Love to Loathe Him

EPILOGUE

Gemma

Three months later

I sit on the edge of the toilet, gripping the tiny plastic stick in my hand like it’s some kind of ticking time bomb. A bomb that could change the course of my life.

And I’m not the only one with my eyes glued to this potentially life-altering piece of plastic. Two sets of eyes are watching me and my stick just as intently.

Winnie lounges on the edge of the bathtub, her gaze locked on me with an intensity that suggests she knows exactly what’s going on. And she’s not impressed.

Lizzie’s leaning against the doorframe, holding her breath so hard I’m not even sure if she’s still breathing. I’m not sure I am either. The only sound is the relentless drip, drip, drip of the tap, but none of us care enough to shut it off.

“How long has it been?” I ask, my voice shaky.

She checks her watch, but before she can answer, the screen on the pregnancy test starts to change. It’s like watching the world’s slowest loading bar, except this one isn’t just deciding if my Wi-Fi is working—it’s deciding my entire future. No pressure .

I let out a wheezy breath, all stilted from holding it in for so long. “No. Shit. Can you double-check this for me?”

She takes the stick from my trembling hand, her eyes going wide as she stares at the screen. “Two lines. There are two lines, Gem.”

Her head snaps up, eyes meeting mine. “Noooooo.”

Winnie meows, her tail swishing back and forth like she’s trying to swipe away the tension thickening the air in the bathroom.

“I’m pregnant,” I rasp, the words tumbling out as though they belong to someone else, someone who isn’t me. I’m thirty-four—not exactly a spring chicken—but this is still scary as hell.

“Gemma!” Lizzie squeals, clapping her hands together. “You’re going to be a mum!”

I nod, dazed. “I guess I am.”

Winnie meows again, her tone almost smug, as if she’s saying, “Well, duh.” I reach out and scratch behind her ears, trying to ground myself in the familiar softness of her fur. At least one of us is calm.

“How do you feel?” Lizzie asks, her voice softening with concern. “This is huge, Gem. You’ve got a tiny human growing inside you.”

I take a deep breath in hopes of untangling the knot of emotions in my chest. There’s fear, obviously. Fear of the unknown, of the massive responsibility that comes with creating a new human. What if I drop the kid on its head? What if it hates me? Or worse, what if I accidentally kill it?

But there’s also this little flicker of something else, something bright and hopeful, nestled right next to my frantically beating heart.

“I’m happy,” I say, the words surprising me even as they tumble out of my mouth. “Scared shitless, but happy. ”

Lizzie grins, pulling me into a bone-crushing hug that nearly sends us both toppling into the bathtub.

“You’re going to be the best mum ever,” she says, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “And Liam . . . oh my god, he’s going to lose his mind.”

I pull back, my stomach doing a queasy little somersault at the mention of Liam. “I don’t know, Liz. We’re not even living together. He’s got his whole Batman penthouse thing going on, and we’ve just been . . . we’ve been having fun, you know? Enjoying each other’s company. Not exactly planning for mini McLarens.”

And it’s true. These past three months have been nothing short of amazing. Passionate, romantic, sexy as hell . . . pure bliss.

We’ve had tons of weekends at the coast, and even Lizzie and Edward—the hot posh surgeon who Lizzie drools over (I can’t blame her; the man could give me a rectal exam any day)—joined us for some of them. We visited the Isle of Skye to see Liam’s brother Patrick and his new hotel project. I saw Patrick in a kilt and, holy haggis, Braveheart has nothing on him.

Sunday mornings spent sleeping in and having mind-blowing sex. I swear, I’ve had more orgasms in the past three months than I’ve had in my entire life. At this rate, I might need to start a support group: Overstimulated Vaginas Anonymous.

Walks along the river from my flat to his mega penthouse in the sky.

Lunch in St James Park when I can force him away from his desk. It’s a hard pass at Michael’s yoga class for him though.

But I don’t want to jinx it.

Even though things have been going so well, I can’t shake my instinct to be cautious. After I got back from Costa Rica, Liam was all in—fully committed to making whatever this beautiful, growing thing is between us work .

But I’m not naive. He’s still Liam McLaren, workaholic and notorious ball-busting boss (thankfully, not mine anymore). Sure, I get to see his romantic soft side but that doesn’t mean he’s ready for . . . this. For a tiny dictator who’s going to demand snacks at two a.m. and redecorate his swanky penthouse with toys.

A baby. A real, live, screaming, pooping, burping human that we made together. Oh shit. Oh holy hell.

“I can’t believe it,” I whisper, my mind reeling.

Lizzie’s voice cuts through my panic. “That man is head over heels for you. He’ll be happy about this.”

I bite my lip. “We’ve never really talked about the future. Not yet. We’re still in that honeymoon phase where we pretend our bodily functions don’t exist. I know he’s serious about me, but this is so soon.”

