Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
My mother’s words from the drive up the coast echo in my head—pregnant, bed rest, struggling—but nothing could have prepared me for the reality of seeing Elaina like this.
Everything else about her is exactly as I remember—the hitch of her chin when she’s nervous, the way her fingers fidget with her sweater, the defiance in her eyes, even when she’s clearly caught off guard—but she’s so hugely pregnant, it would almost be funny if I didn’t love this tiny woman who looks like she’s about to be overwhelmed by the size of her own belly.
Fuck, I love her.
I love her so much, and I’m so damned scared I’m going to fuck this up again.
I curl my hands into fists as waves of emotion rush through me—joy, fear, wonder, more fear, dread, hope, and a hint of pride that is fucking ridiculous. Pride has no place in this equation. But the primal voice in my lizard brain doesn’t give a shit. It’s pretty damned pleased to see the evidence of all those nights of coming buried deep inside his woman right in front of him.
I’m ridiculous.
And ashamed.
And so happy to see her that I have to remind myself that she hates me.
Surely, she hates me…right?
I force my gaze from her belly back to her face, trying to get a read on what she’s thinking about this “surprise,” but she has her guard up. She’s clearly nervous, but more than that…
“Well?” She arches a challenging brow.
“Well,” I croak, then clear my throat.
Before I can figure out what to say next, she demands, “Why are you here?”
“I think you know,” I say softly.
One hand moves to hover protectively over her stomach. “I don’t know what Maya told you, but I’m fine. Everything is under control.” She shrugs. “Except that I’m going to strangle my best friend for ratting me out…as soon as I can walk more than fifteen feet without my doctor threatening hospitalization.”
“She was only doing what she thought was best for you and the baby.”
“Babies,” she corrects, sending my brows shooting toward my hairline.
I blink. “What?”
“Babies,” she repeats, amusement flickering across her features. “There are two of them. I’m having twin girls. Maya didn’t tell you that part?”
I swallow with an audible noise that makes Elaina chuckle.
“Yeah, that was my reaction at first, too,” she observes dryly. “But you get used to it. I already have two infant cars seats for the hospital and two bedside sleeper bassinets for when they first come home. And obviously tons of diapers and sleepers.” She hitches her chin up. “So, as you can see, everything is fine. No need for anyone to come riding to the rescue, least of all you.”
“I’m their father,” I say, the words feeling foreign and strange in my mouth. But they’re true. And as their father, I have as much of a responsibility to care for and provide for these children as Elaina does.
She snorts. “You were the sperm donor. As far as I’m concerned, your work here is done. Feel free to vanish into the ether. It’s fine. I honestly don’t mind. I’d prefer it, in fact.”
“We have a contract,” I remind her. “And I’m not the kind of man who goes back on a promise, especially when it’s in writing.”
She exhales as she turns to shuffle away from me, muttering something beneath her breath that I can’t make out.
“What was that?” I ask.
“I said I don’t want your money,” she says, easing down onto a bright blue chaise lounge and swinging her feet up.
As she leans back, her belly pokes forward even more, emphasizing just how obscenely huge she is. I’m honestly starting to worry that she’s not as okay as she’s pretending to be. Maya said she was “struggling” after all, and her petite frame clearly wasn’t built for this kind of pregnancy.
“You’ve been seeing your doctor regularly?” I ask, studying her as I cross the room. “And she thinks you’re…all right?”
“Yes, and yes. I’m fine,” she says, casually enough that I almost believe it.
Almost…
“Then why are you on bed rest?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s not really bed rest. It’s restricted activity. I can still take a shower and waddle around the apartment and cook a meal or whatever. I just can’t remain upright for long periods of time or make it to the laundromat or the grocery store. I have an incompetent cervix.” Evidently reading my blank look, she explains, “It means my cervix was starting to open too soon, putting me at risk of preterm labor. Probably because there are two of them in there. Twin pregnancies have a higher risk of complications, in general. But aside from my deadbeat cervix, I’m in fabulous health.”
“Your cervix isn’t a deadbeat,” I say, relieved that this doesn’t seem to be something too serious. “I think your cervix is doing a great job, considering all the stress it’s under.”