Reunited by Their Pregnancy Surprise

by Louisa Heaton

  After making the decision to return to Paris, Emily had returned home from her successful delivery of Marc and Sophie’s baby and blurted out her idea.

  ‘Sam? We should go to Paris!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We should go back to Paris. Where we honeymooned. Remember the doc said that we should immerse you in sights and sounds and aromas. Can you think of a better place than one where we were so happy?’

  ‘I don’t remember Paris.’

  ‘Exactly! If your memory doesn’t return there…well, we’ll just make new memories. That both of us will remember this time.’

  Sam had laughed at her enthusiasm, but then he’d seen how determined she was. He’d called his consultant to check that it was okay for him to fly. His doctor had said that he didn’t think it was a problem. Sam wasn’t on oxygen, he didn’t have any open wounds from surgery, and air travel was only usually restricted for seven to ten days post-neurosurgery. Sam had been recovering for a month now.

  A Fit to Fly certificate had been arranged and before Sam had known what was happening they’d been booked onto a flight the next day.

  Emily had meant it. The last time they’d visited she had truly fallen in love with the city, and had hated having to leave after their ten days there. As they’d risen into the sky on their way home Emily had looked out of the window at the city dropping away beneath her and whispered, ‘I’ll come back.’

  And here they were. Strolling through the airport, through the domed concourses, dragging their bags behind them, revelling in the hustle and bustle as hundreds of different voices and languages could be heard around them.

  Despite looking in a shop window and gaping at a beautiful dress that she would normally have stopped to buy, she was so keen to get them to their hotel that she quickly hurried along.

  Outside they found a station de taxi waiting to pick up passengers. They hailed one and got inside.

  ‘Bonjour, monsieur…madame. Où?’

  Emily smiled. ‘Shangri-La Hotel, s’il vous plaît.’ She turned to her husband and smiled.

  ‘Shangri-La? Sounds…exotic.’

  ‘It was where we had our honeymoon—and I managed to get us the exact same suite we stayed in the last time.’

  Sam nodded in appreciation. ‘You have been busy.’

  ‘I’d do anything to get you back, Sam.’ She felt her cheeks flush. ‘I mean…to get your memory back.’

  He smiled at her. He knew what she meant. Their relationship had clearly been faltering. From that one memory it looked as if it had become a war zone. It pained him to think how bad it had got for them and, like Em, he too wanted this trip to work.

  And if you wanted to get the romance back, the love, where else to go but the most romantic city in the world?

  ‘Thanks, Em. You’ve been great through all of this. The accident, looking after me… It can’t have been easy.’

  She appreciated his acknowledgement of all her hard work. ‘Well, morning sickness didn’t help.’

  She looked out of the window as her eye caught a glimpse of some hares or rabbits darting across the grass beside the road, so she didn’t notice his gaze darken at her reminder of the pregnancy.

  If she were honest, she’d admit that he’d been distant from her the last couple of days. They’d still not yet made love since his return from hospital, which didn’t surprise her. Not after she’d told him how much they’d been arguing. Perhaps he had felt he couldn’t approach her?

  But she’d not pushed for it either. She hadn’t slept with her husband for a couple of months, and it would have been strange for them to have tried, knowing how bad their marriage had become.

  Sam had cited headaches, which she knew were to be expected, and she’d been grateful. She needed time herself to work up to the idea of becoming intimate with her husband once again.

  It hadn’t taken Sam long to return to his study in their house, determined to bring himself up to speed with what had happened in the last two years. Sometimes—just as before the accident—he’d fallen asleep there. It had removed the pressure and she’d been thankful for that.

  Before, there’d always been a reason why he couldn’t talk, or why he couldn’t come home. It had made her uneasy, and she didn’t want to return to the pattern they had fallen into. So arranging this trip together had been good. They were united in the idea of working to get each other back.

  Emily needed to get Sam back. The good Sam. The Sam who loved her and adored her. The Sam who was happy about the baby and had beamed a smile whenever he’d seen her arrive at the hospital. The husband who wanted to hold her hand. Be near her. Touch her.

