Page 24 of Grand Love

“When you feel that contraction, I want you to—”

I feel it and waste no time grasping the arms that hold me as I push, not stopping until the pain stops, and my chest is enveloped in warmth.

“A gorgeous little boy.” Kelly beams at us. “Congratulations, Mummy and Daddy.”

Looking down, I take him in. His small little nose, pursed lips and flailing hands. “Hello, you,” I tell him as he looks up at me.

Mason’s hand reaches around me and smooths down his cheek. I look back at him over my shoulder and catch his tear-lined face, mere inches from my own.

“Thank you, Angel,” he tells me, closing the distance and kissing me.

My chest constricts as I will myself to pull away, but I can’t. Not when it feels so right, not when I’ve been starved of him for so long, and not until I taste the saltiness of our tears between us.

I rip myself away.

“Is Dad cutting the cord?”

“Can I?” He turns to me, and I nod, my heart physically hurting in my chest.

“Does he have a name?” Kelly asks.

I look at Mason as he leans in with the scissors, his eyes lifting to mine. We haven’t discussed it, but I’ve known since the day I found out I was pregnant what he would be called.

“Ellis. If that’s okay? Ellis Anthony Lowell.”

Mason only nods, as if that’s all he can manage.

The hoursthat followed my labour are a blur. I remember Elliot, Lance, Charlie, Vinny, and the girls all sneaking in and causing a commotion late in the evening—just to get a look at him. Not that Mason allowed the fuss.

It wasn’t until one o’clock in the morning, when the nurse told Mason to go home to get some sleep that reality sunk back in, obliterating the post-birth haze. I knew I couldn’t let him back in. Not even an inch. He would be Ellis’s father but that was all I could allow.

Swiping the tears from my face, I stand, roll my shoulders, and walk into my bedroom. I always knew today would come around, and now that it has, I feel him, his presence, and his aura. That pull we have—it never left.

But I’ll never let it drag me under again.

* * *

Mase

“Who’s Nina?”Jasmine asks as I walk to the edge of the balcony. “Charlie mentioned her earlier. I heard the two of you in the kitchen. Why would she need to know that I’m here? And why don’t you want her to know?”

Who is Nina?There’s definitely not an easy answer to that question. How do I explain something unexplainable to a woman I can barely stand to look at?

“You ask a lot of questions, you know that?”

She dips her head, her face growing red.

“Nina is your sister,” I tell her with little ease, turning to face the skyline as my brow creases. I wait.

“What?” she finally stutters.

“Your sister. Nina Anderson. She’s twenty-nine years old—a dancer. Your father had her and then you eighteen months later.”

“You know my father?”

I scoff. “I know enough to judge his lousy ass.”

I stand with my hands in my pockets not looking back at the girl on my terrace. She’s quiet behind me, and I know I’ve shocked her. I’ve shocked myself. When Nina didn’t believe me, I swore I’d never forgive her for it—and I won’t. Which is why me having Jasmine here makes no sense.

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