I’m a realist. “Carter,” I gently say, but he rolls right over me.
“Owen will be here in…” He calculates. “Fifteen hours.” He’s pacing, already planning how to break it to him.
“Carter.”
“We’vegotto keep it secret for at least that long.”
“Carter.”
“Man, I cannotwait to see the look—”
“Carter.” He finally stops and stares at me, his face still filled with joy. “Pleasedon’t get your hopes up, or his,” I gently warn. “After what I’ve been through, and my age…”
Fierce determination fills his face. “Fuckthat, pet. I refuse to think anything other than we’re having a baby.”
I reach for him, and when he takes mine I tug on his hand to bring him closer. “Let’s let the doctors tell us it’s okay before we get our hopes up.Please?” I must be at least five weeks or so along. Owen sent me off to the airport with a load of cum in me after bending me over his desk while Carter guarded the door.
Then it was, what, a week before that, the night of my meltdown. So possibly six weeks. A week before that, maybe? I can’t remember for sure past that. So possibly seven weeks.
That’s still…that’searly.
I guess it explains my vomiting, though. Maybe I wasn’t as seasick as I thought I was.
But dehydration and starving, the stress and trauma, drinking less than pure water, eating what we did—I’m not getting my hopes up.
I especially don’t want to get Owen’s hopes up, because losing this baby will crush him.
I am hopeful, however, that even if I do lose the baby, maybe it means we can keep trying. I’d started to think it’d never happen. Honestly? I was convinced it wasn’t happening. Not after, what, nearly four years of it not happening? I was hyper-focused on getting re-elected, and looking forward to my own campaign run, getting myself positioned for it.
I also hate myself for thinking if I do lose the baby that I need to make sure that gets leaked for maximum sympathy factor.
The politician is eager to climb back in the saddle.
Me?
Not so much.
Not until I have Owen in my arms and know he’s okay. Yeah, I’m fucking superstitious, but the next plane crash I’m in, I want my men with me, if only to feel comforted knowing we’ll be together for eternity.
I’m not looking forward to flying home. Oh, I’m looking forward togettinghome, but flying’s going to suck balls.
It’s actually going to take both of my men to get me on a motherfucking airliner cruising over open water. I would have said they could knock my ass out with good drugs, but mommy’s little case of indigestion makes that impossible now.
Carter leans in and his free hand gently settles over my tummy. I’m painfully aware how thin I am.
I’dkillfor a damn Cuban sandwich.Anysandwich. But I’m on a very strict clear liquid diet, until they can transition me to the next stage. It would suck to survive what I did and die because I wanted a goddamned cheeseburger.
Mmmm. Cheeeeeeseburger…
He stares into my eyes for a long moment before he speaks. “I’ll only ask this once—”
“We’renotpulling out of the race, Carter. We’re fuckingdoingthis.” I hit the button to raise the head of my bed. “We worked too goddamned hard for this. You think I’mnotusing this to leverage us into a win? Fuck that shit. I am my father’s daughter, and we are running Tallahassee for the next twelve years. If I can’t pull off a win for myself after Owen’s second term after all of this? Then I don’t fuckingdeserveto be governor.”
He studies me for a long time before finally nodding. “All right, pet,” he quietly says. “But please figure out how to say that in a much gentler way to Owen when he gets here, huh?”
He’s absolutely right.
The bastard smirks, and I can’t help but smile. We really are perfect together, all three of us. I wish we could both marry Owen, too, but at least he’s happy to be owned by us.