  She missed his touch.

  It wasn’t just sex with Sam—it never had been. He had always made love to her, making her feel cherished and adored. As if he worshipped her. As if he couldn’t get enough of her. The way she felt…the way she tasted. And afterwards, when they’d lain in each other’s arms, sated and complete, warm and loved, she’d never wished for anything more.

  To lose that—to lose that precious physical connection that they’d once shared—had almost torn her apart.

  As she gazed out of the taxi window, her fingers fiddling with the pendant around her neck, she hoped fervently that back here, in this place, they would be able to reclaim that part of their marriage. Not just the sex, the making love, but the closeness she’d once had with him.

  They’d had it good once. They could have it again.

  *

  The drive to the hotel took about forty-five minutes. Emily felt so happy to be in Paris and she clutched Sam’s hand, squeezing his fingers every time she turned to look at him and smile. She gazed at the treelined roads, the relaxed unhurried pedestrians and the tourists ambling along the sidewalks, gasping when there was a break in the treeline or buildings and she caught a sweeping view of the city.

  This feels like home to me.

  She gazed at the varied architecture, from modern glass and steel to the more aged and authentic French buildings built during the reign of Louis XIV. There was such an eclectic mix here, and it never failed to astound her.

  Sam, on the other hand, was looking at the city with new eyes. She watched him to see if anything seemed familiar—a sight, a sound. But he gazed at the city as if he had never seen it before and she felt her shoulders slump.

  It’s still early, though. We haven’t got to our suite yet. Surely he must remember that?

  It would be good if some of the memories, when they returned, were good ones! She hated to think that all he would remember would be the bad.

  Arriving outside the hotel, they paid their driver and stepped out.

  The Shangri-La was beautiful to look at. Positioned in the sixteenth arrondissement, it was a nineteenth-century decadent-looking structure, apparently originally the private mansion of Prince Roland Bonaparte, the nephew of Napoleon. Once named the Palais Iéna, it stood in a tasteful corner of Paris, resting within the shadow of the elegant Eiffel Tower.

  Sam looked up at the hotel and felt a sense of awe. History, seeped from this place. The entranceway with its sturdy white columns, and above the mass of ornate curlicued iron balconies, made him feel a tiny bit insignificant against this backdrop of important French history.

  A uniformed porter assisted them with their bags into the hotel reception area and they stepped into a world of elegance. Even the floor was beautiful, and in the centre was a gold and glass table set with a generous, fragrant bouquet of lilies.

  Sam stood back as Emily took care of all the arrangements and glanced around as he waited, studying the features, trying to see if anything would trigger a memory.

  Nothing.

  Maybe he needed a little more time? Perhaps if he relaxed a bit more then the memories might return? He’d had a couple. Back home. Fleeting ones, but still…it was better than nothing.

  He was glad that he had agreed to this trip. Emily had seemed so sure that it was the right thing for them to do, and Sam h
ad felt the same way after a moment or two of thought. It was what they needed—he wanted to get their marriage back on track as much as she did.

  After learning that he’d lost two years of his life, and discovering that his business had become such a success, he’d felt keen to catch up on what was happening at the Monterey. But once he’d had that flashback…well, it hadn’t taken him but a moment to agree to come here.

  It was why he had closeted himself in his office, despite his physical need to reconnect with Em. Catching up on paperwork, accounts, reports, assessments, staff training was the only way he knew to allow her space. He understood her distance, her reticence to kiss him, to touch him.

  The birth centre had been his dream and the fact that he’d missed its launch galled him. His wedding. His honeymoon. It was all gone—hidden behind that wall.

  He’d noticed the little looks she’d given him when she had found him in his office yet again. The looks she’d tried to hide when he had not returned to their marital bed. Had they been looks of relief or upset?

