Love to Loathe Him

Liam

Three months later

“Almost there,” I murmur, guiding Gemma down the cobblestone steps with a gentle hand on the small of her back. Winnie squirms in my other arm and I set her down, watching as she darts off toward the fountain. The furball’s clearly not impressed with my grand surprise. Fuck, now I’m starting to sound like Gemma, trying to read a cat’s mind.

I won’t lie—I’m nervous as hell. I’ve spent weeks obsessing over every detail of this moment, wanting it to be perfect. Something she’s always dreamed of and then some. Because that’s what Gemma and my baby deserve. Everything. And I’ll be damned if I don’t deliver.

I love this stubborn, beautiful woman more than I thought humanly possible. And now she’s carrying my child. My child . The thought sends a surge of pride through me.

I’m so damn happy, but I’m also terrified. The mere thought of losing either of them makes me want to lock them away in an ivory tower, where nothing and no one can ever hurt them.

Alastair was a fool to put work before Vicky, before love. I’ll be fucked if I make the same mistake with Gemma and our child. They’re my world now—my two greatest loves .

I glance over at Winnie, who’s now engaged in mortal combat with a dandelion and making a lot of noise while she’s at it.

“Is Winnie behaving herself?” Gemma murmurs, as if the cat’s ever behaved a day in her life.

It annoys Gemma to no end that Winnie prefers me—although I do give her too many treats and toys. What can I say? I like to keep my girls happy, even the four-legged ones, and I’m a sucker for those big golden eyes.

“She is. She’s free to do what she wants here,” I say, smirking. Maybe it’s a sign of things to come. I’ll be the pushover dad and Gemma can be the disciplinarian.

I take a breath and slip the silk blindfold off Gemma’s eyes, feeling uncharacteristically unnerved as she blinks, adjusting to the light.

She gasps, her eyes going wide as she takes in the sprawling garden of the white Georgian house I’ve brought her to. The one I’ve been hunting down for months, determined to find the perfect place for us to start our life together.

“Liam,” she breathes, her voice soft, laced with awe. “What is this?”

I clear my throat. “This, sweetheart, is our new home. If you want it, that is.”

I pause, my gaze searching her face, desperate to gauge her reaction. “I thought with the baby coming and everything, it might be nice to have a bit more space. Somewhere with a garden for the little one to run around in. And I know how much you love being near the river, so I figured Richmond would be perfect. It’s close to Putney to be close to Lizzie, but it’s got that extra bit of peace and quiet.”

She’s silent for a moment, turning in a slow circle as she takes it all in. The lush green lawns, the colorful flower beds, the cozy nooks and crannies that make the garden feel like a secret oasis in the middle of the city.

She gazes down the hill, where the land gently slopes toward the Thames, its waters sparkling like it’s putting on a show just for us. From this vantage point, the view is breathtaking—no more standing on her bed to catch a glimpse of the river. Here, from the comfort of the garden, she can see the boats gliding smoothly across the water, rowers cutting through the current.

“Gemma?” I say, trying to keep the uncertainty from creeping into my voice. “If it’s not what you envisioned, we can look at other places. Why don’t I show you around inside, and we’ll see if it feels right?”

I figured starting with the garden was a smart move. It’s the heart of this place, the reason I fell for it the moment I saw it. I could picture Gemma out here, lost in a book on a sunny afternoon, or chasing our little one around the fountain.

But what if I’ve got it all wrong? What if this isn’t what she wants at all?

Suddenly, she spins around, throwing her arms around my neck with a force that almost knocks me off-balance. Christ, pregnancy’s made her strong.

“Our new home?” she repeats, her voice muffled against my chest. “Liam, I love it. I absolutely love it.”

“Okay, darling.” I chuckle, relieved. “Let me show you the inside first, before you commit to anything.”

I turn her gently so we’re both facing the house and put my hands on her growing belly. Growing with my child. Fuck, it’s a turn-on just thinking about that. I want to knock her up again and again.

The house is a stunner—creamy white brick, with large sash windows framed by climbing greenery. The kind of place that looks like it’s stepped right out of a regency drama. There’s ivy climbing up the walls, which I thought might be a pain in the ass to maintain, but it gives the place character.

My hand slides down to rest on the gentle curve of her belly, feeling that possessive, protective instinct flare up again. The pregnancy sex has been off the charts, and I’m not about to complain.

“See that window on the second floor?” I point, my lips brushing her ear. “I thought that could be your office for when you’re working from home. Perfect view of the garden.”

Her hand covers mine on her stomach, entwining our fingers.

“And up there, that’s the master bedroom. The one with the balcony.” I let my voice drop, low and suggestive. “I’ve got plans for that balcony, sweetheart. Plans that’ll make the neighbors blush.”

She giggles and shivers, pressing back against me, and I have to bite back a groan. Even now, with my anxiety-ridden surprise in the works, she can reduce me to a man possessed with a few well-placed movements.

“And that room down below,” I continue, trying to focus, “I thought that could be the nursery. For when our little one is ready for their own space.”

“It sounds perfect, Liam. Everything about this place is perfect.”

“I’m glad you like it,” I say, my heart pounding like I’m about to close the biggest deal of my life. And I guess I am. “But there’s something else that would make it truly perfect.”

I step back, fumbling in my pocket as she turns to face me, confusion etched on her beautiful face.

I drop to one knee, popping open the velvet box I’ve been carrying around for weeks.

