His Pregnant Princess Bride

by Catherine Mann

  The fact that female fans loved him was a bonus, even though it must be tough for Fiona sometimes. But she seemed to take it in stride, leveraging his popularity for worthy causes. Today her philanthropic guests sat casually on the dark leather chairs that lined the glass of the owners’ suite. Half-eaten dishes with bottles of craft beer peppered the table in front of them as the clock ticked down the end of the second quarter that saw the Hurricanes up by three points.

  Yet Gervais’s eyes sought only one person. Erika.

  He’d been busy greeting guests and overseeing some last-minute game-day business earlier, so he hadn’t gotten to spend any time with her yet. She was tucked away, in a leather sofa by the bar, sipping a glass of sparkling water with lemon, wearing a silky, fitted turquoise dress that brushed her knees and caressed her curves with understated sex appeal. He knew full well where those enhanced curves came from.

  From carrying his baby inside her.

  She scrunched her toes in her heeled sandals, reaching down to press her thumb along the arch of her foot. The viewing box was cool—downright chilly. But was the New Orleans heat bothering her? The climate was a far cry from where she lived. He wanted to help her feel more comfortable, to love his home city as much as he did so they wouldn’t be forced into some globe-hopping parenting situation. He wished they could have had a private breakfast to talk, but he’d been called away to the game. Thank goodness Adelaide had offered to check on her personally. Dempsey’s assistant and longtime friend remained the one good thing that had come from Dempsey’s early years spent living a hardscrabble life before their father had found him.

  Adelaide had texted Gervais this morning, assuring him that Erika had everything she needed.

  Now he watched Erika eyeing the food the servers carried. Caviar nachos and truffles pizza. Delicious delicacies, but she declined the offerings whenever the waitstaff stopped in front of her. Though she certainly looked hungry.

  “Is the food not to your liking?” He stepped toward her, smoothing his tie and wondering if he should look into the foods native to her homeland. “We ordered a special menu for the event today, but we can have anything brought in.”

  Nearby, a group of women cheered as Henri connected with one of the rookie receivers running a slant route down on the field. No doubt, it would be one of Henri’s last big plays of the game, since they needed to test the depth of the quarterback position with some of the backup talent.

  Erika stood, moving closer to him, the scent of magnolia pulling his focus away from the game and slipping under his guard, making him recall their weekend together. Making him remember the view of her long legs bared just last night in a jersey that had covered her only to midthigh. He’d barely slept after that mouthwatering visual.

  “Gervais, this is all incredible and definitely far more elaborate than I would have expected at a football game. Thank you.”

  Her response had been polite, but he could see something tugging at her. So he pressed, gently, “But...”

  She took a few steps toward the glass, gesturing to the seats below, where fans were starting to crowd the aisles as halftime neared. “Honestly? My mouth is watering for one of those smothered hot dogs I see the vendors selling. With mustard and onions.”

  “You want a chili dog?” He couldn’t hide a grin.

  Right from the start she’d charmed him with the unexpected. She was a princess in the military. A sexy rebel. And despite all the imported fare weighing down the servers’ trays, she wanted a chili dog.

  “If it is not too much trouble, of course.” She frowned. “I did not think to bring my wallet.”

  “It’s no trouble.” He wouldn’t mind stepping out of the temperature-controlled suite into the excited crowd. How long had it been since he’d ventured out from behind the tinted-glass windows during a game? It had been too long.

  He leaned to whisper in her ear, hand bracing her on the small of her back. “Pregnancy craving?”

  She blinked quickly, her breath quickening under his touch. “I believe so. Mornings are difficult with nausea, but then I am starving for the rest of the day. Today has been difficult, with all the travel yesterday and jet lag.”

  “Then I will personally secure an order for you.” He smiled. “I have to say I wouldn’t mind having one for myself.” He touched her shoulder lightly, aching to keep his hands on her. “I’ll be right back.”

  * * *

  Erika moved closer to the glass and took a seat, looking down into the field, her eyes alert.

  There was no fanfare in yoga or running, so Erika looked on at the halftime show with a sense of wonder. LSU’s band performed in tandem with a pop star local to the area, sending the fans into wild cheers as a laser light show sliced the air around her. The scents of fog and smoke wafted through the luxury suite’s vents, teasing her oversensitive nose.

  This box was quite different from the Wembley luxury suite where she’d met Gervais. The Reynaud private domain was decorated with family memorabilia, team awards and lots of video monitors for comfortable viewing in the back of the box right near the bar.

  But she enjoyed her front-row seat, watching intently.

  So this really did have a form of old-world pageantry mixed with a dash of medieval jousting. Her military training made her able to pick out various formations on the field below, the two teams forming and re-forming their lines to try to outwit one another. Viewing the game this way had been a revelation—and definitely not as boring as she’d once thought. And she couldn’t wait to taste one of the chili dogs once Gervais returned.

  Fiona Harper-Reynaud, the quarterback’s wife and Gervais’s sister-in-law, if Erika remembered correctly, tilted her head to the side. “Princess Erika, you look pensive.”

  “I have been thinking about the game, trying to understand more about what I’ve seen so far, since I am actually quite a neophyte about the rules. My sisters and I were not exposed much to team sports.”