  He wanted to. Of course he did. He loved her. But… Sam was a driven man, and work was important to him. Now more than ever. Emily was carrying his child, and his sense of responsibility to take care of them both lay heavy upon his shoulders. But beneath that something didn’t feel right. Knowing that they’d argued, that he’d upset her… The timing didn’t feel right. It was awkward, and because he didn’t do well with awkward he’d focused on the one part of his life where he did do well. Work.

  His thoughts drifted back to the scan. He should be pleased it had gone so well. The baby had looked good, there had been no concerns over the measurement of the nuchal fold at the back of the baby’s neck, growth looked consistent with dates. The pregnancy was going well.

  He should have felt joy.

  But all he had been able to feel was fear.

  What if he couldn’t protect their baby? What if he failed their child? What if the same thing happened as before? Serena had been in his care and she had died. How could he possibly get things right for this baby?

  Had he been mad, thinking that coming to Paris was a good idea? Their relationship was not the joyful coupling he’d thought it was back when he’d proposed. They had been married for just over a year and already they were in trouble. But why?

  Emily had mentioned his not wanting a baby, so she knew that much about his feelings. Obviously the married Sam had felt it easier to say than today’s Sam. But it was becoming increasingly obvious that she knew nothing about why he didn’t want a child. And that bothered him. He’d always assumed he would tell her at some point. Why hadn’t he? Because of all their arguments?

  Because you’re afraid to admit what you did.

  What would she think of him? An OB/GYN who delivered countless babies, head of a fabulous five-star birth centre, who had failed to realise that his baby sister had died?

  The sound of the lift arriving brought Sam back to the present, and he and Emily followed the porter out of the lift and down the corridor to their suite.

  ‘What do you think, Sam?’ Emily asked as the porter swept open the door to their room.

  It was tremendously beautiful. Painted in a soft cream, with original features and gold-draped windows, the room was littered with period furniture. Light from the sliding French doors that opened out onto a broad balcony welcomed them in, and just off to the right, almost within touching distance, was the tower that everyone recognised and thought of when they went to Paris.

  ‘It’s amazing.’

  ‘It’s our original suite. The one we honeymooned in.’

  He turned to face her, hearing the nerves in her voice.

  The honeymoon suite. A room built for seduction and intimacy. Was she nervous of being with him? Of beginning that side of their relationship again?

  Sam tried to give her a reassuring smile. He couldn’t blame her. She was doing so much to help him find his memories again. She was doing what she thought was right and he couldn’t, shouldn’t complain. But he was feeling the weight of her expectations and felt terrible at letting her down, because nothing about the room was sparking anything for him. And he was feeling terribly guilty about the state of their marriage. This trip had to work! He wanted her back. He wanted them happy.

  Emily tipped the porter and he disappeared without notice. Then she joined her husband out on the balcony as they gazed out over the city. ‘Can you feel it, Sam?’

  ‘Feel what?’

  ‘The city, welcoming us back.’

  He smiled and reached out to curl his fingers around her own. He just wanted to touch her for a moment. To acknowledge why they were here. But he wouldn’t put any pressure on her until she was ready.

  ‘Let’s go out and explore. What should we do first, do you think?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but me and the baby are starving. Can we go get something to eat? Find a little café or restaurant?’

  Her reminder about the baby pierced his conscience, but he pasted a smile over his face. He couldn’t let her know how concerned he was. What would she think of him if he told her the truth? That he didn’t feel able to protect the baby? At least whilst it still lay within her womb it was safe, and he had no concerns about her delivering. Both of them were trained for that. It was afterwards that worried him. He wouldn’t be looking after the baby for one night, the way he’d had to babysit Serena. This baby—their baby—he’d be looking after for the rest of his life.

  ‘Food sounds good. Let’s go.’

  *

  They walked through the streets hand in hand, soaking up the sights, sounds and smells of Paris. Walking past a bakery made Emily salivate with anticipation, but walking past a poissonnerie—a fishmongers—made her feel a little queasy.

  ‘Maybe you should stay away from seafood, Em,’ Sam joked as he wrapped a reassuring arm around her shoulders and led her towards the River Seine.

