My stomach twisted a little. Apparently one night I hadn’t cared, but I couldn’t bring myself to regret it, not with Skye in my arms, her blinks coming slower and slower as she fell into sleep.
I carefully got out of the glider and laid her into her crib as she drifted off, all tucked into her little sleep suit. Thank God for Fiona, or I never would have thought twice about tucking her in with blankets. Fiona was the one who’d known to get her the zippable, wearable blanket that lessened the chance of SIDS. Fiona had been the one to tell me when to lower the crib, to start child-proofing the house when Skye had decided to crawl. I would have been lost without Fiona.
“I love you,” I whispered to Skye, then crept out of the room so I didn’t startle her back awake. As bedtimes went, it was easier than usual, or maybe everything with Skye was becoming easier as I adjusted to parenthood.
I shut her door as silently as possible and then headed for my bedroom, which was officially our bedroom, even if Fiona hadn’t moved her stuff into the closet. I didn’t give a shit where Fiona kept her clothes as long as I had her in my bed every night.
Tugging my tie lose, I walked into our bedroom. What had been only an efficient space for sleeping was now the obvious setting where two people shared a life. Fiona’s robe was draped over an armchair nearest the closet. She kept a stack of books on the nightstand, two novels and one non-fiction—always keeping up in her field.
Guilt sliced into me like a paper cut. Was I holding her back? The woman had her doctorate, and there was no doubt she was needed in her field, and yet here she was, applying all her expertise to Skye and Skye alone.
I heard rustling in the closet as I kicked off my shoes. “Fiona? You in here?”
“Hmmm?”
“Skye went down like a dream.” Socks, tie, dress shirt—they all made it to the hamper. I started to unbuckle my belt when Fiona stepped out of the closet. My heart stopped.
Her eyes were wide and there was a slight tremble in her lips, but her hand…her fisted hand actually shook.
“Sweetheart?” I asked softly. Was there a mouse in there? Wait…was Fiona even scared of mice?
“I…” She shook her head, walking slowly to where I stood at the center of the room. “I…don’t even know how to ask this.”
My stomach churned at the expression of absolute horror on her face. “Fiona, what’s wrong? Just ask. There’s nothing I won’t tell you.” As ugly as parts of my past were, I never shied away from them.
“I was putting away your laundry—”
“I told you to let the housekeeper do that,” I interrupted. “You already do so much—”
“—and when I was putting your socks away—”
Oh. Fuck.
My eyes widened and a knot the size of the arena set up shop in my throat. This wasn’t happening. Right? I hadn’t really been that stupid to put it there…
“—and I found this.” She rotated her wrist and opened her fist, revealing the small, black velvet box I’d foolishly stashed in my sock drawer right before flying out a few days ago.
“Right.” Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This right here is why I’d never be cut out for romance. Sterling would have hidden it better. Cannon had probably been smoother and he’d been blitzed out of his mind when he’d married Persephone. Me? I had a sock drawer ring.
“Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.” Color drained from her face, and she swallowed, her eyes searching mine with a frenzy I could almost taste. “And I know I shouldn’t have picked it up. It’s none of my business what’s in here. I shouldn’t be holding it, but I saw it, and suddenly it was in my hand, and I’ve probably been staring at it for ten minutes.”
“Fiona,” I cupped her cheek and brushed my thumb over her soft skin. “There’s no reason to panic.”
“Brogan, is this a ring?”
Shit, was that really panic in her voice? Or possible excitement? I mean, wasn’t this what all women wanted? A whirlwind, passionate relationship that ended with someone playing Here Comes the Bride? It was all my female cousins had talked about growing up.
“I mean,” Fiona started to babble. “It’s just a box, right? Or it could be earrings?” Her eyebrows rose. “Or maybe a nice…broach?”
“What the hell is a broach?”
“Okay, not a broach.” She nibbled on her lower lip and it took everything in me not to suck it free and kiss her. “Or maybe it’s something for Skye?”
“It’s for you.” I took the box from her hand and studied her face, trying—and failing—to get a read on what she really wanted it to be. “But here’s the deal. We can just put it back, Fiona. We can pretend you never saw it and we can deal with whatever has you scared shitless another day.”