  A few of the other women laughed softly into their cocktail napkins, eyeing Erika.

  Fiona smiled, crossing her elegant legs at the ankles. “What an interesting choice, then, to spend time with Gervais when you’re not a football enthusiast.”

  “I am learning to look at the game in a new light.” She would read more about it now that she knew her child would be a part of this world.

  She couldn’t allow her son or daughter to be unprepared for their future, and that meant football. She could not sit in this box overflowing with Reynauds and fail to realize how deeply entrenched they were in this sport.

  “How so?” Fiona traced a finger on her wineglass, her diamond wedding ring glinting in the light from a chrome pendant lamp.

  Erika pointed down to the field, where the head coach and his team were now returning to the sidelines. “Adelaide Thibodeaux suggested I think of this as a ritual as old as time, like an ancient battle or a medieval jousting field. The imagery is working for me.”

  “Hmm.” Fiona lifted one finely arched eyebrow. “That’s quite a sexy image. And fitting. Armor versus shoulder pads. It works. I’ll have to spin that for a future fund-raiser.”

  “That sounds intriguing.” And it did. If it helped Erika to appreciate the game more, it could certainly appeal to someone else.

  “Perhaps I should rethink the menu, too, as I may have overdone things with this event.” She picked up a nacho and investigated it.

  “The food is amazing. Quite a lovely, fun spread,” Erika offered, smiling at her.

  “But you want a chili dog—or so I overheard you say.”

  “I hope you did not take offense, as I certainly did not mean any.” Erika fought the urge to panic. She bit down her nerves—and a wave of nausea. This was easily explainable. “I am in America. I simply want to experience American foods served at a regular football game.”

>   A server walked by with another fragrant tray of caviar nachos—too fragrant. She pressed her hand to her stomach as another wave of indigestion struck, cramping her stomach.

  Fiona’s eyebrows rose but she stayed silent for a moment. “If you need anything, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

  Did Fiona know somehow, even though she didn’t have children? There seemed to be an understanding—and a sadness in her eyes.

  For a brief, fleeting moment, she wondered if Fiona had ever found herself in Erika’s situation. Not the pregnant-with-a-handsome-stranger situation, but the other one. The one where she was an outsider who shouldered too much responsibility sometimes.

  The weight of that thought bore down on her, making her stomach even more queasy. She fought back the urge, praying she could get to her feet and to the ladies’ room before she embarrassed herself.

  Erika bit her lip, shooting to her feet, only to find the ground swaying underneath her. Not a good sign at all, but if she could just grab the back of her seat for a moment to steady herself... There. The world righted in front of her and she eyed the door, determined. “I will be right back. I need to excuse myself.”

  And the second she took that first step, the ground rocked all the harder under her, and she slumped into unconsciousness.

  Five

  Gervais pushed through the crowds, eyes set on the chili dog vendor. As he weaved in and out, he saw recognition zip through their eyes.

  The media had done a nice job planting his image in the minds of the fans even though he would have preferred a quieter role, leaving the fame to the players. But the family name also sold tickets and brought fans to their television screens, so he played along because he, too, loved the game and would do whatever was needed for the Hurricanes.

  Many of the fans smiled at him, nudged a companion and pointed at Gervais. He felt a little as if he was in a dog-and-pony show. And while part of him wouldn’t mind pausing to speak to a few fans and act as an ambassador for the team, he really just wanted to get Erika that chili dog. Pronto.

  So he flashed a smile as he continued, stopping in front of the food vendor, the smell of nacho cheese and cayenne peppers sizzling under his nose. Of all the things Erika could have asked for, he was strangely intrigued by this request. It was the most un-princess-like food in the whole sports arena. He loved that.

  Gervais’s phone vibrated. He juggled the two chili dogs to one hand as he fished out his cell while taking the stadium steps two at a time. He glanced at the screen and saw his sister-in-law’s name. Frowning, he thumbed the on button.

  “Yes, Fiona?”

  “Gervais—” Fiona’s normally calm voice trembled “—Erika passed out. We can’t get her to wake up. I don’t know—”

  “I’m on my way.” Panic lanced his gut.

  His hand clenched around the hot dogs until a little chili oozed down his fingers as he raced up the steps faster, sprinted around a corner, then through a private entrance to the hall leading to the owners’ viewing box.

  A circle of people stood around a black leather sofa, blocking his view. A cold knot settled in his stomach. He set the food on the buffet table and shouldered through the crowd.

  “Erika? Erika,” he barked, forgetting all about formalities. He dropped to his knees beside the sofa where she lay unconscious. Too pale. Too still.

  He took her hand in his, glancing back over his shoulder. “Has anyone called a doctor? Get the team doctor. Now.”

  Fiona nodded. “I called him right after I called you.”

  He brushed his hand over Erika’s forehead, her steady pulse throbbing along her neck a reassuring sign. But still, she wasn’t coming around. There were so many complications that could come with pregnancy. His family had learned that tragic reality too well from his sister-in-law’s multiple miscarriages.

