Guarding Her: A Secret Baby Romance

by Lexi Whitlow

  The side of the church that’s supposed to seat my guests is mostly empty. There are a few cousins who came on short notice, and my mother is there, looking shocked—but pleased. After Charlie and my withdrawal into myself, I think she decided she’d given birth to a spinster, dried up at the age of twenty-four. There’s a few girls from my dorm, and Mariella, my boss. Since she’s a romance writer, she thinks the whole thing is wickedly romantic—and she gave me the week off work. When I pass her by, she gives me a thumbs-up.

  The Dougherty side is filled with perfectly made up women and their husbands, each of them prepared to come to a wedding on short notice—kind of like this stuff happens all the time around here. My stomach drops at the thought.

  A pawn in a game. That’s what I am. Maybe. But maybe that’s not a bad thing.

  Liam turns and sees me for the first time since this morning. When his eyes meet mine, I feel every movement of my body, all working together in tandem, building to the moment when he takes me into his arms tonight.

  My father kisses my cheek again and goes to sit in the pew with my mother, who has tears in her eyes. Tears of shock or sadness, or maybe relief that her daughter finally got over the boy who broke her heart. I think that’s the real reason my parents are here—they were both so disappointed when I split with Charlie. And when I announced to them just days ago that I was getting married, they seemed surprised—but their voices sounded lighter the next day, like they had been wanting this. A real, true, religious wedding in a church. They didn’t even seem to mind that Liam is Irish Catholic. He’s a man for their daughter to have and hold—a real man for their pure, innocent daughter.

  Little do they know.

  As I walk, there’s a searing sensation like lightning striking through my core. My virgin sex is bare for him, and ready for the night I’ve been waiting for.

  My father and mother look at me with pleased, if somewhat shell-shocked, expressions on their faces.

  And then I turn to him. He’s standing next to his brothers, each tall and broad shouldered, wearing gray suits in slightly different shades. Liam’s tux makes him stand out, and he looks even bigger than each of them. His smile is broader, and his muscular frame more prominent.

  Even if it’s all a ruse, it’s worth it for today.

  This wedding can be practice. And I’ll lose my virginity on my wedding night, just like I had wanted. Just like I’d dreamed. But instead of the fear and pain I imagined in my younger years, Liam will give me pleasure—even if he can’t give me love.

  I step up to Liam, and he takes my hand in his, and brings it to his mouth, kissing it gently. I’m wearing the tiny diamond he gave me. It occurs to me, when the priest starts speaking, that I’m not sure if he has a ring. For some reason, my heart beats hard when I think of this, like it will make it more real, one way or another.

  One of his brothers reads from Corinthians, a passage I’ve heard a thousand times at all the Protestant weddings I went to with my parents. It’s sweet and simple, but the words say nothing about me and Liam. When he looks at me, I don’t feel pure love. Instead, I feel his eyes roaming over the swelling orbs of my breasts, down to my skirt that hides the treasure waiting just for him.

  There’s nothing pure about what I want right now, even though he’s made me live by the letter of the law.

  It’s not what I would have chosen.

  But it’s what Liam wants, what he’s told me I’m going to do. Give myself to him fully, tonight.

  Another brother reads the passage about a woman being a helpmeet to her husband. And then, the priest is talking again, and we repeat our vows. They’re just empty words here, not holy ones.

  “Through sickness and health,” I repeat. “Until death do us part.” My face feels numb when I speak, and I can feel myself growing pale, my hands cold. But Liam grabs my fingers, and the warmth returns to them.

  “I will stand by this woman,” he says. “I will be next to her in sickness and in health. In rich times and in poor. Until death do us part.”

  “Do you have the rings?” The priest asks, his voice creaky.

  One of his brothers—Damian with the dark hair and crystal blue eyes—hands two small gold rings to Liam. I know better than to ask where they come from. It’s an answer I’m sure I don’t want to know when it comes to the Dougherty family.

  Before I can blink, Liam is slipping a ring onto my finger.

