I peppered the doctor with questions for the next hour and refused to leave until we had an appointment with the specialist arranged within the week.
“You can exercise, eat normally, have sex,” he reassured me. “Anything that reduces your stress will help the baby.” He tacked on the last bit with a sort of forced hopefulness. We both knew there was no avoiding stress in my life. It was a given.
But I could try to de-stress, and I would do whatever it took to see my child safely into the world.
Dr. Ball paused outside the exam room door and placed a hand on my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, Clara. You have an army of specialists at your fingertips.”
“Dr. Ball,” I didn’t know where to begin, because there was one more question that haunted me. “The placenta with Elizabeth and now this—I’m not very good at being pregnant.”
Belle, who had kept a firm hold on me throughout, hugged me around the shoulders.
“It has nothing to do with you,” he said, but he didn’t sound sure.
I couldn’t press him further. Since Alexander had become a father, it had changed him. The man who had never wanted a baby would happily see me barefoot and pregnant for the rest of my life. Having a child had done more to help him become a better man than I ever could. Even he had acknowledged it. He’d also made it clear he’d happily fill every empty room in the palace. I couldn’t imagine telling him I was damaged goods—unfit to bear his children—when he wanted them so badly.
Before we reached the waiting room, I pulled Belle aside.
“Don’t say anything, please.”
She searched my face for a moment. “Clara, we’re all here to support you and you’re going to need that more than ever.”
“But I don’t need pity.” I couldn’t expect her to understand. My every move was already watched by security teams and tabloids, even my own husband. The thought of them analyzing me, judging me—or just feeling sorry for me—was too much. No one else could carry my burden, just as no one else could carry my child.
“I won’t say anything,” she promised, “but you are telling Alexander.”
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Clara, I know you’re upset with him, but—”
“It’s not that,” I interrupted her. “I’m not upset anymore. All of it feels so inconsequential compared to this. I’m the only one who can save this baby. He can’t do any more than I can.”
He would feel helpless and Alexander didn’t do well with that.
“You have to tell him.”
I grabbed her hand. “He already treats me like glass, Belle. If he knew, he wouldn’t touch me for months. I’ll go crazy.”
“This is about sex?” Her hand dropped mine.
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s about needing to be in control of my life—of my body. If he knows, it will be worse, not better. If he’s worried it will stress me out...”
“But what if,” she trailed off, as if finishing that sentence was too painful.
“I am made of glass?” I finished softly. “He won’t be surprised if I shatter.” He seemed to always expect it. At least, he would be prepared.
“You won’t,” Belle said with a sudden ferocity that ignited my own.
“I know that.” I did. After the tears dried, I’d confronted the fear churning inside me, and I hadn’t turned away.
“I won’t tell.” She might have believed I was strong enough, but it was clear she wasn’t certain of this decision. I knew she would respect it, though.
I felt better knowing I would have at least one person I could talk to about this. I’d have to ask Dr. Ball to keep the information private from Alexander, as well. I was sure the doctor wouldn’t be thrilled, but he’d have to respect my wishes as his patient.
“Do I look like hell?” I asked her. “I don’t want Georgia tattling on me.”
“You might be surprised at how understanding she is, if you let her be,” Belle advised me, “and you look fine.”
I’d never told Belle about the past Georgia shared with my husband, so I couldn’t tell her why I’d have to take her word for that.
“Truly fine? Or fine for having spent an hour crying fine?”
“A little camouflage might help,” she admitted. She dug in her purse and found a lip gloss and under-eye concealer. I took it gratefully, desperate to erase any remnants of tears, even if it meant hiding behind make-up. I stepped into the waiting room with a half-assed excuse for why we’d taken so long.
But it wasn’t Smith and Georgia waiting for me.
Alexander waited in a chair that was too small for his powerful body. His dark head was in his hands, but he looked up hopefully when he heard us. He was on his feet in an instant. His tie was undone, hanging loosely around his unbuttoned collar, and he’d abandoned his suit jacket. He hesitated for one agonizing second before he crossed the space in two great strides and took me in his arms.
Belle murmured something I was too dazed to hear and disappeared.
“Poppet.” He pressed me to his firm body and I melted against him. “You should have told me.”
I fought the tears that threatened to betray me and forced my gaze up to his. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
It was a lie. It was the truth. It was the complicated reality of our lives.
“Christ,” he muttered and I tensed, waiting for him to explode. Instead, he kissed my forehead. “I’m sorry. For missing this. For everything.” He glanced down and caught sight of the pictures I clutched. “Did you…?”
