Chapter 4 - The Truth in the Storm"I don't care what her name is!" I cried, backing away toward the curb, my duffel bag slipping from my shoulder into the snow. "She fits your life! She looks like someone who belongs next to a Moretti! I am just a florist from Queens, Damen. I was a distraction for you until it was time to marry a princess. Well, congratulations, you're free. Just let me go."
"Clare, listen to me," Damen roared, stepping forward and grabbing my waist, pulling my body flush against his chest before I could take another step backward into the dark street. "Francesca Romano is my cousin. She is the daughter of Don Romano, the head of the faction that currently controls the northern ports. That kiss was a traditional, formal salute of alliance in front of sixty foreign delegates who were watching our families for any sign of weakness."
I blinked through my tears, my mind spinning. "Your... your cousin?"
"She has been married to my chief legal counsel for five years, Clare," Damen said, his voice shaking as he pressed his forehead against mine, his hot breath mingling with the freezing air. "She was adjusting my tie because she noticed my microphone wire was showing. I kissed her cheek as a formal greeting before the dinner commenced. You walked away before you saw her husband step up right behind her."
I stared at him, my heart pounding a frantic, chaotic rhythm. The images from the ballroom replayed in my mind, but this time, the context shifted violently. The casual intimacy, the calm smile—it wasn't a lover. It was family. It was politics.
"You... you aren't marrying her?" I whispered, my voice incredibly small.
"I am not marrying anyone but you," Damen swore, his ice-blue eyes fierce with an unyielding devotion that made my knees turn to water. "Do you honestly think I would spend six months sitting in the back of a tiny flower shop in Astoria eating lukewarm takeout if I wanted a high-society princess? I don't want an alliance, Clare. I want you."
He looked down at my stomach, his large hand slowly trembling as he moved it from my waist, lowering it until his palm rested flat over my winter coat, right against my abdomen. His breathing hitched, a sound of pure awe escaping his throat.
"A baby..." he breathed, his eyes filling with an emotion I had never seen in him before. It looked like terror. The most feared man in Manhattan was terrified. "We are having a baby, Clare. And you tried to run."
"Because I was scared, Damen," I sobbed, wrapping my arms around his neck, burying my face into his wool coat. "Your world is so dangerous. There are people trying to kill you every day. How can I raise a child here?"
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Damen wrapped his arms around me, lifting me slightly off the ground, holding me as if I were the only anchor keeping him tethered to the earth.
"I will burn New York to the ground before I let anyone touch either of you," he whispered fiercely into my ear. "Marco! Bring the car. We're going to the penthouse. Call Dr. Mercer—I want a full medical team waiting before we arrive."
