Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
“I do,” she blurts. “I’m not skiing.”
I watch as she shoots up from the bed, looking alarmed at the prospect. Is she fucking high? Skiing? While she’s pregnant? “Don’t be stupid, woman,” I mutter, fetching a suitcase from the dressing room. “You’re carrying my babies in there. You’re lucky I’m not chaining you to the bed for the rest of this pregnancy.” I lay the suitcase on the floor, watching a slow formation of a crafty smile spread across her face.
She lifts her hands to the headboard. “You can if you like. I won’t complain.”
It takes everything in me to disregard her blatant tactics. “You’re a temptress, Mrs. Ward. Come pack.” I force my eyes away and take myself back into the dressing room, hearing her mutter indignantly.
I grab a few T-shirts, various shorts, some boxers, dropping them in a pile. And my book. I quickly retrieve it from the drawer I slipped it in last night before I climbed back into bed with Ava.
“Where are we going?” she asks, reminding me that I’ve still got some thinking to do.
“I don’t know.” Scotland? Too cold. The Peak District? “I’ll make a few calls.” I start putting my clothes into the case. “Aren’t you going to pack?” I ask, keeping my eyes on her face and not the rest of her nakedness.
“Well”—she shrugs—“I don’t know where I’m going. Hot, cold? Car, plane?”
“Car. You can’t fly.”
“What do you mean, I can’t fly?”
“I don’t know.” I’ve read something somewhere, amid all the things I read, about flying while pregnant. Problem is, I can’t remember exactly what it said. Do? Don’t? So I won’t take any chances. “Cabin pressure. It might squish the babies.”
She lets out an over-the-top bark of laughter. “Tell me you’re joking.”
Joking? Her face when I look at her is somewhere between amusement and concern. “I don’t joke when it comes to you, Ava. You should know that.”
Reality hits her with a bang. It doesn’t bode well. I can see the end of her equanimity looming. It was good while it lasted. “Cabin pressure won’t squish our babies, Jesse,” she says, a little high-pitched. “If you’re taking me away, you’re taking me on a plane.”
For fuck’s sake, if I’d have told her she couldn’t go on a boat, she’d demand to go on a fucking cruise to prove her point, whatever the fuck that is. Fuck it. I should have said she can’t go on a boat. I should never have sold the yacht. But would the babies get seasick? “It’s not safe for pregnant women to fly.” She won’t listen to me, so perhaps she’ll listen to the book. “I’ve read about it.”
She looks shocked. “Where have you read about it?”
“In here,” I say quietly, holding up the book, scuffing my bare feet on the carpet awkwardly. “You should also be taking folic acid.” The silence is unbearable. I can feel her disbelief. What I don’t know is if that’s disbelief that I’m reading a book about pregnancy, or disbelief about the information I’m giving her. She can see the book, so I’ll go with the information. God damn it, she’s going to make me prove it? I randomly start fingering through the pages, searching for the passages I’ve marked. “Here, look,” I say, showing her. “The Department of Health recommends that women should take a daily supplement of four hundred micrograms of folic acid while they are trying to conceive, and should continue taking this dose for the first twelve weeks of pregnancy when the baby's spine is developing.” But what it doesn’t state is if that dose changes should the woman be pregnant with multiple babies, like my wife. “But we have two babies,” I muse. “So maybe you should take eight hundred micrograms.” I make a mental note to check that as I flick farther through the book to find the bit I read about flying.
“I love you,” Ava says.
“I know. The flying bit is here somewhere.” Was it no flying at all, or flying to a certain point in the pregnancy? “Just—” I flinch when her hand smacks the book and it drops to the carpet with a slap. What the fuck? I toss Ava a scowl. She’s grinning. What’s so fucking funny?
Then, eyes on me, she throws a foot out and kicks my book a few feet away. Still fucking grinning. Totally uncalled for. “Pick the book up.” She can defy me. But the book?
“Stupid book.” She kicks it again.
“Pick the book up, Ava,” I warn.
“No.”
I realize what she’s doing. Everything before me is screaming for attention. And who am I to disappoint? Like I said, I’m here to serve . . . “Three,” I say calmly, holding up three fingers. Her grin confirms my suspicions. Greedy.
“Two,” she retorts, surprising me.
“One,” I say around a smile.