by E. K. Blair
My hand goes to my belly. I wouldn’t even believe it if I didn’t just see it with my own two eyes.
A baby. My baby.
I never thought I wanted one. Never thought it was even a possibility. But now that I have one, I don’t know how I feel because I’m feeling so much. I’m scared and ashamed, but under that, I feel an overwhelming sense of protectiveness for it. Never have I had anything that was solely mine, and knowing what a fucked up world this is, I’m comforted by the fact that this baby is safe inside of me.
After I’m dressed and have made my next appointment, I head outside. As soon as the cold air hits me, I’m scared to resume my life—resume the lies.
A baby.
What does this mean for me? Will it even survive to see a moment of this world? Do I want it to? The questions multiply as I stand here on the sidewalk, people moving about, cabs honking their horns, life. The wind kicks up and I begin to cry, exposing myself to these strangers around me, but nobody stops to notice. Turmoil is a dark cloud that finds its home over me right now.
I leave my car and walk. I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to move. Time passes as I wander the streets of the loop, all the while, crying. Do I tell Bennett? Is this something I can hide from him? If he knew, he’d assume it was his. What if it is? God, I can’t have him in my life. But could I kill him? The father of our baby?
Yes. I could. I’d have to because the thought of having to share this with him makes me sick to my stomach. The thought of having to look at his face, the thought of giving him a baby, giving him happiness and joy, it’s all sickening.
I desperately need someone to help me. To come and hold me, tell me it’s going to be okay. Someone to take care of me, hold my hand, and take away all my anguish. I’m sick of always feeling so alone.
I step off the curb and start crossing the street when I hear a horn blasting. I startle and jerk my head around to see through my blurred vision, a car, heading straight towards me, and I freeze.
“NINA!” a man’s voice screams in a panic.
I close my eyes, more tears falling down my cheeks when something crashes into me. I’m no longer on my feet, I’m being carried, and when I finally touch the ground, I know I’m safe by the smell.
Declan.
“Are you okay?” he asks as I open my eyes to look up at him and then at my surroundings. I’m in the lobby of his hotel.
“What happened?” I whisper as I look out of the glass doors to see the street, busy with cars.
“I was in my office when I happened to see you walking. I went outside to catch you when you stepped out into oncoming traffic. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I don’t . . .” my voice trembles, and then, like a porcelain doll falling to its death, I shatter. Falling into his arms, the sobs begin ripping out of me.
He quickly scoops me off my feet, cradling me in his arms, as he rushes me out of the lobby and into the elevator. He doesn’t say anything as I cry against him with my arms clinging around his neck. He holds me like a child and it comforts me in a way only he can do, whispering, “Shhh, baby. I’ve got you,” softly in my ear.
The elevator opens and he carries me into his penthouse room and sets me down on the couch as he crouches down in front of me. When I drop my head into my hands, he pulls them away, and I can’t stop the tears from falling as I look down at him. His face is covered in worry and I know there’s no way I could keep this from him because I need him so badly right now. He’s the one I want reassuring me. He’s the only one I want—always. So when he asks, “Baby, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me,” I don’t hesitate for a single moment when I tell him, “I’m pregnant.”
I watch as his face falls in a painful expression that breaks my heart. His eyes close, forehead creased in agony when he pleads, “Please tell me it isn’t his.” The crack in his voice matches the one in my heart, and I give him what I know he wants, what I want, what I wish for—the fairytale that never will be—saying, “It isn’t his.”
His eyes open and tears fall. “How do you know?”
“Because I had just started sleeping with you and had backed away from Bennett that month. He was out of town a lot, so he didn’t question my avoidance.” My words, complete lies.
“But I thought you couldn’t get pregnant?”
“I know,” I cry out. “This was never supposed to happen. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did, and I’m so scared.”
“Don’t cry,” he breathes as he moves to sit next to me on the couch and pulls me into his arms. “When did you find out?”
“Just now. I just left the doctor’s office. That’s why I was walking around. I just needed to walk.”
“You scared the shit out of me. That car almost hit you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I need you to talk to me. Explain how this happened.”
I lean back, pulling away from his hold and let out a heavy breath before telling him, “I’ve been in a lot of pain the past few days, so I went to see my doctor. I had been testing out a hormone therapy to help with the pain, but had to stop. The doctor told me the pain is showing up because it takes a while for the hormones to leave the system.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were having pains?” he questions.
“Because you worry easily, and I knew it was probably nothing more than what I’ve always dealt with.”
“I worry because I love you. I want to know what’s going on with you. I don’t want you keeping anything from me,” he says, facing me and taking my hands in his, resting them on his lap. “So what did the doctor say?”
“Nothing. She took a look at my labs and that’s when she told me I was pregnant.” My voice falters on that last word as I begin to cry again.
Declan takes my face in his hands and assures me, “It’s going to be okay. I know you’re scared right now, but I’m not going anywhere.”
“She told me that the baby probably wouldn’t make it through the pregnancy though.”
“Why?”
