I chuckled. “Definitely your daughter.” The words said out loud brought levity to the situation. A daughter. I was having another daughter. We were having a daughter. Together.
My breath got stuck somewhere in my throat, and I had to blink several times before I could see clearly.
The rest of the ultrasound went by in a haze. Every new view brought another wave of elation from Celia immediately followed by another request for reassurance about the baby’s health.
I smiled and nodded and smiled and nodded, the whole time trying to ignore the screaming voice in my head that said, This is really happening. You’re a fuck for a father, and currently not any better as a husband, and this is really happening.
No matter what happened between me and Celia, we were now bonded forever. And I wanted that. I wanted her—both hers. The mother and the child. Why had it felt so much more like being collared than when Marion had gotten pregnant?
Because then I’d known my place. I’d known who was in charge. I’d known how to be the husband Marion had needed, and I’d been that for her. Until I couldn’t anymore, and she slipped away.
This time it was Celia who wouldn’t take what she needed from me, and it felt so much like being on the other side, like clinging to the side of a crumbling mountain, my hands clawing in the dirt.
I had to get a better grasp. I had to hold on to her, the only way I knew how.
I didn’t come out of my trance until the technician went to print pictures for us to take home and hit another snag. “Out of photo paper. I apologize. The room was obviously not stocked after the last shift. I’ll be quick.”
The door shut, and I looked down to see I was still holding Celia’s hand in both of mine. Then I slid my eyes up to her face. She was watching me. Studying me.
She stroked her thumb along the back of mine, and warmth flooded through my veins. “She was beautiful. Wasn’t she?”
She held her breath after the question, and I could see it like I always could—what she needed from me along with what she thought she needed. They were less often the same thing than she would have liked. It would be easier between us if I could just be a man willing to provide the latter.
I’d almost tried the day before. I’d gone into the bedroom, meaning to tell her about my meeting with Hudson Pierce. I’d thought briefly that maybe that could be enough—Werner Media, under our control. We could go after it together, she and I, and that would be enough to repair the damage between us.
But then I’d seen the sex toy, and her—naked and newly clean—and something primal roared up inside me, and I remembered who I was. I wasn’t that man, the one who could step aside or stand back. I was a man who stayed the course. I was a man who didn’t back down, and I had to believe she loved me for that.
I shifted my hands, halting the gentle caress of her thumb, and looked at her sternly. “She needs a better home than the one we’re giving her, bird.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean?”
“She needs a solid foundation. She needs her parents to have plowed down the obstacles that could prevent her from having the best life. A rich life. She needs that from her father.”
“What are you saying, Edward?”
She understood, I knew she did. Still, she was forcing me to be clear.
“Tell me who he is.” There was no need to say who he was. A, the nameless manipulator. The man who’d come between us.
She jerked her hand away from mine, and I instantly missed its warmth. “Oh my God. This today? Right now? I can’t believe you. Seeing our baby didn’t show you what’s really important?”
Her volume rose, and her tone had grown sharp. I forced mine to remain low and calm in contrast. “It absolutely did show me what was important. Putting a clear end to the past. Tying up loose ends. Sharing the last secrets between us.”
“So that you can go after someone who doesn’t deserve it.” She rolled her eyes and wiped a wayward tear from her cheek. “You have secrets too.”
There was only one important secret that I’d withheld—the circumstances surrounding the death of my brother-in-law. I thought it hadn’t mattered, and it hadn’t, until she’d stumbled onto it, and now she was sorely due an explanation.
But keeping it to myself gave me an advantage at the moment, and I loved her enough to take any advantage that I could. “I’ll tell you mine as soon as you tell me yours.”
Her frown deepened, and she turned her head away. This was how many of our arguments ended, with one of us retreating into silence.
This time I kept pushing. “You don’t want our baby girl to come into our family with those things between us.”
Her head shot back to me. “That’s not fair, using her as leverage.”
“It seems only fitting since you used her as leverage first.”
“Not on purpose.”
That got me, and my composure shattered. “Stopping your birth control wasn’t on purpose?”
Of course it was that moment that the technician chose to return to the room. From the way her eyes flit from Celia to me back to Celia, it was evident that she’d heard our arguing from the hall.
Thank God, she had the decency to pretend she hadn’t.
“Almost got it,” she said as she loaded the paper into the printer. She tapped at the keyboard again and the printer came to life, shooting out a bunch of screenshots she’d captured during the visit.
Seconds passed as they continued to spit out, tense seconds that felt years long before she ripped the scans from the roll and handed them to Celia. “Here’s a few of the best ones.” She spoke directly to my wife, ignoring me completely as if I weren’t there. “Just a few standard reminders—make sure you’re taking your prenatal vitamins daily, getting enough water, as well as exercise and rest.
“And keep in mind that any undue stress at this time should be avoided.” Her eyes whisked momentarily to me, just in case the message wasn’t received from her words alone.
“Got it,” I snapped. “Are we done now?”
Celia scowled, then quickly shook it off. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you so much for all of this.”
“My pleasure. You can use that paper blanket to clean up. Just dispose of it in the trash can in the corner.” Leaving Celia to wipe the jelly from her skin, she handed the routing slip to me. “You can give this to the man at checkout.”
She was out of the room before either of us could say another word, likely eager to get away from the oppressive tension, feeling good that she’d passively delivered a warning to a wife who might be suffering from abuse at the hands of her husband.
Good thing I wasn’t a real threat. If I had been the type of man that she seemed to fear I might be, Celia could have been beaten for the stranger’s poorly subtexted message. Didn’t she understand how domestic violence worked?
I glowered at the door where she’d gone, simultaneously wondering if I should go after her to kindly educate her about her mistake and despising her for interfering where she had no business.
I didn’t even notice when Celia came to stand beside me. “You heard the woman. Undue stress should be avoided.”
And then I felt like an arse. Because obviously abuse didn’t always come in the form of physical violence, and it was true that I had a tendency to bully my wife. It was one thing when she welcomed it. It was safe to say that these days she did not.