up, I slip it between her legs. I push my fingers through her slit and bring them forward, barely grazing her sensitive nub. I do it again, softly and slowly. Deliberate. I want her to yearn for more. “Do you like it when I do that?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

I stroke her again. “Then you’d like more of this?”

“You know I do.”

“How badly do you want it?”

“Desperately.”

“Then ask me for it.”

“Touch me.”

“I don’t think that’s exactly what you want. A simple touch will never make you come. Tell me what it is you really want.”

“Stroke me.” She takes one of her hands from my shoulder and places on top of mine. She rocks her hips back and forth. “Right here.”

“Stroke here until you what?”

“Until I come.”

I move my fingers back and forth. “Like this?”

“Mmm … hmm.”

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She’s holding my hand with hers, moving her hips against my fingers. Faster and harder. It isn’t long before I’m seeing the cues she’s close to climax. “I want to be inside you when you come.”

I grasp the back of her leg, the one she’s still standing on. “Hold onto my shoulders.”

I pull her so her legs are straddling me. I guide my rock-hard **** to her entrance. She sinks over me until I’m deep inside. “Ohh,” she gasps.

She wraps her arms around my shoulders and begins moving with me. I move my fingers to that sensitive spot above our union and continue stroking her sensitive zone. “This is where I want to come. Inside you—here.” Never in her mouth like the others. Never in the mouth she’ll use to kiss our children.

“It’s starting,” she says while slowing to ride me with more deliberate motion. And she’s right. The muscular contractions squeeze tightly around my ****. It’s all I need to start the onset of my own climax.

“I feel it.” I grasp her hips tightly, digging my fingertips into her flesh. I pull her down hard and plunge deep, meeting her thrust for thrust.

“Ohh … ohh,” she groans. It’s her patented noise every time she comes. It’s a glorious sound to hear. It means I’ve given my wife another orgasm. I’m still the only man who’s ever done that for her.

It’s a carefully orchestrated act to bring together. And worth every bit of effort. There’s nothing else like it in this world.

When we’re both satiated, she relaxes against me, resting her cheek against my shoulder. I’m still inside her. I want to keep it that way so I put my arms around her waist to hold her in place.

I thought making love might take her mind off the baby stuff but I don’t think it has. “You’re still there.”

She pulls away to look at my face. “I’m still where?”

“That place your mind went after we left the fertility clinic this morning.”

“I’m sorry.” I’m happy she isn’t pretending she doesn’t know what I mean.

“It’s okay. I’m in the same place.” And I want to be there together.

“It scares me.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.” She presses her forehead to mine. “I’m terrified it won’t work. I’m petrified it will.”

I rub my hands up and down her back. “I think all first-time parents have these kinds of fears.”

“But mine are different. They consist of more than how I’ll care for a baby.”

I want to know and understand the things causing her angst. “Tell me about it.”

She sighs long and hard. “I’ve always thought of my future family as the end result—my reward to myself for avenging my mother’s death and putting all the darkness behind me. I never once considered taking a husband or having a child before the deed was done.”

“I see.” Things are happening out of order and she’s having a hard time dealing with how reality differs from the plan in her head.

“I thought I’d be healed—and normal—before I married and had a baby. How can I become someone’s mother when I’m still like this?”

“You’ll need to choose which is more important—your obsession with your mother’s killer or taking the only chance we may get at having our own children.”

“I want both.”

It’s impossible to have both right now. “Revenge will wait. Our family won’t.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that we’d be making the decision to do the IVF for the wrong reason?”

Bleu having our baby should never be called wrong. “The timing may be questionable, but never the reason.”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I’m saying all the wrong things.”

It’s okay. I understand what she means. “We didn’t get the news we were anticipating. We thought we’d have plenty of time. Turns out we may not. No one can predict the future, not even these specialists. What I do know is that our baby will be wanted and loved like no other. In the end, isn’t that what matters most?”

