I shake my head. “No. No, they’re not. Believe me, Dr. Cray, I know how I usually feel, and this isn’t right. I’m not someone who falls asleep in front of the television before nine o’clock, much less just after noon. And dizziness? That’s just weird. Trust me, this isn’t normal. I’ve never felt like this before.”
“I imagine that’s because you haven’t been pregnant before.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Congratulations, Mrs. Stark. You’re going to have a baby.”
5
You’re going to have a baby.
Dr. Cray’s words fill my head, random sounds that I can’t quite process and that leave me shaky and confused. I reach for the arm of the couch and hold on, trying to steady myself.
“A baby?” The word feels thick on my tongue. Heavy and unfamiliar. “But that can’t be right. I can’t be pregnant. I’m on the pill.” I’ve been on birth control since I was fourteen and got slammed with debilitating cramps.
“I’m sure you know that not every form of birth control is one hundred percent effective. You’re walking proof of that now, Mrs. Stark, because I assure you that pill or not, you are definitely pregnant.”
“How far along am I?”
“Nine, maybe ten weeks based on the level of HCG in your blood.”
“HG—what?”
“A hormone. After an ultrasound, your OB can give you a better idea of how far along you are. Since you gave permission, I spoke with your family doctor, and he’s set you up with an obstetrics appointment next Monday.”
I blink and nod, trying to process that information. I’m pretty sure that’s not the way it usually works, and I can only assume that Damien’s clout is behind this elevated level of medical service. “Um. Okay. Who—”
“His nurse is going to email you all the information. In the meantime . . .”
He continues to talk, but it’s all just noise. Pregnant? How can I be pregnant? I try to think back to my last period, but the truth is, I’ve never paid much attention. I’ve always just dealt with it when it showed up.
Now I wish I’d tracked the days religiously.
Pregnant.
That word rattles around in my head some more.
I’m really going to have a baby? How can that be? I can’t be a mother. I mean, I don’t have the slightest clue how to be a mother.
“Mrs. Stark?” Dr. Cray’s voice breaks through the chatter in my head. “I understand this is a surprise. Do you have any more questions for me?”
“I—” I lick my suddenly dry lips. “No. No, thank you.”
We end the call, and I toss my phone on the couch, then just stand there staring at the cushion as I take deep breaths and try to wrap my head around this unwieldy new reality.
“Nikki.”
Damien’s voice is soft, barely audible, but it’s strong, and I cling to that as I lift my head and turn to face him.
He’s standing in the doorway between the living area and the hall to the suite’s three bedrooms. There’s no expression on his face at all, and I have no idea how long he’s been there, or how much he heard. “What’s going on? Was that the clinic?”
He takes a step toward me, and I see the worry break through the mask of control. “Are you okay?”
Am I? I honestly don’t know. But all I say is, “I’m pregnant.”
For a moment, he remains completely still, his eyes unreadable. Then a wild joy colors his face as he takes a step toward me. “A baby,” he says, his voice filled with awe and wonder. Another step, then another, until he is right in front of me. I expect him to pull me into a hug. To kiss my face, my mouth. To hold me so tightly in his embrace that there’s no room for fear or doubt.
But he does none of that.
Instead, he drops to his knees in front of me and presses a kiss to my belly. His shoulders rise and fall as he draws in deep breaths, obviously trying to control himself.
For a moment, he simply clings to me. Then he tilts his head back to look at me. “A baby? Really?” His voice is so thick with emotion that it chips away at the numbness that has overwhelmed me. “We’re seriously having a baby?”
I manipulate my lips up into a smile. “Looks that way.” I congratulate myself on sounding normal, because the truth is that I don’t feel normal at all. Instead, I’m nervous and stressed and twitchy, and I hate it. Because I should be basking. I should be lost in Damien’s arms, lost in this once-in-a-lifetime moment.
Instead, I’m numb.
Instead, I’m terrified.
“Nikki?”
“It’s okay.” Hot tears pool in my eyes. “Really, I’m—”
That’s as much as I get out before the sob escapes and fat tears trail down my cheeks. I’m not even tethered to the earth right now. I’m just a wash of jumbled emotions, twisting so fast I can’t even process them. Shock. Joy. Fear. Excitement. Surprise. Terror. Happiness. All battering against me, leaving me overwhelmed and numb and not at all certain that this can really be happening.
“Sweetheart. Oh, Nikki, sweetheart.” Damien is on his feet in an instant, and he pulls me close and strokes my hair. “Hey, hey, talk to me.”
I want to—dear God, I want to—but my words are trapped behind a curtain of tears. I gasp, trying to relax as Damien rubs my back, making soothing noises. “I—I’m sorry,” I manage. “It’s just—I don’t know. Hormones, maybe. I’m a mess.”
“Sweetheart.” The word is cut short by his kiss. So soft and gentle, I think I might melt. And when he finally pulls back, his expression is so tender it almost brings me to tears all over again.
He takes a seat on the couch, then settles me on his lap. I snuggle close, craving his strength and the safety of his arms. I want him to hold me tight. I want him to strip me naked. To touch and to tease.
I want him to make love to me. More than anything, I want to bury the quagmire of thoughts and fears dancing in my head under a blanket of passion.
“I love you,” he says, and only when he uses the pad of his thumb to wipe away a tear do I realize that I’ve started crying again.
“I’m okay,” I say, sniffling. “Damn hormones.”
I’m still wearing the skirt I’d put on this morning, and he strokes his fingertips lightly over my bare leg, then brushes his lips over my shoulder. I shiver, craving a much more intimate touch and the oblivion that I know surrendering will bring.
Except I don’t really want oblivion. I don’t want to hide. Not from Damien—never from Damien.
And yet there is no denying that I’m doing exactly that. I’m closing off. Curling in on myself.
It’s not a celebration I want, but escape, and I hate that my traitorous emotions are destroying what should be a moment of romance and joy.
I swallow, then push off his lap. “Bathroom,” I say, then rush across the suite to the master bath.
I close the door, sit on the edge of the Olympic-size tub, and just breathe.
A moment later, Damien comes in. I lift my head, blinking as I look at him through tear-filled eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.