“Despite one being smaller than it should be, yeah, they are.”
“So let’s take it day by day,” I suggest. “And today we have a good reason to celebrate.”
“You are right.”
Oh, am I? It’s not very often she says that. I should write that down.
“It’s much better to fill my head with positive thoughts.”
Undecided whether to make a toast to the babies or to her, I ponder for a few instants, and a smirk plays on my lips as I predict her reaction. “A toast,” I say, raising my glass. “To my dear wife, the woman I love and hate at the same time.”
Petra shakes her head, huffing at my words exactly like I thought she would. Teasing her is just too priceless. “How funny,” she replies sarcastically. “To my husband, the man I can neither live with, nor without.”
“What a cliché,” I comment, before we clink our glasses.
Then we quietly give our first sip to what tastes like fizzy apple juice.
“I brought something for you.”
Petra rests her glass on the table and takes something from her clutch. Then she hands me a few small photographs and as my eyes land on the images, I can’t help but say, “Oh my…” Jeez, it’s something to know your wife is pregnant, but it’s definitely something else looking at the ultrasound pictures. “They are so tiny.” Truthfully, they look like white peanuts in the picture.
“I told you.” Her voice is sweet and melodic, warming up my heart at the simple sound of it. She then points to the bigger one. “That’s Baby A, and that’s Baby B, the smaller one.”
“Did the OB tell you the delivery date yet?”
“No.” She pauses for a beat, heaving a sigh. “She wants me first to check with the fetal surgeon before giving me a date.”
Seeing the distress on her face, I bring her into my arms, giving her a kiss on the head. “I’m sure everything will go fine.” While I’m saying that to reassure her, I genuinely hope that this pregnancy won’t end up like the last one.
Suddenly, Maria walks in, carrying two plates. We then go and sit, while she places the dishes in front of each of us. Petra wets her lips, her eyes already widening at the food. “Oh, mushroom risotto, it looks delicious.”
“I figured you’d like it.” I thank Maria who then returns inside.
“I missed this,” she says, her voice low and soft.
“You mean the risotto?” I ask, humoring her.
“No,” she answers with a chuckle as she takes her first bite. “I missed having dinner with you.” She then presses her lips tight, thinking something through. “We used to have dinner every night at six-thirty sharp, and then breakfast every morning on the terrace…” Her lips curve up as she recalls those memories, and mine too. “Home without you is not the same.”
She then lets out a sigh and sips her drink. There’s something in her expression that makes my heart ache; it’s like I can feel the pain she is feeling.
Her nostalgia has rendered me speechless. I’m not even sure if she is taping this conversation or not. That’s the problem with my wife; I simply cannot trust her. I have to remind myself that right now Petra is the enemy—she is cooperating with Eric and will testify in court against me. That is the reality. Yes, she is divine in this dress, and yes she is telling me sweet words that make my heart flutter, but right now, I can’t lose focus of what this is all about. “You know why I’m doing this,” I tell her, eye on eye. “Choices have consequences.”
She cuts eye contact, taking a deep breath in. Then she stands from her chair, paces slowly around the table, her hips deliciously swinging as she does so, and to my surprise, she deliberately sits on my lap, her arms wrapping around my neck, while her jasmine perfume hits my nose, reminding me of so many good memories.
“If we have a girl, we have to call her Jasmine,” I find myself telling her.
Her eyebrows raise in surprise at my unexpected comment. “You were thinking about baby names?”
“Not really, but each time I see or smell jasmine, it reminds me of you,” I confess, containing the urge to kiss her bare neck. “So if we have a daughter I’d love to give her a name that reminds me of her mother.”
There’s a twinkle in her eye as I say those words. “Jasmine is a beautiful name,” she says, her full lips smiling at me. “But please, no baby showers, no nurseries, nothing until they are born.”
I can’t keep the astonishment out of my face at her request. “Are you that scared something will happen?”
“Yes,” she mutters. “I just don’t want us to get too attached until they are here.” She pauses for a beat, before adding, “And, um, don’t tell anyone I’m pregnant, there’s no need for that.”
“No one knows but me?” I ask, surprised. “You didn’t even tell Emma?”
“No one except Matt knows.”
A laugh rolls off my mouth and I say, “The boy who has a crush on you knows? Poor guy…”
“I’m sure he's already moved on,” she replies just as fast, but she doesn’t really sound convincing. “He’s quite happy for me.”
“He doesn’t seem like a bad person,” I tell her and I truly mean it. “A pity his dad is who he is.”
“And if we have a boy, do you have any name in mind?”
I twitch my lips, thinking about it. Suddenly though, Petra quietly starts unbuttoning my shirt, before sliding her hand on my bare chest. I haven’t felt her touch for days and the simple sensation of having her here is making me grow hard. I know why she is doing it… But I ignore her and remain just as focused on searching a name I’d like if we have a son, yet none is coming to mind. Meanwhile her lips start lingering slowly on my neck, before she traces wet kisses all the way up to my cheek. Jeez, this is getting out of hand.
“Petra,” I say, making her stop.
“Mm?” she murmurs, already pulling my lower lip with her teeth.
Looking her eye in the eye, a smirk arises as I ask, “Are you trying to seduce me so that I sleep with you tonight?”
Her face grows red at my blunt question, and her lips twist into one hell of a sexy line. “Well, you aren’t going back to Manhattan, are you? It’s too late for that.”
A chuckle escapes me at her answer. “There are six bedrooms in this house though.”
She heaves a sigh in displeasure looking downwards for a second, before meeting my eyes again. “Why are you playing so hard to get?”
I shake my head, quite amused at her sweet little voice; I just love seeing her so annoyed and desperate. “Because you played me a few days ago. Remember?”
“Are you gonna hold a grudge against me forever?” she asks, her face inches away from mine. “You hid so many things from me, yet I forgave you.”
“The things I hid from you were to protect us.” Including the abduction of her mom—if Petra knew about it she would’ve been considered an accomplice, and it’d have put her in trouble. Yet, I don’t know if we are being taped or not, so I refrain from telling her that.
“What is done is done,” she says softly, her lips brushing against my cheek. I wonder if she can feel my boner against her ass or not. Before I can worry about it any further, she leans down to my ear and whispers, “Can’t you just forget what happened for tonight?”