After breakfast, the trio headed back to Millstone. Ronan was brooding, a dark cloud shadowing his face, which was just as well since Cordelia was home.
When she saw him, Ronan didn’t utter a word. The silence between them was thick, a lingering echo of last night's fight. Cordelia was sprawled on the couch, fiddling with her course materials, half-expecting Ronan to explain whatever was bothering him. But nothing came. He simply disappeared upstairs.
Cordelia’s frustration simmered into anger.
About an hour later, with her work done, Cordelia climbed the stairs, finding Ronan lying on the bed, hands behind his head, eyes half-closed—clearly not asleep. The position was all wrong for slumber.
As she moved to place her laptop on the nightstand, Ronan’s arms suddenly swept her up, pinning her against him. Her heart raced, perhaps from the sudden movement.
Their faces were inches apart. Ronan’s gaze was intense, as if he wanted to consume her whole. Cordelia could feel her heart pounding in response.
“I want to adopt Jayson,” he declared.
Cordelia had braced for an explanation about Petra, but it never came.
She did not want to adopt Jayson, Tabitha's son, the child Petra had mistreated. She worried about his psychological well-being and the influence he might have on Callum during their playtimes. Selfishly, as any mother might, Cordelia didn’t want that for her child. The most troubling thought for her was that if Ronan adopted Jayson, the boy would call him ‘Dad,’ a notion she couldn’t stomach.
Pulling away to sit at the edge of the bed, Cordelia said, “Do as you please. If you adopt him, he can call you ‘Dad.’”
“And what will he call you?” Ronan asked, barely containing his frustration.
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