She sighed, holding onto my wrists. “I’m not sure. A few weeks...possibly a month or so.”
A stupid grin spread my face. “Do you know what it is yet?”
A girl.
Please, let it be a girl. Just like Nila.
A child I didn't have to worry about facing such horrendous debts. A firstborn daughter who would survive and not be made to pay for historic crimes.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. But whatever it is, I know you’ll love it and me, and we’ll fill Hawksridge with the sounds of laughter.”
I couldn’t stop myself.
Clambering to my feet, I swooped her into my arms. The train of her dress rippled over my arm as I stood in the centre of the stage with so much fucking pride I could fly.
Glaring into the ever-invasive cameras, I announced, “My wife is pregnant.”
The theatre erupted into applause.
I didn’t care.
All I cared about was getting somewhere private so Nila and I could have our own celebration.
Turning my back on the world, fading out the claps and happy conversations, I kissed my wife. “I love you. I love you so fucking much.”
Nila laid her head on my heart, making me wondrously complete. “I know.”
Chapter Seven
Nila
Three Years Later...
“GOOD NIGHT, GOOD NIGHT, DON’T let the bed bugs bite.”
The squeal echoed merrily around the room as Jethro blew raspberries on the belly of our child. Our firstborn. Part Weaver, part Hawk.
The past few years had gone by so fast. We became a true family—working together, loving together, learning and evolving and laughing.
My pregnancy had been easy. Thanks to my fitness from running, I remained supple and able to work until the day I delivered. Jethro would often find me in the Weaver quarters, sewing and sketching with my belly ballooning as the days stretched on.
He never told me to stop. He supported whatever I wanted to do. He held my hand when I walked the estate and commandeered the kitchen at all hours to concoct my ridiculous cravings.
He absolutely doted on me, and I fell deeper into love with him. I hadn’t known there were so many layers to love. Sweet and sparkling then lusty and desiring, evolving into bone-deep and endless as the years slipped by. And the longer we lived together, the more we became soul-mates in every sense of the word.
He knew my thoughts without me verbalising.
I knew his concerns without him having to speak. We became in-tune with body language and heart-code...listening with more than just ears.
The further I progressed in my pregnancy, the more my father visited. His fear for my health grew until I resembled a blimp, soothing the scars of our past. He begged for the right to help decorate the nursery and almost singlehandedly bought London out of every nappy, cuddly toy, and cute baby clothes.
My twin was less impressed. He ribbed me constantly of the weight I’d gained—taunting me like a brother was allowed. On the nights he came to visit, he’d pat his washboard stomach and poke my humongous one, laughing good-naturedly. He even joked he’d buy me a few lessons with a personal trainer once I’d popped to get back into shape.
Jethro had not been happy. His eyes flashed with jealousy as Vaughnplayed up the angle of some beefed-up jock helping me stretch and train.
The night had ended with drinks for the boys and giggles for me.
I’d never been so contented.
