Chapter 209: His Trump Card

Earlier that day, when Kristoff had walked into the hospital room and found Richard sitting far too close to Isobel, something inside him tightened.

It was an unfamiliar feeling.

Not anger. Not exactly jealousy, either.

It was fear.

A sharp, irrational fear that he might lose Isobel before he had even realized how deeply he wanted to keep her.

Richard had a history with her.

Not the kind of history that could be dismissed with a few shared memories from the past.

He had watched Isobel grow up.

He had been there through her childhood, guided her, protected her, and sacrificed for her.

In many ways, Richard helped shape the woman Isobel had become.

And if Kristoff was completely honest with himself...

He admired him for it.

He admired the sacrifices Richard had made.

His patience, his guidance, his unwavering devotion to Isobel.

...

A few days ago, Owen had given him the information about Richard. Kristoff found himself staring at the photographs for far longer than he cared to admit.

There were pictures of a little Isobel laughing beside Richard, her innocent face glowing with trust.

Pictures of Richard carrying her when she was small.

Pictures of the two of them growing up together.

And in Isobel’s every birthday party, Richard was the one standing beside her.

Kristoff had hated how natural they looked beside each other. He had hated even more that Richard had known Isobel long before he did.

Fortunately, Richard had disappeared from her life.

And in his absence, Kristoff found his opening. He stepped into Isobel’s world. He had become her lover and the father of her child.

He became the man standing beside her, at least for a time.

Then Richard came back.

Now, watching the way Richard looked at Isobel, Kristoff no longer had any doubts about his intentions.

He knew that look.

He had seen it in his own reflection more times than he cared to admit.

Richard loved Isobel.

The realization settled heavily in Kristoff’s chest.

Had he always loved her?

Had all those years of protecting her and staying by her side been nothing more than the devotion of a man waiting for the right moment?

Was that what people called a childhood sweetheart?

Kristoff’s jaw tightened.

It didn’t matter.

Whatever Richard’s feelings had been in the past, Kristoff wasn’t about to let him simply walk back into Isobel’s life and claim a place that no longer belonged to him.

If Richard wanted to be her father figure, Kristoff could tolerate that.

If he wanted to be the protective older brother who had once watched over her, fine.

But Richard wasn’t looking at Isobel like a brother.

Kristoff had seen it in his eyes.

He wanted more. He wanted the woman she had become. He wanted her affection. Her trust. Her heart.

And Kristoff would not give it to him.

So he had played his trump card.

Alexander. His son. Their son.

People, especially Morgan or perhaps Richard too might call him shameless. But he wouldn’t mind.

Richard might cry that it would be unfair.

But Kristoff had never claimed to be noble when it came to Isobel.

And now, as he watched her gaze soften while she looked down at the sleeping baby nestled against her, he knew he had made the right decision.

There was something in Isobel’s eyes that Richard could never possess.

A tenderness that belonged to a mother.

A bond that had existed long before either of them had understood it.

Alexander had unknowingly reminded Isobel of something no one could take away from her.

She was his child’s mother.

As Kristoff studied Isobel, the way she looked at their son—as though the sleeping child were the most precious thing in the world—something deep inside him finally relaxed.

The battle might had already been decided.

Richard might have known Isobel first. He might have watched her grow up. He might even have loved her for years.

But when it came to the place beside her heart, Kristoff was no longer willing to surrender.

Richard would have to be content with being her older brother.

Or perhaps a father figure.

Anything more...

Kristoff’s eyes darkened.

That, he would never allow.

...

Kristoff sat quietly at the edge of the bed.

It was only then that he realized Isobel had fallen asleep, too.

Perhaps the medicine had finally taken effect. Or perhaps it was because Alexander was beside her.

His gaze drifted to the two figures on the bed.

Mother and son.

Alex was curled up against Isobel’s side, his tiny fingers loosely clutching a fold of her hospital gown. His breathing was soft and even, his little chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm.

Isobel looked equally serene.

Without the usual tension in her face, she seemed younger somehow. Vulnerable. Almost delicate.

Kristoff’s eyes lingered on them.

For the first time, he saw just how much of Isobel and himself their son had inherited.

Alex had Isobel’s beautiful eyes, but the shape of his face reminded Kristoff of himself. Even his tiny nose...

Kristoff’s lips curved with unmistakable pride.

His son was handsome.

Of course he was.

He was Alexander—his blood, his flesh.

And, if Kristoff were being honest, he was ridiculously proud that he had been the one to father such a handsome little boy.

A small movement caught his attention.

Isobel stirred.

Her brows furrowed faintly before relaxing again. A silky strand of hair had slipped loose and fallen across her cheek, brushing against the corner of her lips.

Kristoff stared at it for a moment.

Then, almost without thinking, he reached out.

His fingers gently swept the strand away and tucked it behind her ear.

His hand lingered.

His thumb brushed lightly across her cheek, tracing the softness of her skin before his fingertips came to rest near her lips.

So soft. So warm.

The gesture was so gentle that even Kristoff seemed surprised by his own tenderness.

Then—

Click.

The hospital room door opened.

"Sir, I already settled the bill and brought the medicines—"

A young woman stepped into the room without bothering to knock.

Kristoff immediately lifted one finger to his lips.

"Shh."

The young woman froze.

Her eyes widened before she hurriedly nodded several times.

"Sorry, sir."

She lowered her voice to a whisper and quietly stepped farther into the room.

But then her gaze fell upon the bed.

Her eyes widened again.

"Sir... Baby Alex, he is... he is..."

The words died on her lips.

She stared at the sleeping baby. Then at Isobel. Then back at Alex.

Something was clearly not right.

She had come prepared to see the baby throwing a tantrum, demanding to be carried, or clinging desperately to someone familiar.

After all, Alex had never been particularly fond of strangers.

Yet there he was.

Sound asleep.

Completely peaceful.

And nestled comfortably against a woman he had barely known.

The young woman slowly closed her mouth.

Whatever she was about to say, she decided it was better left unsaid.