“I feel like the most important events of my life have happened *****it a time frame that wasn’t my own. Infiltrating The Fellowship. Marrying you. Now, bringing a baby into the world sooner than I’d like because my ovary may not hold out.”

“And it’s worked out for the best every time.”

“Yes. But I’d like to do something without feeling cornered.”

Being pushed before she’s ready is the last thing I want her to feel. “We don’t have to make a decision today, nor should we. We need time to sort out our feelings and what proceeding means for our lives and marriage.”

“How long do we give it?”

Dr. Paschall said we shouldn’t wait long. “Let’s take the week to think it over and we’ll make our final decision after the wedding reception.” I think we need that off our plates when we return to this conversation again. “Agree?”

“Agreed.”

Seven days until Bleu and I make a decision that will ultimately change our lives forever. Choose wrong and we could spend the rest of our lives in regret.

Please. Let us not make the wrong decision.

Chapter Thirteen

Bleu Breckenridge

As agreed, I’ve taken this week to sort out my feelings about the IVF. There’s only one emotion not in question: I’m no less terrified than I was the day we left the clinic.

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I wish I had one close friend or family member I could meet for coffee so I could pour my heart out. Sin’s the only one I can do that with and that makes for a problem.

I’ve never been a person who opens my heart to others about my personal issues. I’m content bottling my feelings but this situation is different. I have an intense need to talk to someone besides my husband. I need a woman’s opinion.

My friendships with Lorna and Westlyn are growing but neither is in a place where I feel comfortable talking about having a baby. And as much as I adore Isobel, this isn’t something I can discuss with her. I’m certain she’ll be in favor of a grandchild and an heir for The Fellowship.

It’s clear. I need my sister. But she’s more than four thousand miles away, so a phone call will have to do.

“Hello, bonny lass,” she says with the worst Scottish accent I’ve ever heard.

“That was horrible.”

“No way, dude. I’ve been practicing every day.”

We’re southern and have been our whole lives. It’s not something you can easily tone down. “I live among these people and hear it every day. Trust me when I say your execution sucks.”

“Then maybe I should come for a visit so I can improve. And check out some Scottie hotties.”

Not happening. She can never step foot in Edinburgh. But I can’t very well tell her that. “Sure thing. Come and we’ll do one of those tours across Scotland. There’s a whole lot I’ve still not seen. The Highlands. Loch Ness. A bazillion castles and villages. We can check it out together since Sin doesn’t give a rat’s ass about going with me.”

“I’ll take a look at the vacation requests at work to see what I can pull off.”

I think I can manage a visit as long as it’s not in Edinburgh. “You need to come during the summer when there’s plenty of sun. Winter is cold and dark. And sort of depressing.”

“I’m sure Sinclair’s keeping you warm, though, right? How is that new husband of yours?”

“Busy, as always.”

“He’s a newbie. I’m sure they have to earn their places within the firm. Isn’t that how it works?”

No. Not when they’re born into the role of top dog. But I can’t tell her that. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“How are you adjusting to Scotland? To married life? To everything?”

To my new residence? Fine.

To being a wife? Extraordinarily well.

To being the wife a leader of The Fellowship? As good as one could hope, considering.

To the prospect of becoming a mother soon? I have no idea.

“I think I’m handling it well …”

“But …?”

She knows me so well. “Sin and I saw a fertility specialist last week—a really good one. We got some news I wasn’t quite prepared to hear.”

“I’m so sorry, Bleu. I know how much you want to have babies.”

She’s assuming the news was bad. “No, Elli. It’s not what you’re thinking. My doctor says my ovary is in bad shape but my uterus looks good. He thinks I can become pregnant. He’s recommending we do another retrieval, this time with an embryo transfer.”

“Bleu! That’s wonderful!”

Did she hear the second part? “The embryo transfer means getting pregnant now instead of later.”

“I’m not confused about what that means. However, I’m a little puzzled about your lack of enthusiasm.”

“It’s not that I’m not happy. I am. It’s just so soon. We’ve only been married seven weeks.”