“Well, the future is now and it just got a whole lot more real,” Lizzie says, gesturing to the pregnancy test. “And you need to talk to him about it.” She snorts out a laugh. “Plus, I hate to break it to you, but pregnancy makes you gassier, so that honeymoon phase is over.”

I smile, knowing she’s right, but the idea of telling Liam, of seeing his face when I drop this bombshell, makes my stomach do a nervous flip. Will he be happy? Shocked? Angry?

I push the thought aside, refusing to let my mind go there. Liam loves me. He’s shown me in a thousand little ways—no, scratch that—a thousand big ways. Not just with words, but with actions. He’s trying so hard not to just be Liam the workaholic, but also the caring man who carves out more time for me. Who makes me his top priority.

And I don’t want to change him. He does work hard. It’s in his DNA. I work hard too. But we’re both learning to find a balance. Me especially, since I’m not technically working right now. I’m building my contacts, getting my new business off the ground.

But a baby? That’s a whole new level of commitment. A level of responsibility that we’ve never even touched on. And I’m not sure either of us is ready for it.

I’ve just set up my Limited company, got my admin shit together, and started putting out feelers to recruiters I know to get my freelance work up and running. It’s like I’m finally getting my ducks in a row, and then BAM! The universe decides to throw a wrench in the works. A baby-shaped wrench.

I swallow hard.

“I’ve just landed my first client. It’s going to be a challenge starting a business while pregnant.”

“If anyone can do it, you can. And I’m here to help.”

I give Lizzie a hug and, of course, the floodgates open as tears roll down my cheeks. My emotions are all over the place.

Winnie, bored with my existential crisis, hops off the tub and saunters over to me. She rubs her face against my leg, purring loudly.

I scoop her up, burying my face in her fur. “What do you think, Miss Winchester-Scott? You ready to be a big sister?”

She meows again, giving me a look that can only be interpreted as Listen, human, as long as you keep the gourmet kibble flowing and the litter box pristine, I couldn’t care less what you do with your uterus. Just don’t expect me to babysit .

“You’re just concerned because he brings you far too many treats and you don’t want to share him,” I say.

“When are you going to tell him?” Lizzie asks, her voice cutting through the fur therapy session.

I take a deep breath and sit up straight on the toilet. I can do this. I’ve faced boardrooms full of testosterone-fueled egos, one of which being Liam. I’ve navigated the shark-infested waters of corporate politics and emerged victorious, albeit slightly jaded.

Telling my boyfriend I’m pregnant should be a piece of cake.

“No time like the present,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. “Wish me luck, Winnie,” I murmur, giving her a quick scratch behind the ears.

She blinks at me, slow and solemn, and I decide to take it as a sign of solidarity.

“Liam, I need to talk to you,” I say in a breathy voice down the phone.

I shift uncomfortably in the wicker chair in the garden, clutching Winnie.

Lizzie’s not-so-subtly watching me from the kitchen window, her nose practically pressed against the glass.

“Everything okay, darling?” Liam asks, panting like he’s just gone ten rounds with a heavyweight champ. I can tell he was in the middle of his boxing session in the office gym.

I wanted to take the pregnancy test at the crack of dawn, because apparently, that’s when the hormone levels are at their peak, and I needed all the certainty I could get.

“Yes, everything’s fine, I just need to talk to you.” Everything’s fine? Sure, if by fine you mean I’m growing a tiny human inside me and I’m absolutely terrified .

“Are you sure?” He sounds alert now, concerned. I guess he can hear the tension in my voice, even though I’m trying to sound casual .

“Yes. Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad.” At least, I hope he’ll see it that way. I mean, a baby isn’t bad, right? Just . . . life-altering.

“Okay. I’m at the office. Do you want to go for an early lunch? St James Park?”

My stomach does a somersault that would put Olympic gymnasts to shame. I can’t wait that long. I’ll either explode or spill the news to some random stranger on the street just to get it off my chest.

“Or do you want me to come to yours?” he offers when I don’t speak. His voice has an edge to it now. “Gemma. You’re starting to worry me here.”

“I . . . yeah, could you come here?” I manage to squeak out. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. I just . . . I need to see you. In person.”

I hate asking him to drop everything. I know he’s up to his neck in work, not just with his usual corporate conquests but also saving the Comfort Cup charity from financial doom. It’s still surviving, thanks to Liam’s late nights trying to find a sustainable budget for it. I’m so proud of him, even if I do worry that he’s going to work himself into an early grave.

“I’ll be there in thirty,” he says, and hangs up. He’s probably already dialing the fire brigade and a team of paramedics.

I know it’s a huge deal for Liam to just drop everything on a Monday morning and rush to my side

I look down at Winnie. “What do you think, girl? How do I tell him? ‘Surprise, you’re going to be a dad!’”

