I press a hand to my belly, breathing through the nausea while I click through my emails.
Come on, nugget. Let mama work today. Please.
I don’t have time to play vomit roulette. There are two exhibits next week and my to-do list is a mile long. Juno’s been a blur all morning, her topknot half way to falling out as she nearly drops a box full of prints.
I slip off my stool to help her, but Mike moves first, peeling himself off the wall, and grabs it from her.
At least he’s making himself useful instead of just looming.
My phone buzzes and I grab it, expecting it to be something gallery-related. It’s not.
Of course it’s not.
Jensen
Hey beautiful. Are you feeling okay?
Do you need anything?
If you’re going out for lunch with Juno, let me know now so I can organize security.
I blink at the messages like they’re live bombs.
Organize security?
I glance at Mike, who’s now hauling another box under Juno’s direction, and then over at Theo, still planted at the security desk, eyes glued to the surveillance monitor like this is the damn Pentagon and not a small gallery in SoHo.
Unless I’m hallucinating, I already have two fully grown watchdogs shadowing my every step.
So what the hell does “organize security” mean?
A body double?
A fucking motorcade?
A special ops team flanking me while I order a bagel and smoothie?
I unclench my jaw, and bite down on the scream clawing up my throat, but my frustration isn’t enough to stop my eyes from burning. I’m tired. I’m queasy.
And I’m so fucking done with this.
I know Jensen’s trying to take care of me—of us—but I can’t live this way any longer. He might be the first man in recorded history to smother someone to death with pure, undiluted love.
Why does lunch need a full military grade operation?
I bounce my leg as I wait for the reply. Is there a threat I’m not aware of? Am I in danger? Is someone likely to stab me over the last cookie?
Jensen
I’m just being cautious, sweetheart. You’re precious cargo.
Cautious?He’s got me wrapped up so tight I’m going to pass out from lack of oxygen. At this rate, I’ll need security clearance just to pee.
I count back from ten. It doesn’t help. This is unhinged, even by Jensen’s standards. Usually, his measures grate, but I keep my mouth shut and do what I’m told. I like him taking care of me, and I understand that marrying a man with more money than some countries comes with risks.
But his fear since I got pregnant is making me crazy.
I know he’s scared something will happen to me or our baby, but this is too much.
