Page 62 of Breathtaking

Finally, something in my wheelhouse. Color pallets I can do.

LENNON

There’s a kind of hurt that doesn’t cry or scream or cause a scene.

It just quietly changes your soul on a molecular level.

—Lennon’s Secret Thoughts

Maddox and I fall into some semblance of a routine over the next few weeks, but each morning, I wake with an ominous feeling, wondering if this will be the day. It’s been too quiet. Too calm. If I know Monty like I fear I do, this calm won’t last. It can’t. And I’m attempting to reconcile that with this new life. The one that feels like I’m running away from my real life.

Those feelings have been haunting me since I left the hospital.

I’m just not sure what to do with any of it. The only thing I am sure of is that Maddox needs furniture. He’s been on the couch for days, and that’s not fair to him. Fixing that, I can handle. So, with Maria in tow and my driver on hand, we head into the city for a little interior design.

And it’s not until we go to the last store that I stand there, unable to make a decision.

I’ve spent my day picking out beds, armoires, a beautiful bleached-wood dining table with twelve stunning chairs, a kitchen set, and new stools that don’t look like they’ve been with the man since he probably lived in a frat house a decade ago. I’ve ordered rugs and drapes and found a beautiful little vintage shop with items to bring the character to his home which truly matches the man and the stunning design he created. Blues and whites and grays, with cool creams and cherrywood accents, which will all come together with clean lines and classic textures to create a beautifully serene, peaceful escape from the world when Maddox comes home.

It should be a place our child will have a happy life in.

If this all works out.

But some part of me still isn’t sure it will.

A piece of me still refuses to believe it.

And now... Now I stand in the middle of a high-end baby boutique, staring at cribs and wanting to cry. It all just feels wrong. How am I supposed to do this—bring a baby into a lie? What if something happens?

I turn to Maria. “I need to get out of here.”

She nods and calls my driver, and I’m whisked away moments later.

No sooner have we left the store than I call my brother.

Thankfully, he picks up on the first ring. “I was starting to worry about you, kid.”

“Atticus,” I sob. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“What’s wrong, Lennon? Fuck. What happened?” I can hear the fear and desperation in his voice and hate that I put it there.

“Is that Lennon?” Rhys asks from somewhere near Atticus. “Put her on speaker.”

Oh no.

“Who else is with you?” I ask, scared of the answer.

“It’s just us, kid,” Rhys confirms after Atticus switches to FaceTime and both my brothers’ faces appear on-screen. Thanks to the magic of makeup and the time that’s passed, my face is looking far less battered, but I still don’t join them. They’d notice. “What the hell is going on? Monty told Dad the wedding has to be moved up to next month. I need you to come home, Lennon. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.”

“I can’t come home. I’m pregnant.” I drop that bomb, expecting Rhys to explode, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even blink. Atticus winces behind him, though, like he’s not the ass who threw three pregnancy tests at my face. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, I heard you. Okay, you’re pregnant. You’re not the first pregnant princess, Lennon. We’ll deal with it. I guess that makes the whole wanting to move the wedding thing up make more sense.”

“Uhh... Think again,” Atticus tells Rhys, and I wish I could crawl under a rock.

Rhys’s eyes narrow, but they don’t harden. He’s not mad. He’s worried. My family may not be the Beneventis, but my brothers are still good men, and they love me.

“Jesus Christ, Atticus. Monty isn’t the father. Monty is the man who flew to Kroydon Hills, called me a whore, then beat the shit out of me.” I hit the video button on the phone and let them see what’s left of my fading bruises. It’s faint, but makeup does little to cover the remnants.

---