  Which made him wince all the more when he needed to lean in and privately tell Fiona, “Call the doctor back and tell him to hurry—because Erika’s pregnant.”

  * * *

  Erika pushed through layers of fog to find a group of faces staring down at her. Some closer than others.

  A man with a stethoscope pressing against her neckline while he took her pulse must be a doctor.

  And of course she should have known that Gervais would be near. He sat on the arm of the sofa at her feet, watching her intently, his body a barrier between her and the others in the room staring at her with undisguised interest.

  Curiosity.

  Whispering.

  Oh, God. Somehow, they knew about the baby and she hadn’t even told her parents yet.

  “Gervais, do you think we could have some privacy?”

  He looked around, started, as if he hadn’t even realized the others were still there. “Oh, right, I’ll—”

  Fiona stepped up. “I’ve got this. You focus on Erika.” She extended her arms, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s move to the other side of the box and give the princess some air...”

  Her voice faded as she ushered the other guests farther away, leaving behind a bubble of privacy.

  She elbowed up, then pressed a hand to her woozy head. “Doctor, what’s going on?”

  The physician wearing a polo shirt with the team’s logo on the pocket said, “Gervais here tells me you’re pregnant. Would you like him to give us some privacy while we talk?”

  She didn’t even hesitate with her answer. “He can stay. He has a right to know what is going on with the baby.”

  The doctor nodded, his eyes steady and guarded. “How far along are you?”

  “Two and a half months.”

  “And you’ve been to a doctor?”

  “I have, back in my homeland.”

  “Well, your pulse appears normal, as do your other vital signs, but you stayed unconscious for a solid fifteen minutes. I would suggest you see a local physician.”

  Gervais shot to his feet. “I’ll take her straightaway.”

  Erika sat up, the world steadier now. “But you will miss the rest of the game.”

  “Your health is more important. We’ll take the private elevator down and slip out the back.” He shifted his attention to the physician. “Doc, can you send up a wheelchair?”

  She swung her feet to the ground. “I can walk. I am not an invalid. I simply passed out. It happens to pregnant women.”

  “Pregnant women who don’t eat,” Gervais groused, sliding an arm around her waist for support. “You should take care of yourself.”

  Even as she heard the grouchiness in his voice, she saw the concern in his eyes, the fear. She wanted to soothe the furrowed lines on his forehead but knew he wouldn’t welcome the gesture, especially not right now.

  So she opted to lighten the mood instead. Heaven knew she could use some levity after the stress she had been under. And how strange to realize that in spite of being terrified, she felt safer now with Gervais present.

  She looked up at him and forced a shaky smile. “Don’t forget my chili dog.”

  * * *

  Gervais paced the emergency room. The hum of the lights above provided a rhythm to his pacing. He tried to focus on what he could control.

  Which was absolutely nothing at this point. Instead of being in the know, he was completely in the dark. He couldn’t start planning, something he liked to do.

  Sitting still had never been his strong suit. Gervais wanted to be in the midst of the action, not hanging on the sidelines. That was how he’d been as a football player, how he dealt with his family. Always engaged. Always on.

  But now? No one would tell him anything. He wasn’t a family member. Not technically, even though that was his unborn child.

  God, he hated feeling helpless. Most of all he hated feeling cut off from his family. His child.

>   What the hell was taking the doctor so long?

  Sure, the place was packed with weekend traffic. To his left was a boy with what appeared to be a broken arm and a cracked tooth. His sister, a petite blonde thing, wrinkled her nose in disgust as he shoved his arm in her face.

  The man on his right elevated a very swollen ankle. He was in the ER alone, sitting in silence, hands rough with calluses.

  Gervais could hear snippets of the conversation going on in the far corner of the room. A young mom cooed over her baby, holding tight to her husband’s hand. They were probably first-time parents. Nervous as hell. But they were tackling the problem together. As he wanted to with Erika, but the lack of information was killing him.

  The whole ride over, Erika had been woozy and nauseated. He tried to tell himself that fainting wasn’t a big deal. But he wasn’t having much luck calming down his worries.

  The possibilities of what could be wrong played over and over again in his head. He hated this feeling. Helplessness. It did not sit well with him.

  A creak from the door called his attention back to the present moment. Snapping his focus back to the ER. And to the two men heading for him. His brothers Henri and Dempsey. Henri’s sweat-stained face was grave as he caught Gervais’s eye. Hell, he knew time had passed. But that much? And he hadn’t even watched the rest of the game on the waiting room television.

  He charged over to his brothers.

  Henri hauled him in hard and fast for a hug, slapping him on the back. Smelled of Gatorade. Heavily. The leftover jug must have been poured over his head, signifying victory. “What’s the news?”

  “I’m still waiting to hear from the docs.” He guided both of his brothers over to the privacy of a corner by a fat fake topiary tree. “We won?”

  Dempsey didn’t haul him in for a brotherly hug, but he thumped him on the back. They were brothers. Not as close as Henri and Gervais, but the bond was there. Solid. “Yes, by three points. Even though we sidelined most of our starters to test depth at various positions. Henri’s backup did a credible job marching the offense downfield for one more TD in the closing minutes. But that’s not what matters right now. We’re here for you. Is everything okay?”