“Tell me why your doctor is recommending you do the transfer now.”

I relate what Dr. Paschall explained to us as worst-case scenario. It sounds so dire when I put it in my own words.

“This is what I’m hearing, Bleu. You have a husband who adores you. He wants babies with you so much that he’s paying God only knows how much for you to see one of the best fertility doctors in the world. This highly trained specialist’s job is to give you the best advice for how to conceive. He’s recommending you try now for the best results, instead of waiting. Did I get it all right?”

“Yes.”

It sounds so simple when I hear Ellison’s version. I look foolish for not jumping at the opportunity. Except I know the real reason behind my hesitation. My sister doesn’t.

“Then I’m failing to see the problem.”

It’s not her fault she can’t see my issues. I’m not giving her the whole story. It wasn’t fair of me to expect good advice when I can’t even be honest about why the timing is wrong for me.

“I’m just nervous about it coming so soon in our marriage. I thought we’d have time for the two of us before a baby came along.”

“Better early than never. Because never is a really long time.”

The word never is a powerful one. It has no mercy. It’s stern and doesn’t sway. Ever. It means exactly what it says. It sort of brings the whole thing full circle in my head.

The doorbell rings. ****. It’s not even eleven and Isobel is already here. She’s early.

I sprint for the door, opening it and motioning for my mother-in-law to come in. I flip the phone upside down so my mouth isn’t over the speaker. “I’m almost finished talking to Ellison. Just give me another minute.”

“No hurry. We have an hour until our appointments.”

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That might be okay if I didn’t have to shower. That means I’ve gotta rush.

“Elli, tonight is the reception with Sin’s family so I’ve gotta run. I have a hair appointment.”

“I should be there,” she says.

True. Except I married into a band of criminals so she’ll never have a place among us. “I wish you could be.”

“Send pictures. Lots of them. Particularly any of Sin’s hot Scottish friends.”

“Will do. But you shouldn’t expect much. Sin is the best looking of the bunch.”

God, she’d turn stupid if she saw Jamie, Leith, or Mitch. There’s no way I can ever let her see them. If she did, she’d be on the first plane to Edinburgh—and Jamie fits her type perfectly. All he’d have to do is open his mouth, say one medical word, and she’d be a goner.

Can’t happen. Ever.

I end my call with Ellison and I’m in a mad rush to shower and get out the door in time for my appointment.

Good thing the salon is a spa as well and will be doing it all: massage, waxing, facial, nails, hair, and makeup. I won’t have to worry about a thing. Maybe I can get the IVF off my mind long enough to enjoy the pampering.

* * *

Isobel insisted Sin not see me until the reception. She’s sad she wasn’t a part of our marriage ceremony so she’s treating this black-tie affair with The Fellowship like a ceremony as much as possible. It seems silly since we’re already married. We’ve had our cake and eaten it too—many times—but it’s important to Sin’s mom, so I’ve agreed.

Lorna crouches down and spreads my dress on the floor. She clears a path from top to bottom so I can step inside. I put the first foot through it onto the floor and stumble. “No floundering around when there’s a gun strapped to your body.”

There was no way to hide it from them since they’re helping me dress.

Westlyn rushes to my side. “Hold my hand so you don’t tumble over.”

I manage to get both feet on the floor free and clear of the fabric.

“Up we go.” I slip my arms in and Lorna glides my zipper up.

“This dress is stunning. Blows Kate Middleton’s away.” Westlyn steps back and gives me a once-over. “It cost a fortune, didn’t it?”

It did but Isobel insisted it was worth every penny. “Don’t make me say that number aloud.”

“Only the best for our leader’s wife who will one day carry the next generation of Fellowship leaders.” Lorna’s tone is mocking. I think she’s making fun of my duty to “bear an heir.”

Westlyn studies me in my dress. “Your boobs look bigger. Are you already pregnant?”

“Definitely not. The push-up gets all the cre***.”