  I look into his changeable, hazel eyes and swallow hard. Yellow and green and brown all at once. Like the mountains in the autumn.

  “With this ring, I thee wed,” he says, like he knows the line by heart. I guess he’s said it before—or I’m not sure. I don’t know if he and Tabitha were ever married. My heart leaps. How can I marry a man that I know barely anything about?

  Before the thought takes hold, I find myself placing the ring on Liam’s finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

  We turn to the small crowd in the church.

  “Is there anyone here who objects to this marriage? If so, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

  My blood buzzes with nervousness. I look over to my parents, and back to Liam’s brothers. Everyone is silent, for now. Even Marta sits quietly, hands in her lap. Brie beams at us, even though Marta refused to let her be the flower girl. That awful woman gives me a sour feeling in the pit of my stomach. I resist the urge to sneer at her. After all, this is partly for her.

  It feels like forever, but there are no objections. I start to step down from the altar, nearly stumbling over my heels. But there’s more—I forgot. We never rehearsed, anyway.

  “You may now kiss the bride,” the priest adds, as if it’s an afterthought.

  Liam takes me by the waist and dips me down, his hand traveling over the nape of my neck. When he kisses me, I sense his deep, waiting hunger. His tongue finds mine, a welcome invasion. And I let myself melt into him, my body relaxed and calm as he kisses me in front of our family and friends.

  Liam and I walk back down the aisle, music surrounding us, rose petals falling over us like spring rain.

  We’ve gotten away with it.

  And we’re man and wife.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Liam

  Skye is holding onto my hand, knuckles white, when we walk into the gathering hall behind the church. Her friend, Rhiannon, is glaring at me, just like she was the other night. But she gives Skye a huge thumbs up when she sees her, and something tells me Rhiannon can’t resist a big event. I can see why Finn is looking at her, too. She’s a firecracker, exactly his type.

  Still holding Skye’s hand, I gesture to my brother, Finn. “Get her a drink,” I mouth to him, gesturing to Rhiannon. “And keep her happy.”

  The last thing I need is that redheaded girl to remind me that this wedding is the last thing she wants for her friend. I get it—I do. And I respect a person who’s loyal like that.

  But the truth is, I’m not planning on hurting this woman. Not today—unless she wants it. I look down at Skye. Her curves fill out that sweet little dress perfectly. She looks sweet and innocent, while still giving off that vibe. The one that makes me know for sure that she wants me—and she wants me badly.

  But she’ll have to wait longer.

  As we head into the heart of the hall, we’re greeted by our families, staring at us. A great whoop of cheering and yells comes from my relatives and the few friends who could make it on short notice. I look to Skye’s parents and the conservative girls who roomed with her at Columbia University. Two of them are wearing white cardigans, and three others look like they might die of embarrassment from being in the same room as my boisterous, tattooed brothers and cousins.

  I watch as my brother Malachy walks over to them, balancing four drinks on his massive arms, carrying a fifth in his mouth. He’s got his eyes on at least two of them—the man likes a challenge, just like me.

  “This is weird,” Skye whispers. “I didn’t think we’d actually go through with it.”

 
; I shrug. “We’re married. It’s no big deal. Not with the contract we signed.”

  “That’s not exactly what I need to hear right now, Liam.” She croaks the words out, like the very thought of it all terrifies her.

  “Hey, no.” I take her hands and lead her over to get a drink. The crowd parts for us. “Give the bride here a drink, man. Something strong. She needs a bit of loosening up.”

  The bartender obliges, and I lead Skye around to the members of my family, while she clutches her drink and tries to take graceful sips occasionally. As the drink starts to disappear, I feel her grip grow lighter. She wobbles slightly on her heels, and I catch her by the waist, letting my hand roam a little lower and cup her juicy ass. I don’t feel any panty lines, and I look to her with a raised eyebrow as I lead her on the dance floor.

  “It’s time for the bride and groom to share their first dance,” my cousin Josh shouts to the audience, and I gesture for Skye to finish the rest of her drink.

