Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Why did I deny us these tender moments when they felt so damn good? “I’m sorry I get so crazy about all this baby stuff, Hale.”
“You’re fine, Rayne. I get it.”
Did he? Did he feel the sense of failure the way I did? Did he know how hard it was to take an inventory of my body and feel nothing but emptiness? Basic indigestion could create false hope, and damn, that hope hurt when it turned out to be nothing more than a flutter of gas. Maybe I wasn’t ready to have a baby if this was how my mind worked.
“Rayne.”
I met his stare. “Yeah.”
He tugged me close and looked me square in the eye. “There is nothing wrong with you or your body.”
God, I was so transparent. “I know. It’s just hard. The other day, the doctor used the phrase geriatric pregnancy. I’m thirty-two!”
Hale laughed. “Baby, you’re far from a geriatric. I mean, for Christ's sake, you still watch cartoons.”
“Only because Elara likes it when I watch them with her.”
“Elara’s a little young for The Simpsons, Rayne.”
“I watch The Simpsons for current events, Hale. Everyone knows that show is a modern-day Nostradamus.”
“Simpsons aside, you’re still too young to be a geriatric anything.”
“I know! I mean, technically, a woman has to be thirty-five to fit that category. You just know someone with a penis coined that term.”
He chuckled. “Sometimes I think you imagine the patriarchy as a room in a club where a bunch of men sit around smoking cigars and passing misogynistic laws.”
I cocked my head. “That’s actually pretty accurate to what I imagine. It’s like the dogs playing poker painting but with stuffy old men that look like Mr. Potter from It’s a Wonderful Life.”
He kissed my forehead. “You’re young.” He kissed my nose. “And beautiful.” Then he threw off the covers and kissed my stomach. “And healthy.” Dropping lower, he nuzzled my hip with his nose and placed his palm over my belly. “But you’re not very patient, Mrs. Davenport.”
I rolled my eyes. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
He formed a heart with his hands, framing my belly button. “I will. I’ll tell you something even The Simpsons haven’t predicted yet. It’s going to happen for us, baby. We just have to give it time. Trust me on this.” He kissed my stomach and pulled the covers over us.
“You’re right. We just need a little more time and sex.”
“Much more sex.” He tugged me to his side and turned off the television. “After some sleep of course.”
Because it’s icky…
Inever got the whole biological clock nonsense until I realized it wasn’t nonsense, my uterus was literally a ticking time bomb, and I was deep in some Edgar Allan Poe shit. That metaphorical tick, tick, ticking was driving me fucking crazy!
“Why don’t you come up to the city for a bit,” Phina, Hale’s sister, suggested.
I called her for emotional support after taking yet another negative pregnancy test. “I don’t know. I’d have to make arrangements with Andrew for Elara because Hale has to fly out to Bangkok tomorrow.
“We could have lunch at La Crocodile and drinks afterward at Per Se,” she tempted in a cajoling heiress tone she probably mastered at age six. “Come on, Rayne. It’ll be a perfect day and probably just what you need right now.”
I sighed. Phina did know how to make a girl feel special. “When?”
“Let me look!” Pages fluttered as she flipped open her day planner. “Oh, darn. I’m booked solid this week, but next week I’m open. How about Friday the eleventh?”
My gaze moved to the calendar. Elara had a pediatrician visit earlier that week, but nothing else scheduled. However, the eleventh was blocked off for other reasons.
Seeking out the non-fertile day, I suggested, “How about that following Tuesday?”
“You want to come on a Tuesday?” she asked in surprise.
“Mid-week is easier to plan with Andrew, especially if Hale’s away. I don’t think Per Se would be as relaxing with a toddler running around.”
“True. Okay. Tuesday the fifteenth works.”
I jotted it down. “Thanks, Phina. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Me too. I’m even going to book us a little treat at the spa, so make sure your flight gets in early.”
Ah, the spa. That touchy-feely kind of pampering Seraphina loved to partake in. I personally couldn’t stand being touched by anyone other than Hale and found massages to be less indulgent and more along the lines of awkward torture. But I didn’t want to rain on her parade.
“Great. I’ll text you my flight details as soon as I have them.”
Traveling meant doubling up on my workload with school and Remington plus spending extra quality time with Elara and Hale before I left, which was fine because all of those distractions took my mind off other things.
I plowed into my syllabus, moving full speed ahead until about two o’clock when a splitting headache developed behind my right eye. That was when Remington called, asking if I was in the office or working from home.