I laugh but not at Westlyn’s question. I find this entire conversation amusing. I’m in the middle of female chitchat and I don’t hate it. There could be hope for me yet.

“Are you and Sinclair being pressured to have a baby?”

That’s a loaded question.

“Not really. Thane has mentioned it to Sin but that’s it as far as I know.”

“Be prepared. It’s coming.”

There’s a knock at the door, my husband’s voice on the other side. “Bonny. It’s time.”

“That’s our cue.” My two friends hug me quickly and disappear down the stairs.

I’m standing in the middle of the posh Breckenridge guest house when Sin comes in to see me for the first time. I’m wearing a real wedding dress for this event, one much different from what I wore at our wedding. This one is a long mermaid silhouette with a lace overlay and blingy belt. Elegant. Fitted. ***y. I like the way it makes me feel. But even more, I love the way Sin looks at me when he sees me in it for the first time.

I do a turn, flaring the bottom as I spin. “Like it?”

He nods. “Aye. Very much. It’s lovely but not nearly as beautiful as you.”

I lift the skirt of my dress to show him my feet.

“Ah. The shoes.”

“Yes, and if you’re lucky, I might wear them—and nothing else—for you tonight.”

He takes my face in his hands and places a soft kiss to my lips before pressing his forehead to mine. “Thank you.”

I don’t know what he means. “For what?”

“For being my wife and partner for life.” He’s repeating the words from our wedding, with one exception. He leaves off the part about being the mother of his children but it’s still a reminder. Tonight marks the deadline. It’s been a week since we agreed to make the decision about the IVF. And time’s up.

“Mmm … I’d like nothing more than to lie you on that bed and unwrap you like the beautiful gift you are.”

“You can unwrap me later.”

“I certainly will.”

“Our guests are anxious to visit with the new Mrs. Breckenridge but they’ll need to wait a few minutes more. I have something special for you.”

Sin takes my hands and leads me to the bed. “Sit.”

My curiosity is stirred. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he fetches his violin from the closet. He comes to me and goes down on one knee. It isn’t an easy task for him, which makes it even more special. “This is for you. A gift from my heart.”

Oh my God. I recognize the song within a few strokes of the bow. It’s “Amanda.” My mom’s song.

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It makes one of the most beautiful violin covers I’ve ever heard. I love it. I don’t know why I haven’t thought of learning it.

“That was beautiful. I felt every note.”

“I learned it so I could teach you.”

“It’s the most amazing thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you.”

He rises and takes my hand. “Come. It’s time for the brotherhood to meet my bride.”

Sin leads me down the staircase, holding my hand to ensure my safety. I’m grasping my dress, pulling up at the thigh. Because it’s long, the skirt is a trip hazard.

Once I’m safely on the first floor, I straighten and smooth my dress. “Good?”

“Perfect.”

It’s the wrong word to explain how I look. The word perfection should be saved for describing the celebration Isobel has planned. She’s outdone herself but I’d expect no less after the last event she put together for me.

It’s beyond amazing.

Tables are spread throughout the garden beneath three enormous white canopies. The underside of each is covered with a bazillion tiny lights, our own starlit sky. Huge lanterns hang throughout, emitting heat so the outdoor spaces are warm, despite the evening’s cold.

Each table is adorned with fine linens and tableware. No surprise there. And she’s made seat assignments. Thank God for that since I’m certain Isobel wouldn’t have put Abram anywhere near me.

Enormous white floral arrangements adorn the centers of each table, surrounded by glowing candle lanterns. It screams magical winter wonderland. And it’s beyond beautiful.

A man I assume to be the ceremony’s emcee introduces us as we enter the center canopy. “It’s my pleasure to present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair Breckenridge.”

I can’t even guess at how many people are present. It’s a lot, and all of them are clapping. The men in our path slap Sin on the back and murmur offers of congratulations as we proceed to our table. We’re seated at the largest one, front and center.