“Because I have too many lesions. She said they would keep a close eye on me. I have another appointment in two weeks.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“You can’t, Declan,” I tell him. “Bennett is the one that found me this doctor. She knows he’s my husband.”
He grinds his teeth, causing his jaw to flex before hissing his words, “That’s my fucking baby, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell him you’re pregnant?”
“No,” I respond, and then drop my head, admitting, “I’m scared, Declan. I’m scared for him to know.” I look up, trying to contain the new slew of tears that threaten when I say, “I can’t tell him. He can’t know.”
“He’s going to find out, but you’re not telling him without me by your side,” he says, and the reality of this situation is starting to really hit me. “I know you’re scared, but you’re going to have to leave him.”
“Declan—”
“You’re leaving him,” he demands.
“Just give me a little time.”
“Fuck, Nina. All I’ve been doing is giving you time.”
“I know. I’m sorry, but it isn’t that easy. I’ll leave him; I will,” I say, trying to convince him, but I can no longer distinguish between truth and lies. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’m just panicking at this point when all I really want to do is run away with Declan. For us to go to Scotland, have a baby, and leave this nightmare of a life behind.
“I don’t want him fucking touching you anymore, do you understand me? You have my baby inside of you now. That fucker’s not going to touch you,” he bites with gravel in his voice and I don’t even flinch when I agree. “Did he leave yet?”
“Late last night,” I tell him. “He’s gone for the rest of this week.”
He nods his head, and I let my body slack into his, resting the top of my head to his chest. His hands come around the back of my neck and into my h
air as I mumble, “I really am scared, Declan.”
“I know, darling. I’m going to take care of you though,” he says, and when I draw back and lift my head, he places his hand on my flat stomach, adding, “I’m going to take care of both of you.”
His words make me smile. I run my hand over his, and I want to believe with everything I have that this baby is his.
“I heard its heartbeat,” I murmur and his voice is barely an audible whisper when he asks, “You did?”
“Yeah. It’s fast,” I tell him. “They gave me a picture too.”
I reach over to my purse and pull out the marshmallow photo and hand it to Declan. He stares down at it, and I watch his eyes gloss over in tears. He doesn’t try to hide his emotions as he gets lost in the image.
“I didn’t think it would look this real, with arms and legs,” he chokes out around his tears.
“I’m almost ten weeks, so we missed the stage of the baby looking like a blob,” I say as I let go of a sad laugh.
“Ten weeks?”
“I’m due in October,” I tell him, and he finally looks up from the photo. His cheeks are damp, and I move to my knees, cup my hands along his jaw, and in the same loving way he does with me, I gently lick his tears away.
TODAY IS THE last day I have with Declan before I have to leave. Bennett returns this evening and I’ve been a wreck all morning. I’m scared and nervous that Bennett will know I’m pregnant, that somehow he’ll be able to tell. But I’m also sad, because for these past few days since telling Declan, I’ve allowed myself to believe that this baby is his and that we’re going to make this work. It’s all a lie though. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but whatever it is, I want to do it with Declan. I don’t even want to imagine going back to a life where he doesn’t exist for me.
I’ve never come across anyone like him. His intensity is entirely consuming, and when I’m not with him, all I can think about are ways I can sneak around to get to him. It’s like he’s the oxygen I need to survive, and when he’s gone I’m suffocating. I don’t know if love is supposed to feel this way, but it’s all I know, and it’s all with him.
“How are you feeling, darling?” Declan asks as he walks into the bathroom.
“Better. The heating pad just can’t do what a hot bath can.”
“You’ve been in here a long time.”
Sinking down into the hot water, I look up at Declan as he stands over me and admire him. His square jaw, covered in day old stubble, the hard lines of his chest that are noticeable through his shirt, the roped muscles of his shoulders and arms. He’s a beautiful man, casual in his dark jeans and bare feet, and suddenly, I’m mourning the loss of him as he blurs on the other side of the tears that flood my eyes.
Squatting down on the balls of his feet, he crosses his arms over his knees, asking, “What’s wrong?” softly, his brows pinching in worriment.
“I don’t want to leave.” My voice is a mere whisper as I close my eyes to shield the tears from falling. I’ve never exposed this vulnerable side to another person as I find myself doing with Declan. I’ve always prided myself on how well I can cast the iron around me. Stoic and poised; the envy of everyone. But with him? It took something I didn’t think I had in me.
Trust.
Somehow . . . somewhere along the way, he got me to trust him, and in the wake of that, I let him in. He now occupies a part of me that I had only reserved for Pike, but Pike only filled parts of that for me. It’s Declan who fills me entirely, breaking the elasticity, filling me completely and running over to occupy the other vacant pieces inside of me.
The water laps around me, and I open my eyes to see Declan, naked, stepping down into the large tub. I move forward as he situates himself behind me, wrapping me up in his arms as I sink into his embrace. He slowly combs his fingers through my wet hair, and I release a faint hum in approval for the soothing touch. I run my hands down his strong legs that I’m tucked between and close my eyes again.
“Lean forward,” he says, and when I do, he starts to gently massage my lower back. “How’s that feel?”