“Yeah,” I said shyly. “Want to see him?”
“Him?” he repeated.
“I think it’s a boy.” It felt good to slip into the debate — a moment of normal as my world spun out of control.
“You didn’t find out?”
“And miss a chance to argue with you for a few more months?”
I handed him the pictures and he studied them with awe. His nostrils flared as he saw his child for the first time and he shook his head, turning briefly away from them and from me.
“I should have been here,” he said in a strangled voice.
I couldn’t tell him I was glad he hadn’t been. Maybe all of these mistakes had served a purpose. It had kept him from being here today. It had given him a few months of excitement. I didn’t know what the future held, but I could give him that.
“I will be here,” he vowed, “every step of the way.”
I brushed a palm down his cheek, wanting to erase his regret. “X, you are always with me.”
I rocked Elizabeth until she passed out in my arms, counting her fingers and thanking God she was healthy. It felt selfish to wish for another perfect baby, but I couldn’t help it. The doctor was right. I had resources that others could only dream of. In the end, I was simply a mother who would do anything for her child.
The door to the nursery cracked open and Alexander appeared. He lingered there, watching us. It was one of the only times he looked at peace: in those small moments when he was just a man and a father, not a king. After a few minutes, he crept over and lifted her from my arms. Her weight evaporated from my chest and a bittersweet sadness took its place as Alexander gently lowered her into her crib.
He held a hand out to me and guided me to my feet. We reached our bedroom and he stopped inside the door. Reaching up, he unpinned my hair and let it fall to my shoulders. Gathering it in his hands, he held me captive as he lowered his mouth to mine. His kiss was hungry but restrained. I couldn’t stand that he was holding back, but I knew it was an offering—an olive branch. I could push him away or stay in his arms.
“Let me run you a bath,” he murmured when he finally pulled away.
I shook my head. “I’m too tired. I’ll fall asleep and drown. Maybe a shower?”
I wanted to wash this day and its stress away—not soak in it. Tomorrow I’d do as Dr. Ball ordered and take a hot bath. Tonight I wanted to go to bed with my husband.
Alexander led me to the bathroom and slowly undressed me, his eyes drinking me in like it was the first time. He always looked at me like that, and when he began to take off his shirt, my heart faltered for a moment. I’d never been able to tell him what it meant for him to give his body to me. The perfect, carved abs that narrowed into an invitation, and the roped scars that twisted across his left torso and up over his heart—my heart. Every time I looked at him I believed in destiny a little more. He could have been taken from me on the night of the accident that had given him those scars. Fate played a hand and saved him for me.
He turned on the water and stepped under it. I joined him, enjoying the way the water snaked in rivulets over his muscles. Alexander turned his face up to it, and I wondered briefly if he was washing today away, too. After a second, he looked down, his mouth cocking up in a lusty grin that made my knees weak. He reached for the soap and began to lather it over my body, kneading my shoulders and then continuing to the rest of me, as though he could erase the time we’d spent apart. His hands slipped down to my breasts and he grinned as he took an extra long time there.
“I think they’re clean,” I teased him softly.
He shushed me and continued. “I’m very thorough.”
But it wasn’t until his hands slid lower, stopping on the swell of my stomach, that tears stung my eyes. His gaze met mine, blazing with unrestrained love, as he dropped to his knees. Alexander lowered his head and rested it there, his arms circling my waist. Water showered over us, mingling with my tears and washing away the evidence. His arms protected me—protected us—and I protected his heart. We were an endless circle—unbroken and unbreakable.
Alexander stayed there holding me, and when he finally pushed onto his feet, his eyes were wet. He didn’t hide from me. He’d stripped to his soul. Nothing could separate us. We were bared to one another: body to body and soul to soul. He took my face in his hands, his mouth angling to capture mine. The kiss started sweetly, but it deepened until his breath was my own. His heart beat in my chest. My fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close as we whispered promises of forever in a language only we spoke.
His body backed me against the tile and we continued to press together. I was barely aware of our bodies fighting to close every last inch of space between us. There was only him and his taste on my lips. When we finally surrendered to one another, he lifted me from my feet and pushed inside me with agonizing tenderness, allowing me to envelop his cock completely before he began to move. His hips rolled slowly, winding me tighter with each stroke. I pressed my forehead to his, savoring the pressure building inside me.
“Always,” he ground out, brushing a kiss over my lips. “Always, Clara.”
His words stole my breath and I splintered apart, coming with his name on my lips. Alexander anchored me as I fell apart and rebuilt myself around him until he was my world. My always.