She hung her head, her lips still wide for breath.
I didn’t speak again. Words couldn’t reach her, but touch could.
Moving toward her, I lowered myself painfully into a leather buttoned chair close by, then leaned forward and ran my fingers through her hair.
The instant I touched her, she shattered like fine crystal.
Tears sprang from nowhere, and she scrambled across the carpet to wedge between my legs. Her strong, slim arms wrapped around me as her face pressed into my thigh.
Having her seek comfort and help—seeing her this way on her knees before me, knowing she was hurting far more than I could ever understand—ruined the final pieces of my already ruined heart.
“Ah, Pim.” I bent over her, stroking her back, kissing her hair, holding her as she sat on the carpet and clung to me. “Breathe. Just breathe.”
I cupped her head as she half-strangled, half-sobbed. She trembled so much, she made my body quake to match hers.
Her pain might not be physical, but she hurt, and I wished I could take it all away. I’d chop it into tiny fragments and burn them one by one. I’d burn everything until there was nothing left to torment her.
Including that bastard.
“It’s okay, Pim. It’s okay.” I kissed her forehead, brushing aside sweaty strands, rubbing away the clammy fear on her skin. “Don’t listen to that fucking Frenchman. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
How dare he upset her with hearsay and incorrect assumptions? She was young. She was healthy. There was no earthly reason why she—we—couldn’t have children if she wanted—
We.
Me…a father.
The thought struck me dead.
How funny that I’d spent my entire life pining for a family who didn’t want me, purchasing toys for cousins, creating safe havens for relations, only to never dare contemplate making my own family.
So what I’d been banished from one? I could create another. One with Pim who I loved more than anyone. A son or daughter who would love me for me and not hate me for my past.
Holy fu—
“No.” Pim interrupted my coal-chugging thoughts. She shook her head, another sharp sob falling from her lips. “He’s right.”
“No one that egotistical is ever right.”
She blanched. “But…in this matter, he is.”
“What…what are you saying?” It was my turn to suffocate beneath the heaviness of horror. “Pim, what do you mean?”
She buried her face in my lap, crying harder.
As much as I wanted answers, as much as I snarled to know if I should cull such concepts of children, I let her hide. After all, I needed the time to piece together my own torture.
I couldn’t pretend, sitting in this library, that this was the first time I’d thought about having a kid. I had. Of course, I had—no matter what bullshit I fed myself. A man like me who lived for family would look at every avenue to replace what was lost.
However, I could never bring something I loved so implicitly that they had the power to kill me if anything bad happened into this bad, bad world. Too many dangers. Too many criminals and thieves.
I should know.
I am one.
Having a kid would surely put me in an early grave with worry and concern, and besides, my life was about vengeance not procreation. Not until I’d cleansed the world of the Chinmoku could I, or any loved one, be safe again.
You’re lying again.
Even before coming face to face with Q’s son after our fight the other night, I’d known he had a child. I’d seen the baby toys the moment I entered his home. It was hard not to with an overanalysing brain like mine. He lived a dangerous existence, just like I did, yet he’d found a way to protect his loved ones.
I wouldn’t say it was easy being around children after being denied any involvement with my younger cousins, but I’d long since stopped tearing myself up, wishing for things I could never have.
Lying again.
I balled my hands, admitting to myself what I hadn’t wanted to face.
Eventually, once all the shit I’d caused was righted, I might’ve broached the subject of pregnancy with Pimlico. Only if she reached a happier place. Only if she married me. And only if we were in a much safer existence.
Only then would we have sat down and discussed expanding our love to others we co-created. But whatever children we might or might not have had, it didn’t change how I felt about her. Having a son or daughter wasn’t a requirement to be happy.
That echoing emptiness inside me had filled the moment I found Pim. It’d remained filled having her in my world. I didn’t need anyone or anything ever again. Just her.
Only, now…that emptiness returned, recognising the same emptiness in her, hating that she hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me what burdened her.
Using the gentlest tone I could, I stroked her with soft fingertips. “You’re not capable of having—”