“Gemma. ”

Her hands fly to her mouth, her eyes going wide. “What are you . . . are you seriously . . . ?”

“Gemma Jones,” I start, my voice rougher than I’d like. “You make me a better man. These days, I’m not sure I could survive without you. I want you to become Gemma McLaren. I want us to tie the knot and pop out a whole bunch of little rugrats to keep this one company. I want to grow old and wrinkly with you.” I crack a smile, needing to lighten the moment before I completely lose my cool. “So, what do you say? Want to make an honest man out of me?”

“Yes,” she cries. “Yes!”

She launches herself at me, and I catch her, rising to my feet. She’s laughing and crying at the same time, clinging to me like she’s never letting go. And I hope she never does.

I kiss her, deep and thorough, pouring every ounce of love and devotion I feel for this incredible woman into it. She kisses me back just as fiercely, her hands fisting in my hair, her body arching into mine.

When we finally come up for air, I slide the ring onto her finger. It looks right there, like it was always meant to be.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” I murmur, pulling her close again.

Gemma

Roughly five months later

It’s so good to be home, and out of the hospital.

Home with my beautiful, not-yet-named baby boy. I can tell he’s already got Liam’s stubborn streak—he glowered at me when the milk didn’t come fast enough earlier. Like father, like son: impatient and brooding.

Liam guides me through the hallway and into the lounge, one hand protectively on my back, the other carrying Baby Boy in his carrier cot. I’m knackered, and let’s not even talk about what’s going on down there. My vagina feels like it’s been through a brutal war. I don’t think I’ll ever sneeze without fear again.

But my heart? It’s so full of love it feels like it might burst.

Liam gently sets Baby Boy down on the sofa in his cot, and my heart does this little stutter. He’s so careful, like he’s holding the most precious thing in the world. As he unwraps the blanket, his fingers brush against our son’s tiny hands, and I catch the softest smile on his lips—one that’s reserved only for these quiet, intimate moments.

“Welcome home!” Lizzie bursts in from the kitchen, arms outstretched for a hug. I return it gingerly, as I’m still feeling a bit tender. She’s been catsitting Winnie for me. “Oh my god,” she whisper-shouts, as she catches sight of my little bundle. “He’s gorgeous.”

“This is Baby Boy,” I say, beaming with pride as my beautiful little lad looks up at us and promptly blows a bubble. Already charming the pants off everyone, just like his dad. “Think he looks like Liam?”

Lizzie leans in closer to get a good look at him. “He’s got the same nose,” she says, and I can’t help but grin.

Liam chuckles. “Not sure that’s a compliment to my son.”

My son. Every time I hear those words, I melt.

Baby Boy screws up his face, doing his best impression of a grumpy old man.

“Now he looks like Liam,” Lizzie says with a grin. “Hundred percent.”

“I think he’s working hard on something in his diaper.” I laugh.

“Winnie.” I call out to where she’s sprawled in front of the TV. “Come say hi to your new brother!”

Winnie meows but doesn’t budge an inch, her eyes glued to the screen.

“Come on, Winnie,” I urge, trying to coax her with my best mom voice. “He’s very excited to see you.”

She meows even louder, clearly telling us all to pipe down and let her watch her show in peace. On the TV, Lizzie’s voice blares through the speakers, all peppy and enthusiastic.

Lizzie has a new job on a home shopping channel, hawking all sorts of wonderful products to impulse buyers. It’s not exactly the West End debut she always dreamed of, but it pays the bills and gives her first dibs on some of the weirdest products you’ve ever seen.

“ One spritz of this miraculous perfume, and you’ll have men and women falling at your feet ,” Lizzie declares through the TV, holding up a gaudy bottle shaped like a mermaid. She dramatically sprays herself with the perfume, then winks at the camera. Winnie’s so engrossed, she’s almost sniffing the screen. “ And for you lucky viewers at home, if you call in the next ten minutes, we’ll throw in a second bottle absolutely free .”

Winnie’s been obsessed with the shopping channel ever since Lizzie started appearing on it. She won’t even look away from the TV when Lizzie’s on, like she’s afraid she’ll miss out on the deal of a lifetime.

Liam bends down, his brow furrowing slightly as he sniffs Baby Boy’s bum.

“Yep, definitely time for a change.” He scoops our son up, cradling him with a protective strength that’s somehow both fierce and tender. Watching him slip so effortlessly into this role makes me fall for him all over again. The way he handles our tiny bundle, his broad hand supporting that delicate head, is enough to give anyone baby fever. Our son gazes up at him, a small fist clutching at his father’s shirt

He’s already committed to taking a good chunk of paternity leave, determined to be present for every moment. Even though he’s managed to convince Sir Whitmore to sell other parts of the business, so he’s super busy right now. TLS limped on and Sir Whitmore realized he couldn’t sustain it.

The image of Mr. CEO, the man who usually commands boardrooms, now mastering the art of diaper changes and dealing with spit-up on those ridiculously expensive shirts, makes me smile.

“So, any names yet?” Lizzie asks, eyebrow raised.

“How about Liam Junior?” I say with a cheeky smile. For the first time, I swear I see a tear glisten in his eye. He blinks quickly, trying to hide it.

I love these two men more than I ever thought possible. Even if one of them is currently filling his nappy and the other is bravely sniffing it.

Welcome home, Baby Boy McLaren.

THE END