True to his word, Liam is at my door in exactly thirty minutes. Lizzie scurries off to “get ready for work,” which in Lizzie-speak means “eavesdrop shamelessly from the next room.”

I manage a shaky “Hi” when I open the door.

He frowns, concern etched across his face as he steps inside. “Gemma, what’s going on? ”

Before I can answer, he closes the distance between us, his hands gently cradling my face. “Darling, have you been crying?”

And then, before I can stop myself, the words tumble out. “I’m pregnant.”

His jaw literally drops. I can see the gears turning in his head as he processes what I’ve just said. “You’re . . .” He blinks, his brown eyes wide with shock. “Pregnant?”

I’m holding my breath, waiting for his reaction, terrified of what comes next. “How do you feel? Are you upset? It’s so soon, and it’s not something we’ve ever talked about.”

“It’s not too soon.” His expression softens instantly, and a slow, bright smile spreads across his face. “Upset? Gemma, I can’t believe you thought I’d be anything but ecstatic about this.”

“Oh, thank god.” I exhale, feeling like an elephant has been lifted off my chest. “I know we didn’t plan it, but—”

He cuts me off, pulling me into his arms and holding me flush against his muscular chest. His hand cradles the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair as he tilts my face up to meet his gaze.

“Shush, sweetheart,” he says, his deep, commanding voice filled with so much love, it makes my knees go weak. “This is the best fucking news I’ve ever gotten. We’re going to be parents. I’m going to be a dad, and I promise you I’m going to be the best damn father our kid could ever ask for.”

I laugh, happy tears streaming down my face as I gaze up at his grin. “I don’t even know how this happened. I’ve been religiously popping my birth control pills. Except . . . oh shit, it must have been that day I found Skipper Magee’s crusty sock on your boat. I was puking my guts out that afternoon. ”

“It was probably that questionable taco you devoured on the same afternoon.” He chuckles. “Give the skipper a break. His socks have suffered enough judgment for one lifetime.”

“I’m going to be puking my guts up a lot more frequently now, I guess.”

“And I’ll be there with you, holding your hair back, rubbing your back and telling you how fucking amazing you are.”

“We’re not even living together,” I point out, swallowing the lump in my throat. “And now we are having a baby.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to change that, won’t we, sweetheart?” Liam says, his voice gruff but tender. “I was holding off on asking you to move in because I wanted to make sure you were ready, that you were all in with this, with us. But now . . .” His hand slides possessively over my still-flat stomach. “There’s no way I’m letting the mother of my child live anywhere but with me. I want you by my side, always.”

I nod, feeling like I might dissolve into a puddle of hormonal goo right here in the hallway. Pregnancy is turning me into a sap already. Or maybe it’s just the way Liam’s looking at me, like I’m the most precious thing in his world.

“Hey,” he murmurs, wiping a tear from my cheek. “Are those happy tears? Gemma, do you want to have my baby? Because I sure as hell want to have yours. I want to build a family with you.”

His handsome, chiseled face softens for a moment, a rare glimpse of vulnerability.

“They’re happy tears,” I assure him, laughing through the waterworks, my heart swelling with love for this incredible, complex man. “Terrified, holy-shit-we’re-having-a-baby tears, but happy, nonetheless. I want this, Liam. I want you, and I want our baby, more than anything. ”

“We’ll figure this out,” he says, his voice full of fierce determination. “We don’t need to stay in London if you don’t want. We’ll move wherever you want, whether it’s closer to your parents or to some remote cabin in the woods. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you and our baby are happy and healthy. You got that?”

“I love you, Mr. McLaren,” I say, feeling like my heart might just burst with how deeply I love this strong, protective, utterly irresistible man.

Liam’s eyes darken, a possessive growl rumbling in his chest. One of his hands cups my face while the other splays possessively across my lower back. “I love you more, Miss Jones. And I can’t bloody wait to keep knocking you up until we’ve got a whole brood of little McLarens running around.” He grins, his eyes glinting with a mix of love and pride.

“Let’s focus on one at a time, please.” I laugh shakily. “Unless you plan to push them out yourself.”

And to think, this all started because I accidentally shared my dirty, rage-fueled diary with the man I once fantasized about strangling with his designer tie. Funny how life works out sometimes.

One minute, you’re cursing your boss’s very existence, the next, you’re having his baby and planning a future together while trying not to jump his bones in the hallway.

I guess the moral of the story is, be careful what you bitch about in your diary. You never know when your deepest, darkest fantasies might come to life, and your devastatingly handsome, infuriatingly arrogant boss might just turn out to be the love of your life, your soulmate, your baby daddy extraordinaire. And the star of your wildest, most toe-curling sexual fantasies.