Page 145 of Ruthless Claim

Cillian calls on day two.

My phone lights up on the kitchen counter at ten in the morning. My heart leaps into my throat when I see his name. Even though I told him to call Emma and not me, I still answer the phone.

“The lab called,” he says. “They have the results.” There’s a long pause. “Do you want to—” He stops and starts again. “I think you should be there. When they tell us. I think you should hear it at the same time I do.”

I swallow heavily. Can I do this again? Can I really go to that clinic and see Claire’s smug and punchable face and hear the results?

Part of me thinks I can’t but I know I would be driving myself crazy if I declined and had to stay here, running through every scenario while waiting for another phone call.

No, I have to be there and hear the results from the horse’s mouth.

“Okay,” I say.

A beat of silence.

“Okay,” he breathes, a little shocked. I don’t think he was expecting me to say yes. I smile grimly. He truly never really knew me then.

“What time?” I ask.

Two o’clock, he says. The same clinic.

I hang up and stare at nothing.

My stomach is roiling and my heart is beating so fast I’m surprised it hasn’t burst out of my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut and for the first time in a long time (since probably the last time Mamma forced us all to church), I pray to God that the test results will be negative.

They have to be, right? Finn looks nothing like Cillian. I’ve studied the boy a lot the past few times I’ve seen him and I’ve come to the conclusion that there’s no way that Finn can be Cillian’s son.

Let the truth about Claire Murphy come out. Let Cillian and I figure out what’s left of us.

I get in the car at one-thirty.

My stomach is in knots that have nothing to do with the pregnancy. My hands are in my lap and I’m gripping them together.

I’ve eaten half a banana this morning, which my body accepted under protest.

My mouth is dry, but I don’t want to drink anything, and my heart hasn’t stopped beating fast.

My therapist would throw a fit if she saw me right now.

The clinic looks exactly the same as it did two days ago. That seems like a lifetime ago. But the only reason why I’m still upright and able to be here is because I am convinced the DNA results will be negative.

I still think I’m right.

Cillian is outside on the pavement when the car pulls up.

He sees me get out and relief crosses his face.

He clearly feared that I wasn’t going to come, which is ridiculous because as a certified Control Freak I need to be here.

He holds the door open to the clinic and I walk through it without looking at him or thanking him.

Claire and Finn are already inside. Ugh.

Claire turns when we come in, and for a moment a look of irritation crosses her face when she sees me, but then it transforms into a warm but insincere smile.

I want to go directly back through the door I just came through, but I don’t, because I am Valentina Santoro Brennan and I do not retreat.

“Good afternoon,” Claire says, the warmth dialed to its usual setting.