Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Dad
Chapter 206

When I hear the shower turn on in the little bathroom, I stand up and head to the little suitcases that I packed for Kent and I for this trip. A little thrill runs through me as I remember how anxious I was packing his - worrying if he'd like the clothes I picked out for him, if he'd ever get to wear them - if I, too, would get to wear mine, because there was one hell of a large chance that I was going to get arrested today as well -

But everything went over beautifully. And now...

I have other things to worry about.

Like what do you wear to bed when you're four months pregnant and you haven't seen your baby daddy in two months?

I groan a little, turning towards Kent's bag first and pulling out a pair of underwear - black boxer briefs, the only thing I've ever seen him wear - and a pair of pajama pants. I move to the bathroom door and crack it open, falling back a little in surprise at the quantity of steam that puffs out of the door.

Well, I guess he didn't get a lot of hot showers in jail.

"Clothes delivery," I call, tossing the underwear and pajamas onto the closed lid of the toilet.

Kent laughs a little, and I know he's appreciating the irony of tables again being turned. I just smile and pull the door shut, letting him have a minute to enjoy his shower in peace. Then, I move to my own little suit case, quickly swapping out my black dress for a mostly-shapeless black silk nightgown.

I peer at myself in the mirror once I've changed, running my fingers through my hair and then turning to the side, smoothing the fabric down over my little baby bump. I smile at it, thinking that it's kind of cute. But will Kent think the same?

I mean, I know he just said that he thought all iterations of me were perfect but...

I sigh and turn away, hoping that it proves correct. Because Kent liked my body a lot when I wasn't pregnant - I just...will he still like it now that it's shaped differently?

I push the thought from my mind, though - something I've gotten used to in the past couple of months - and crawl back into bed, pulling the blankets up over my knees and picking up my book, reading through a few pages and not really processing what's going on in the story.

I grow tenser as I hear the shower water turn off, hear him moving around in the bathroom, brushing his own teeth, getting changed.

Because...

Frankly, I'm not looking forward to the conversation I know we're going to have next. I don't want, at all, to think about how he'll react when I tell him everything Daniel and I did to make this moment possible. Because while he might be able to accept morning sickness Fay, and pregnant Fay...

God, will he still love me when he finds out that I'm a murderer?

I mean, he'd be an incredible hypocrite if he didn't but...

Was my innocence one of the things he loved about me? Did I take that away?

When Kent finally emerges from the bathroom - he ignored the pajama pants, as I thought he might - I'm looking up at him with wide and worried eyes, already shining with tears.

His face falls immediately as he crosses the room in an instant, sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning forward, cupping my cheek with his palm. "What?" he asks, quiet, insistent. "What is it?"

I shake my head, my lower lip trembling as I whisper my answer. "I'm really worried you're going to hate me now."

"Fay," he breathes, shaking his head like it's unbelievable. And then he sighs and takes the book from my hands, neatly marking the page with the flap of the book cover and placing it on the side table. Then, all business - all Kent - he shuts off the light, and climbs into bed, and takes charge.

Kent rearranges the pillows so that he can lean back against him, and then he pulls me into his lap and wraps his arms tight around me, pulling me warm against his chest. He tucks the blankets in around us so that we're in a comfortable little nest, and then he rests his head against mine.

We sit like that for a moment, listening to the still rush of the waves against the ship, the distant sound of the engines churning. And I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, relishing the feeling of ceding him control - of letting him handle it all. After a few moments of peace, Kent speaks.

"Tell me," he murmurs, his voice low, his chest rumbling with the words.

And without hesitation, I do.

Kent holds me tight for what feels like hours as I tell him everything. He's a better listener than I thought he'd be, only interrupting softly when he doesn't understand, or needs more details. I start at the beginning, telling him of my sleepless night and determination, of how hard it was not only to make myself think of a plan ridiculous enough to work, but to convince myself that it could be real, that it could actually work.

My voice lowers when I begin to speak of my father, and of Ivan, and the decision to take one out and let the other live. It remains soft as I describe sorting through what felt like a very un-motherly desire for vengeance and balancing it with a cool determination to remove the true threats to our continued lives together. I give Kent the full details of how I made Ivan trust me, made him think I loved him before ruthlessly using his conviction to get him to move half the cops in the state to a point hundreds of miles from Kent's crash.

I hesitate only when it comes time to tell him about today, about this morning. But Kent's arms tighten around me, encouraging, and so I begin. My voice begins to shake a little as I'm forced to relive it - trapping my father, poisoning him, being fully aware that Fiona was arranging for the murder of his closest allies while Daniel slipped poison into his glass of champagne and then cut his throat. All to solidify our control, or dominance.

To ensure that there was no one left to come after us when we walked away.

I'm crying by the time I finish, little tears slipping down my cheeks as I wonder at the woman I've become. Because I always wanted to be a psychologist, someone who helps people.

And what am I now?

When I go quiet, and he can tell that I'm finished, Kent finally shifts, turning slightly so that he can look into my face, moving a hand to my cheek and turning my eyes towards him. Slowly, gently, he brushes my tears away.

"I'm sorry, Fay," he murmurs, and I shake my head, dismissing it -

But his hand stills. "No," he says, firmer now, and I look up at him. "I want you to hear me say it. I'm sorry - you never should have been in that position to have to have made those choices. That's my fault."

I scoff, shaking my head. "It can't be your fault, Kent - Ivan and my father did that to you -"

"I should have seen it coming," he murmurs.

"You couldn't -"

"I could have," he says, insistent, and I go quiet, looking up at him, considering that if he was willing to listen to me then I should at least do the same for him. "I failed you, and Daniel, when I didn't. If I had, you wouldn't have had to go through all of this -" "No," I say, firm now myself, frowning and shaking my head at him as I lift my hand to his face, placing the tips of my fingers across his lips. He stops, staring at me, I think surprised. But I don't let myself consider it. "I won't let you take the guilt of this from my shoulders, Kent. It's mine -"

"But even if I want to -"

"Stop," I command, serious, needing him to hear me on this. He raises his eyebrows a little, surprised.