“Really good,” I tell him. I’ve been suffering from searing stomach and back cramps, the same cramps that led me to the doctor earlier this week. Declan became really concerned the other night when he woke up to find me sleeping in the bath tub, filled shallow with hot water. He made me call the doctor to see if she could prescribe painkillers, but since I’m pregnant there isn’t anything that wouldn’t be harmful to the baby. So I’ve been spending most of my time soaking in hot baths since it seems to be the only thing that gives me any real relief. The doctor said that this type of cramping is pretty common during an endometriosis pregnancy.
“I hate that you’re leaving when you’re hurting so much,” he says while he kneads his fingers along my back.
“I don’t want to go.”
“Don’t. Stay. I’m not going to be able to function knowing you’re with him.”
Drawing my knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around my legs, making my request, “Talk to me.” I need him to do something to distract me from my sadness.
“What do you want me to tell you?”
“Tell me about your home in Scotland. What’s it like there?”
He pulls me back against his chest, grabs a washcloth, and starts dipping it in the water and wringing it out over my shoulders and neck.
“It’s rainy most of the time,” he begins, and I close my eyes, resting my cheek on his pec and listen as he speaks. “But the green, sprawling hills make up for the lack of sunshine. The countryside is amazing.”
“Is that where your house is? In the countryside?”
He drags the washcloth around my neck and down to my breasts, answering, “Yes. It’s south of Edinburgh in the Galashiels.”
“What does it look like?” I ask, my eyes closed while he continues to soothe me with his voice and touch.
“The estate is called Brunswickhill. It was built in the mid-late nineteenth century, a neo-classical Victorian mansion, but was completely renovated before I took ownership a few years ago.”
“You were here though.”
“I know.”
“Have you ever stayed a night there?”
“No. I hired someone to furnish the place, but I’ve never actually stayed there yet,” he tells me.
“So why did you buy it?” I ask.
“Because after my father sold his house to take permanent residence in New York, I felt I didn’t have any more roots there aside from my mother,” he tells me.
I open my eyes and look up at him when I ask, “Is that where she’s buried?”
“Yeah, it is,” he murmurs.
“You bought the place to stay connected to her?”
He nods as he looks down at me, and then kisses my forehead before he continues, “You’d love it there. It’s on six acres, so it’s peaceful and quiet with a great view of the Tweed River.”
“Tell me more.”
“There’s a huge garden and a Victorian grotto built entirely out of clinker under this huge glazed dome.”
“Are there lots of flowers?”
He drops the washcloth and bands his arms around me, tucking my head under his chin, sighing, “Yeah, darling. Tons of red and purple ones.”
“Purple?” I question, my mind suddenly seeing the purple walls of my childhood.
“Mmm hmm.”
“I don’t like purple,” I mutter softly, and he doesn’t let a second pass before saying, “Then we’ll rip them out.”
I laugh under my breath and then he inquires, “You’ve never told me what your favorite flower is.”
I take a moment even though I already know the answer, but the thought alone grips my throat, tightening it as I reveal to him, “Daisies. I like pink ones.”
“Daisies?” he questions in surprise. “Such a simple flower. I would have thought something lavish.”
“Why’s that?”
“You just seem like a girl who
likes nice things, that’s all,” he responds casually as he leans back, pulling me with him as we recline.
“Daisies are nice. Simple and nice, which is why I like them.”
“I want to know everything you like.”
“Is that so?” I lightly tease, and when he kisses my temple, he says, “Tell me a few things you like.”
“Mmmm,” I hum before revealing, “I like tea, and I like cupcakes with sprinkles. Apple juice, but only when it’s in a small juice box. And I like daisies.”
“Pink daisies,” he clarifies, and I nod, repeating, “Pink daisies.”
“What else do you like?”
I tilt my head to the side so that I can see him when I say, “I like the way your stubbled jaw feels when you kiss me.”
“Why’s that?”
“It makes me think of how a prince’s kiss would feel.”
His smile grows as he questions, “Aren’t princes clean-shaven?”
Reaching up, I run my hand around the back of his neck, saying, “Not in my dreams,” before pulling him down to kiss me. His lips move gently with mine, eventually taking his tongue to open me up, tasting me deeply. I savor the ice of his mouth, gliding my tongue along his.
He takes my hips and eases me around to slide over his lap, my legs straddled around him. His cock is instantly hard, and the need for closeness takes over, so I lift up, and with my hand on his massive erection, guide him inside of me. His eyes close as I slowly descend down around him and hold myself still. Neither of us moves as we cling to each other—hugging—flesh against flesh.
“Tell me what you want,” he breathes against my breasts as he starts planting soft kisses down the swell and over my nipple, tightening it to a stiff peak.
“This.”
“Tell me,” he urges.
“Just this. I just need to feel you inside of me right now,” I respond, giving him my honest words, because I desperately need to be as close to him as possible right now.
“I am inside of you,” he says, loosening his arms and slipping his hand between our bodies, resting it on my stomach. “This is me inside of you.”