  “This wasn’t part of the plan,” she hisses at me. She’s trying to sound angry, but I can tell that she’s nervous instead. “We didn’t practice a dance. We didn’t have time.”

  Her voice is panicked, but I take her into my arms and feel her calm. The lights go down, and the music begins.

  “We use the same wedding song for every Dougherty first dance. It’s tradition. No big deal.”

  Etta James’ rich voice comes to life, filling the dance hall. Skye’s drink has worked enough on her that I’m able to pull her from her motionless stance into something that resembles dancing.

  At last, my love has come along. The notes float through the dance hall. I might be the only Dougherty brother to ever get married. And this might not last. But with the beer I had earlier, I have the thought that it might not be all bad if it did last.

  I look down at her. She’s a good half a foot shorter than I am, even in heels. Her eyes are dark and searching in the dim light.

  “It’s easy to dance to,” I whisper. “Just move your body with mine. Like you’re going to do later.” I lean in closer, my voice even lower when I speak. “When I fuck you for the first time.”

  Skye cracks a smile for the first time since she saw me at the altar. “Thought you’d forgotten about that with all the excitement around here.”

  “Not a chance in hell I’d forget.” I tangle my fingers in her hair and kiss her hard again, like I did in front of everyone in the church. When my lips meet hers, it’s like there’s no one else in the room. The cheers of everyone around us, the sultry love song in the background—it all fades out. There’s nothing but the sweet taste of her, the soft touch of her fingertips at the back of my neck, the swell of my cock pressing against her thigh. I break away and speak low into her ear. “You’re not wearing panties, are you? I’ll be disappointed if you are. When I grabbed that fine ass before, I didn’t think I felt anything underneath.”

  She blushes deep red, contrasting against her wedding dress. Like a rose against snow. A rose that I’m about to pluck.

  “No, there’s nothing under there. Just the garter.”

  I twirl her out and back into my arms. It comes naturally, like we’ve been practicing this for weeks—like we meant every word of the ceremony. Like this reception celebrates something true. For now, maybe it does.

  The song ends. The dance is done—the dance that our relatives can witness is, anyway.

  We stand in the middle of the floor, fingertips linked together, touching. There’s a low hum of anticipation in my body, but it’s not just the idea of finally knowing Skye’s body fully. It’s something else altogether, and I don’t know if I could put a name on it. There’s something blocking it, deep inside. I push it down and let Skye’s fingertips go. She’s immediately surrounded by a group of her friends and a few of my cousins, all chatting about her dress and her hair, and why exactly the wedding was on such short notice. Skye is a champ, and doesn’t mention a thing about the hearing. Instead, she gives our story about a secret courtship and true love that sprang up after only a couple of months.

  More like two weeks. Or has it been three? I’ve lost track of the time.

  I watch Skye for a second. She’s absorbed into the small crowd of women. I can’t help wishing it were just the two of us, right here. Right now. But we promised everyone here a wedding—or a scandal—whatever they think this is.

  I turn and scan the crowd for Brie. She’s standing stiffly at Marta’s side, holding onto her skirt, but when she sees me looking at her, she comes running across the floor. She does it before Marta can catch her and hold her back. That woman is always pulling that shit, keeping Brie from hugging me. From seeing me. Making excuses for her not to come on her supervised visits. Sick days, dentist appointments. All for control, or revenge, or some sick possessiveness that I don’t even understand. When I see them interact, it’s like she doesn’t even like Brie.

  And when my little girl comes rushing into my arms, there’s no way I can imagine a person treating her that way.

  Don’t worry baby girl. Daddy’s going to make everything okay.

  I lift her into my arms and spin her around the dance floor when another song comes on. Marta scowls at us, but my brothers come in and join us, and we dance together until the song is done. Maybe it will make up for Marta not letting Brie be in the wedding because it was ‘too soon,’ and she ‘didn’t know Skye well enough.’

  “Hey Princess,” I say to Brie. “What do you think about all of this?”