  They headed down to the Jardins du Trocadero, admiring the fountain and the views of the river, before heading deep into the city, wandering down small cobbled streets, looking for something small and chic and different. Eventually they found exactly what they were looking for.

  Gino’s Cottage was a rooftop restaurant. All the diners got to sit out on the terrace at long banqueting tables, with views towards the Palais de Chaillot in the distance.

  They were soon seated, and they ordered themselves something to drink—wine for Sam and sparkling water for Emily—before they perused the menu.

  ‘It feels so good to be back here.’

  Sam looked at her over his menu. ‘We came here before?’

  ‘No, not this place. I meant Paris. I loved it here when we came for our honeymoon.’

  ‘Can you tell me about it? Some of the things we did?’

  She blushed a little. ‘Well, not all of them. Certainly not in public!’

  He smiled.

  ‘I think I’m going to have the bruschetta des tomates to start. What do you fancy?’

  ‘Hmm…’ His eyes scanned the options. ‘I think I’ll join you with that. What about your main course?’

  ‘Hmm…lasagne, I think, for me.’

  ‘And I’ll have the carbonara.’

  She laughed. ‘Can you believe we’ve come to France and ended up choosing Italian food?’

  ‘We’ll go full-on French tomorrow.’

  They placed their order with the waiter and Sam took a sip of his wine. It was perfect. Fruity. Crisp. With just a tart enough kick on the back of his throat.

  ‘So, tell me about our first visit.’

  Emily’s eyes became dreamy, which he had to smile at, and as he stared at his beautiful wife he couldn’t help but think just how lucky he was.

  ‘Well, we didn’t come out of our room the first day we arrived. We took full advantage of Room Service after we’d…worked up an appetite.’

  He noticed her blushes and smiled slightly as his own imagination supplied him with the possibilities of
what that might have been like.

  She straightened her serviette on her lap. ‘We did lots of walking, exploring, trying to find the real Paris—you know, stuff off the beaten track. We didn’t just want to do the traditional touristy stuff.’

  He nodded. ‘Tell me one of your favourite places.’

  Emily sighed happily in recollection. ‘We went to the Bois de Vincennes and rowed out across the lake to the temple on the island. There’s a grotto underneath and we went there quite late, at sunset. It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw.’

  ‘We should go again, then.’

  ‘I’d like that.’ She smiled at him, and then they said nothing for a while.

  *

  Sam gazed at her from across the table and it felt good to have his full attention.

  ‘We have been happy, Sam. I know I said we’d argued, but…there were good times, too.’

  ‘When did it all start to change?’

  She shrugged, the shift in her demeanour clear. ‘I don’t know. It was gradual. I can remember sitting down to dinner with you one night, like we are now, across the table from one another, and I was excited because I was going to suggest we start a family. It meant so much to me, and I honestly believed that it would to you, too. Considering what we both do for a living, it seemed the next natural step. We were married, our business was getting off the ground, financially we were solid. I couldn’t see why there would be any objection. I thought that when I suggested having a baby you’d think about it briefly. Mull it over as you sipped your wine and then we’d discuss when we’d start trying.’

  ‘But it didn’t go that way?’

  Her gaze was downcast, her eyes darkening. ‘No. You…you became a different man. The second I mentioned it a wall seemed to come down in front of you. You closed yourself off, told me it wasn’t a good idea, and suddenly said you had work to do in your office. You got up and left. That’s how it was with us. We never got to talk about the important stuff like that. Work—fine. Business? No problem. Personal stuff? You backed away.’

  Sam looked down at the table.

  ‘I left the subject alone for a bit. Things returned to normal. We worked hard. You were doing a lot of fundraising, a lot of galas, a lot of promotion. I started feeling lonely. As if I didn’t have a husband any more. That the one I had was married to the Monterey. I tried to ask for a bit more of your time. I wanted to get you alone, so we could talk. But there was only one subject I wanted to talk about and you just kept getting angry so I stopped asking.’ She sipped her water. ‘We stopped talking to one another entirely—except about business.’