I’ve always felt Sin’s role within The Fellowship was comparable to that of a prince-in-waiting. I once mocked it. But that was before I became a part of his world. I couldn’t feel more like a queen than I do in this moment. And I love it. It’s nice to be so well received by his people.

Champagne in hand, Jamie leads the toasts. “On behalf of Sinclair and Bleu, I’d like to thank everyone for coming out on this bitter cold night to celebrate their marriage. Even all the ladies in tears who are heartbroken to see my friend no longer available for the taking.” The crowd laughs; I do as well.

“I have to tell you that I knew it was over for Sin the minute he laid eyes on Bleu. He thought he was so damn smart, keeping his feelings for her hidden from everyone, but I could see he was smitten by this American lass. I’ve never known my friend to be as happy and content as he was in Bleu’s presence. It never mattered to him if she was Fellowship or not. He was determined to make her his, no matter the cost. And it was a high one. He made the ultimate sacrifice so she could become one of us. And now she is by both initiation and marriage. I wish you both the best of luck and a life filled with health, happiness, and joy. I wish you many healthy babies and may they all take after their beautiful mother so none of them are as ugly as Sinclair.” The crowd erupts into laughter again and Jamie lifts his glass higher. “To my best friend Sinclair and his lovely wife, who shall now become my dear friend as well. May we all find love as precious as theirs.”

I’ve not spent much time with Jamie so his speech comes as a surprise. He lifts his drink in my direction and nods before tossing it back.

Leith is next at the mic, and I’m a little worried about what he might say. “Everyone knows Sin, Jamie, and myself have been best friends since we were bairns. We’ve spent twenty-six years sharing any and every thing, so I didn’t take well to being told to back off of Bleu.” Oh God. I think Leith is drunk. This is going to be bad.

I give Sin the look, the one that says “stop him before he makes an ass of himself and us.”

Sin shakes his head and returns his attention to his friend. He seems to have confidence in him. I don’t.

“It took a little while but I finally realized Sin put boundaries up around Bleu because he was in love with her. That’s the natural order of things when a man loves a woman. He doesn’t allow other men near her. Once I figured that out, a lot of things became very clear for me.”

“Sin is a liar, a cheater, and a thief.” Leith lifts his glass and my heart pounds. I thought I had sorted out where his speech was going but now I’m afraid I was wrong.

“Stop him,” I tell Sin.

Sin places his hand on my thigh. “He’s fine.”

“When he lies, may it be beside you. Or in a court of law so he may keep all you wankers out of the slammer.” The crowd breaks into laughter and I’m marginally relieved. But he isn’t finished.

“When he cheats, may it be death.” I hear what sounds like the murmurs of hundreds saying “aye” in unison. “Seems he already has that one down since he’s managed to dodge the grave twice now.” I hear more gleeful sounds but I still brace myself for what could come next.

Leith is full of lingering anger with Sin, and it has nothing to do with me. It may take a little digging but I fully intend on finding out what’s going on between them.

“When he steals, may it be your heart and your kisses. Or whatever is of value from The Order when the opportunity presents itself.”

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The brotherhood bursts into cheers. I look at Sin and roll my eyes. I can’t believe Leith is turning his best man toast into jokes about lying in court and stealing from The Order.

Leith holds up his glass for what I think is a final statement. At least, I hope that’s what it is. He’s still making me nervous.

“The tra***ional toast says, ‘If you drink, drink deeply of the joy of your new life together.’ While we all wish that for our happy leader and his bride, I say to everyone: drink deeply tonight in honor of them. Congratulations, Sin and Bleu. May we all know love that will push us above and beyond any limits standing in the way.”

“Finally,” I say beneath my breath as I bring my champagne up for a drink.

Sin laughs while drinking to Leith’s toast. “Did you really think he would say something in poor taste?”

I heard the things Leith said to Sin in the ring the day they fought. There’s bad blood there. “I only know one thing. Never trust a drunk holding a mic.”

“Good point. But it’s done now and all is well.”