  “I like Skye,” she says simply. “She’s got a really pretty dress. And she’s nice to me when I see her. She got me a donut after we went to the park. She’s nicer than Marta.”

  I laugh. “Are you calling her Marta now? That’s not respectful.” I walk Brie to the other side of the dance floor, away from her grandmother, who is probably itching to take her home. If her lawyer hadn’t told her to be here, I doubt she would have even come.

  “She sucks.” Brie looks up at me with her wide, sweet eyes.

  I try to stifle my laughter, but it comes anyway. I kneel to her level. “Let’s not use that word, okay?”

  “Okay.” Brie shuffles her feet and looks afraid for a second, but when she sees my face, it’s like she remembers it’s me.

  “But between you and me, she absolutely sucks.”

  “Can I come live with you?” Tears form in her eyes as she speaks, and it’s like there’s a dagger going through my heart. “I think I’d be a really good part of your new family. Marta says—” She stops.

  I balk at that. It sounds like Marta has gotten in her head. “Skye and I got that place in Queens so that you could be there with us. Did Marta tell you something different?”

  She nods. “She said you were getting married so you could start a new family without me.” She takes my hand. “But I didn’t believe her. Skye was nice to me, and she gave me a hug when she saw me today. And you’ve always said I’m number one.”

  “You are, baby. And yes, Skye and I—we’re trying our hardest to make sure everything is in place so that the judge will let you come stay with us. And then maybe live with us, too.” I realize I’m saying ‘us’ when I talk about Skye. Like that’s the natural way to think of her. She’s a part of me, a part of ‘us.’

  “Why can’t a judge make it happen right away? You’re my dad. I’ve been waiting forever.”

  “It’s only been a year since the judge said you had to live with Marta. Since then, I’ve been saving all sorts of money and planning so that I can be the best dad possible.” I try to remind myself not to insult the courts or the judges or even Marta. Rise above. That’s what my lawyer tells me. “They were just giving me some time. Making sure I could do all those things. And Skye is helping me even more.”

  “And she’ll be with us forever? I think I’d like that.”

  I pause for a second. Always be honest. “I don’t know, Brie. I know she’s with us right now, and she wants me to be with you.”

  “Because it ma
kes her happy?”

  I cock my head to the side and look at my daughter. She’s so much taller than she was when she was five, and she seems so much more like a big kid. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Teacher Andrea said at school that when you love someone, you want them to be happy. So, if she loves you, she wants you to be happy. And you’ve always said that I’m the thing that makes you happy, even when everything else sucks.”

  I crack another smile. “When did you get so smart?” I kiss her on the head, tamping down that same feeling that sparked inside of me before, after the dance with Skye. “And don’t say ‘sucks,’ please. I don’t care if Marta doesn’t like it, but Ma isn’t going to like it. Best to get out of the habit, especially around Gramma.”

  “Okay,” she says, giving me a kiss on my nose.

  I pull her up onto my hip and take her over to Skye, acting more on instinct than anything else. “I thought you might want to see Skye again tonight.”

  Shy, Brie buries her face against my neck, but then she looks at Skye. “I think your dress looks pretty.”

  “Thank you. You look beautiful too. Like the princess in Beauty and the Beast. What’s her name again?” Skye’s eyes sparkle when she speaks, and she runs her fingers through Brie’s hair.

  “Belle.” Brie smiles big, and I put her down between the two of us. Skye kneels, taking off her heels in the process, and I watch as the two of them talk together. I have the sudden sensation of deja vu, like I’ve seen all of this before, witnessed it happening. But that’s insane—it’s probably the chill in the room, or the feeling of the song that’s playing now.

  When I turn around, the sensation breaks. Marta is standing in front of me, and she’s looking at the three of us with her permanent expression—a nasty sneer. “The girl and I have to leave. She’s going to get confused about where she belongs if she stays too much longer.”

  I look at the time, and it is Brie’s bed time. Rise above, I think. I can’t help but get one solid dig in. “The only one confused about where Brie belongs is you. Wait until the twenty-eighth. We’ll make sure Brie is with us from then on.”