Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Bewilderment mixed with something very much like panic.
Is he actually freaked out by this?
Wasn’t this what he wanted all along?
“It’s a possibility,” I say carefully. “If you put me down, I’ll go pee on a stick and let you know.”
Still looking shell-shocked, my husband slowly lowers me to my feet.
“Okay, good.” Extricating myself from his hold, I step back, grateful that my legs seem to have recovered. “Now give me a few minutes.”
“Chuck!” Mom yells, rushing to the living room as I head upstairs, with Peter on my heels. “Did you hear this? Our Sara might be pregnant!”
I wince, cursing myself yet again for blurting this out so impulsively, and with such bad timing. I can still hear the TV blaring with the latest developments in the deadly attack, and here I am, distracting everyone with something as mundane as a potential baby.
Mine and Peter’s baby.
My heart skips a beat as my husband follows me into the bathroom upstairs and takes out the pregnancy test box from the drawer. “Here you go, my love,” he says, handing it to me. His voice is still rough, but he seems to be recovering from the shock. “Do your thing.”
I walk over to the toilet and stop, looking at him expectantly.
“A little privacy, please?” I say wryly when he shows no sign of moving.
He stares at me, unblinking, then turns around. “Go ahead. I’m not going to look.”
I roll my eyes but decide it’s not worth arguing over. Boundaries are not my husband’s strong suit in the best of times, and right now, he’s probably worried I might faint as I pee.
I do my business on the stick, then set it on some clean toilet paper on the counter and wash my hands as Peter stares at the test like he’s trying to hypnotize it.
“It looks like a plus,” he says in a choked voice as I wipe my hands on the towel. “Wait—no, it’s definitely a plus. Sara, does that mean…?”
My heart swan-dives in my chest as I look at the test—where a small but unmistakable plus sign is now showing. “I think so.” I lift my gaze to Peter’s face. “I’ll do a blood test in my office to make sure, but—”
“You’re pregnant.”
It’s a statement, not a question, but I still nod, instinctively knowing he needs the confirmation. “About five weeks along if my calculations are correct.”
For a moment, my husband shows zero reaction, his metallic gaze shuttered as he stares at me. But just as I’m starting to worry that he’s changed his mind about wanting a child, he steps forward and grabs me in a huge hug.
“A baby,” he mutters against my hair, his powerful body all but trembling as he holds me against him, his embrace tight enough to squeeze the air from my lungs. “We’re having a baby.”
“You are?” My mom’s voice is shrill with excitement, and Peter releases me, letting me see my seventy-nine-year-old parent bouncing in the doorway like an overeager kid.
She must’ve come up just a second ago.
I start to reply, but before I can say a word, Mom runs out of the bathroom, yelling at the top of her voice, “Chuck, it’s positive! The test is positive! They’re having a baby!”
Her excitement must be contagious because I find myself grinning as I look up at Peter, who’s staring at me with yet another peculiar expression.
“Are you okay?” I ask, reaching up to stroke his bristly jaw. “You are pleased about this, right?”
He captures my hand, pressing it against his cheek. “Are you?” His voice is low and husky, his gaze inexplicably worried. “Are you pleased, my love? Is this what you want?”
“I—yes.” I take a deep breath. “It is.”
And it’s true. I want this baby. I want it so badly I can taste it. I hadn’t admitted it to myself before, but when my period had come as usual for the past three months, I’d felt more than a little pang of disappointment.
Somewhere along our twisted journey, this baby has gone from being my worst nightmare to my most fervent wish.
“So no regrets?” Peter confirms. “No fear or hesitation?”
“No.” I hold his gaze without flinching. “None.”
And as a slow, incandescent smile breaks across his handsome face, I rise up on tiptoes and kiss him, overcome by a surge of love for this dark, complicated man.
For the father of my child.
25
Peter
By the time we come downstairs, Sara’s parents have already found the bottle of Cristal I’ve been keeping in the refrigerator for a special occasion.
“Here, let me,” I say, noticing that Chuck is struggling to open it. Taking the bottle from him, I pop the cork and pour three glasses—one for everyone but Sara. For her, I take out a bottle of Perrier and pour some sparkling water into a champagne glass.
My ptichka won’t be able to have alcohol for the duration of her pregnancy and while she’s breastfeeding.