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“I can see that getting some use,” she teases.
“Definitely.”
Her face flushes, and I smile. This is so strange. I feel excited and nervous. We need to talk, but I don’t know where to start.
There’s no rush, though. We’re feeling our way around this, and I’m kind of enjoying the anticipation.
We stop by the master bedroom, and she goes in and walks around it quietly. I’m glad it’s tidy, apart from the clothes I ripped off and tossed on the bed before showering. While she looks at the books on my bedside table, I pick the clothes up and put them in the laundry bin in the walk-in wardrobe.
She follows me in and walks slowly around, brushing my clothes with her fingers. My shirts and suits, the racks of ties, the shelves of tees. She runs her fingers over the table by the window, across the box of watches and cufflinks and tie pins. It’s odd—we’ve been as physically close as two people can be, but this feels intimate in a different way. I like the way she’s touching everything. It’s as if she’s taking possession of me. Claiming me.
“I like the duvet cover,” she says, going back into the bedroom. It’s black and white, with geometric shapes. “It’s very you.”
I just smile.
“It’s a nice room,” she says.
“I’m hoping we’ll spend a lot of time here.” I smirk and she gives a shy smile.
Steady, Henry. Nice and slow.
I indicate with my head for her to follow me out and along to the next bedroom. We walk in. It’s simply decorated, with just a few items of furniture—a bed, a table, a chair.
I watch her walk over to the window and look out. “Such a beautiful view,” she whispers.
“I thought this would be a good choice,” I tell her.
She turns to face me. “For what?”
“For the nursery.”
She stares at me, and we study each other for a long moment.
Her mouth opens, but no words come out. She looks around as if picturing it full of all the paraphernalia a baby brings with it. Then finally her hand strays subconsciously to her belly, “But… um…”
I walk forward to stand in front of her, put her mug with mine on the table, and take her hands. “What I said, about not wanting to bring up another man’s child… I was talking about if we were together, that I’d prefer not to have a sperm donor. I didn’t envisage this situation, and I’m so very sorry for reacting badly when you told me.”
Her bottom lip trembles. “That’s okay.”
“It’s not, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”
Tears tip over her lashes. “Oh, Henry…”
I look into her eyes. “I love you. And I wish I could give you a baby, but I can’t. But even so, it turns out that you’re pregnant.” I look down at her belly and run the back of my fingers over it. “You’re growing a little person inside you. And I think that’s amazing.”
“But, it’s Cam’s…”
“It’s yours. And if you’ll have me, I’d love to bring the baby up with you.”
She laughs then and wipes her fingers under her eyes to brush away the tears. “I don’t know what to say.” She inhales, then exhales slowly. Her light-brown skin has taken on a pale tinge.
I frown. “Are you okay?”
She breathes in and out again. Then, suddenly, she says, “I’m so sorry. Excuse me.”
I watch her run away, and follow her back into my bedroom. She’s gone into the bathroom, and as I open the door I hear the distinct sound of her vomiting into the toilet. Oh jeez, it must be morning sickness.
I go in, take a clean face cloth out of the cupboard, wet it with cold water under the tap, then fold it and place it on the back of her neck as she vomits again. “It’s all right, sweetheart.” I smooth the strands of hair back from her face.