The toasts continue far too long. Everyone in the brotherhood wants to offer their congratulations and well wishes for our marriage … and future children. There are so many toasts, I’m on my way to drunkenness without intending it.

We’re nearing the last of the well-wishers when Sin puts his hand on my leg beneath the table. He leans over to whisper in my ear and his warm breath ignites chills down my body. “I can’t wait to get you home.”

He pulls away. He scans my face and leans back to take a look below the table. “What is that?”

“My Beretta.”

“You’re wearing a wedding dress with a gun strapped to your thigh?”

I shrug. “Almost every Fellowship member is gathered here. It would be crazy to not be prepared in case of an invasion.”

“My wife has a pistol hidden beneath her dress. That is ****ing hot.”

“I might let you take it off me later.”

Sin removes his hand from my thigh and takes my hand. “Dance with me, Mrs. Breckenridge.”

I’ve been his wife going on two months and I still get chills when he calls me that. I hope it never stops.

We move to the dance floor and he takes me in his arms as we sway to the band’s ren***ion of “The Way You Look Tonight.”

“My husband is a very good dancer.” His movements are smooth despite his amputation.

The solitary dimple makes an appearance. “Only when I have the right partner.”

I follow Sin’s lead. “I’m not a great dancer but I feel like I am when I’m with you.”

“Everything we do in life is going to be great as long as we do it together.”

“I know.” I move closer and place my head against his chest.

I look forward to all the great things we’re going to do together. I love being a wife but I miss being a daughter and sister. It hurts every day. “I wish Dad and Ellison were here. And both of my moms. I miss all of them so much.”

“I know. I sometimes hear you cry when you’re alone for your soaks in the tub.”

He’s given me those moments to myself. I appreciate him granting me the distance I need. He is my husband but those private times remain very important. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being you.”

We dance but I’m preoccupied by one of the toasts a brother made. I’m hesitant to bring it up. I don’t want to put a damper on the good time we’re having but I can’t help myself. “Todd ****burn’s toast was interesting.”

“How so?”

“He called me your Bleubird.”

“Purely coincidental.”

“It’s weird since that’s what my mother called me.”

“You crossed him off the list. He didn’t pan out.”

“I know.”

Sin stops moving. I immediately worry I’ve angered him by bringing up the investigation during our wedding celebration.

“May I have this dance with my new niece?” Every hair stands on the back of my neck.

I don’t have to see him to know it’s Abram.

“It’s fine,” I say to Sin. He doesn’t look convinced so I nod.

Abram can’t hurt me for two reasons. First, I’m Fellowship, just as he is. I’m the wife of his future leader. Secondly, we’re in front of the entire brotherhood. But I’m no fool. I’m quite aware the latter is the only thing assuring my safety for the time being.

I don’t trust this man.

Abram takes my hand and leads me in a basic box step. Moving with him on the dance floor feels like dancing with the devil. “What do you want?”

“Nothing in particular. I just want to dance with my niece.”

“Bull****.”

“Such a lady.”

“And you’re always such a gentlemen.”

“Westlyn tells me you’ve been doing a lot of socializing with the women since your return.”

“I don’t know them. I need to remedy that if I’m to be any kind of leader.”

“Stay away from my daughters.”

His voice oozes acid. Good. I think it could be a sign he actually cares for his girls.

I barely know Evanna but Westlyn is becoming a dear friend. I’ve never had that before so I don’t intend on giving up our friendship so easily. “Despite what you may believe about me, I’m not the enemy. I’m committed to The Fellowship and its well-being.”

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“You’ll never convince me of that.”

I’m suddenly shoved from behind, sending my body crashing into the psychopath. He breaks my fall and reaches out to grab the arm of the culprit—a small girl playing chase with three other children. “Whoa. Slow it down there, toots. You wouldn’t want to knock your future leader’s wife onto her bum in her pretty dress.”

Toots. Toots? Toots! That’s what my mother’s killer called me before placing a pillow over my face.

It could be nothing. Or it could be something. Either way, I think I may be adding a new color of sticky note to my wall of suspects. One representing Abram Breckenridge.

