Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 728(@200wpm)___ 582(@250wpm)___ 485(@300wpm)
“I’m here!” Constance called out from the living room just before Scarlett heard the door shut. Her sister wore a large, fake smile as she came through the kitchen door. “Good news. The midwife will pop by in just a bit. She said to get you upstairs into a clean bed.”
“Jameson?” Scarlett asked through gritted teeth as another contraction took hold.
“How many contractions did you have while I was gone?” Constance asked, grabbing a few towels from a kitchen drawer and mopping up the mess she’d left.
“Two. This is the. Third.” Scarlett fought through it with deep breaths, that pain only the tip of the iceberg. “Where. Is. Jameson?”
Constance threw the towels into the wash bin.
“Constance!”
“Somewhere over the North Sea.”
“Of course he is,” she said through gritted teeth. She should have told him to stay, but there’d been no reason to—no reason acceptable to the wing leader, at least.
“I won’t leave your side,” Constance promised as she helped Scarlett to her feet.
She didn’t.
…
Nine hours later, Scarlett was tucked between newly cleaned sheets, absolutely knackered and happier than she’d ever been as she stared down at a pair of bright blue eyes.
“I don’t care what those midwives said.” Constance peered over her shoulder. “Those eyes are going to stay just that utterly, perfectly blue.”
“Even if they don’t, they’ll still be perfect,” Scarlett declared, running her finger across the tip of the smallest nose she’d ever seen.
“Agreed.”
“Do you want to hold him?” Scarlett asked.
“May I?” Constance beamed.
“It seems only fair, seeing as you were equal parts nurse and maid today. Thank you.” Her voice softened. “I couldn’t have done it without you.” She lifted her son, swaddled in one of the blankets Jameson’s mother had made and shipped to them, into Constance’s arms.
“I wouldn’t have missed it,” Constance said, adjusting the newborn in her arms. “He’s perfect.”
“We want you to be his godmother.”
Constance’s gaze snapped to hers. “Really?”
Scarlett nodded. “I can’t imagine anyone else. You’ll protect him, won’t you? If anything…should happen.” She was in just as much danger from a bombing raid sleeping in her bed as she was when she’d been in the WAAF. Nothing was certain.
“With my life.” Constance’s eyes misted over as she looked back at the baby in her arms. “Hello, little one. Hopefully your father will be home soon so we can call you by a real name.” She shot Scarlett a pointed look.
Scarlett smiled. She’d refused to discuss his name until Jameson held him.
“I’m your Aunt Constance. I know, I know, I look a lot like your mummy, but she’s at least a half-inch taller than I am, and her feet are a full size bigger. Don’t worry, we’ll come into focus a bit better once you’re a few months older.” She lowered her face. “Want to know a secret? I’m going to be your godmother. That means I’ll love you, and spoil you, and always, always protect you. Even from your mummy’s awful cooking.”
Scarlett scoffed.
“Now, I’m going to go make something for her to eat.” She smiled down at the baby one more time, then handed him back to Scarlett. “Do you need anything before I head downstairs?” She eased off the bed as the bedroom door flew open.
…
“Are you okay?” Jameson’s strides ate up the distance to the bed as Constance slipped past him out of the bedroom. His heart hadn’t stopped racing since he’d landed, or more specifically, since the clerk ran him down and told him Constance had called that morning.
That. Morning. No one had radioed—not that he could have gone off mission and flown back, but he would have. Somehow.
“I’m fine,” Scarlett promised, smiling up at him with a mix of radiance and what he assumed had to be bone-weary exhaustion. She looked unharmed, but there was a lot of her he couldn’t see under all those blankets. “Meet your son.” Her smile widened as she lifted the small, blanketed bundle.
He sat on the edge of the bed and cradled the tiny, breakable baby in his arms, careful to support his head. His skin was pink, the shock of hair he could see was black, and his eyes were blue. He was gorgeous, and Jameson was instantly head over heels.
“Our son.” Jameson looked at his wife to find her already watching him, her eyes heavy with unshed tears. “He’s amazing.”
“He is.” She flashed a smile, and twin tears streaked down her face. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
“Me too.” He leaned forward and brushed her tears away, careful to keep his son tucked safely in the crook of his arm. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
“Only the messy bits,” she countered. “It’s only been an hour or so.”
“And you’re truly okay? How do you feel?”
“Tired. Happy. Like I’ve been torn in two. Madly in love.” She leaned in slightly to gaze down at their son.