Chapter Fourteen

Sinclair Breckenridge

I watch every move Abram makes with my wife. Every step. Every turn. I don’t trust him with Bleu and I don’t expect to any time soon. How can I when he had men hunting her as our enemy only a few short weeks ago?

I’m alarmed when I see her shoved against him—even if it’s an accident by a small lass not looking where she’s going. I instantly go into defense mode. I bolt across the temporary dance floor.

“Are you all right?”

“I was bumped by a little girl. I’m fine.”

“I can see your husband is ready to have his wife returned to him.”

Abram takes Bleu’s hand and kisses the top. “Congratulations again on your nuptials. May you deliver many healthy sons and daughters as heirs to The Fellowship.”

That son of a bitch.

Bleu yanks her hand from his. Her face pales. “Come dance with me.”

She doesn’t move so I encourage her with a tighter grasp. “Now, Bonny.”

She comes but not happily. I pull her into a close embrace. She’s stiff, not returning my affectionate hold. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have allowed him near you.”

It’s my job to protect her, and that includes from Abram.

“He knows about my fertility problems.”

She need not even think I’ve confided in him—or anyone else—about what’s going on. “I haven’t told anyone. I swear.”

She relaxes.

“He had people investigating me. It wouldn’t be difficult to put the pieces together if he saw my payments to the medical facility where I bank my eggs from the retrieval I did a couple of years ago.”

“It doesn’t matter what or how he knows.” Unless he had us followed to the clinic in London. I’d better not find out that’s the case. “Our fertility issues are our business. Not The Fellowship’s and damn sure not his.”

Bleu pulls away and her eyes connect with mine. “I’m adding him to my list of suspects.”

She’s not thinking clearly. “What motive would Abram have for killing your mother?”

“I don’t know but I want to talk to Thane.”

That can’t happen. “That isn’t a good idea.”

“Why not?”

She has no idea what kind of **** she’ll be stirring. A war waging between two leaders of The Fellowship will only weaken the brotherhood. That makes us vulnerable to attack.

“You can’t go to my father and name his brother as a suspect for murdering the woman he loved. You need proof before you accuse a brother—especially a leader—of something like that.”

“I know it isn’t much to go on but that little girl who bumped into me … Abram called her toots. That’s the same name my mother’s killer called me.”

That’s no kind of proof. Bleu’s a former agent. I shouldn’t have to tell her this. “Toots is a common name to call a child. It doesn’t prove he’s a killer.”

“But a bite from a dog on his leg will. All I need is to see he doesn’t have a scar and he’ll be excluded. It’s easy as that.”

Abram is capable of a lot but in no way do I believe he’s guilty of Amanda Lawrence’s murder. Fingering him as her killer is a waste of time. And possibly detrimental to The Fellowship. There are huge problems brewing with The Order. We can’t afford a breakdown in leadership right now.

“Bonny. I understand the importance of finding your mother’s killer. You need closure and I desperately want that for you but you won’t find it in naming Abram.”

There’s so much she’s yet to learn. “You’re new to The Fellowship so you don’t understand what an enormous conflict like this between my father and his brother could cause.”

I understand Bleu’s thirst for revenge but her obsession has become a disease very much like the cancer that took her father. She’s spent most of her life chasing something I fear will destroy her in the end. I can’t—and won’t—allow this to eat away her heart. I love her too much to let that happen.

She needs a diversion—one wrapped in a pink or baby blue blanket.

* * *

Our reception lasts well into the night. It’s very late—or quite early, depending how you look at it—when Sterling takes us home.

I think Bleu has had more champagne than she should. And I’m certain I have. Tomorrow won’t be gentle on our heads so I pull our bedroom drapes together. We won’t get much light until later in the morning but I want the option of sleeping in without the sun giving any arguments about it.

I’m lying in bed when Bleu slips in next to me. She becomes still and releases a long sigh. “I love your mother to pieces but that was intense.”