“Shit, Gracie, I'm sorry.” Jack grabs my hand. “That'swhy you hate hospitals.” The penny drops for him, and I nod.
“That was the worst day of my life. I don’t like talking about it because it makes me feel so helpless and weak, but I just sharedit with you anyway,” I point out, just as the door opens and Kelly delivers my pancakes.
“Morning, sir.” She smiles at Jack while I wipe my eyes and put on a brave smile of my own. “Would you like your usual?” she asks him.
“Yes, please.” He nods, looking at me intensely as I pick up my fork and start eating. Kelly leaves, and an awkward silence fills the room in her absence.
“You're not weak, you're the strongest person I’ve ever met. Never let anyone tell you any different.” He picks up his glass and takes a sip, and even though there is so much I want to say, I stay quiet. I eat my pancakes, and I wish that he’d open up to me.
JACK
“Are you ready?” I call up the stairs while waiting for Gracie at the bottom.
“I’m coming!” she snaps back at me, eventually coming to the top of the staircase wearing a floaty, pink summer dress and shocking the hell out of me.
“Don’t say a word or I will rip the head right off your shoulders.” She stomps down the stairs in her heels, holding the banister carefully. Snarling at me when she gets to the bottom.
“Are you sure you're safe in those?” I check, offering her my arm for some support.
“Perfectly.” She flicks her hair back over her shoulders and straightens her posture, refusing my arm. “Being a duchess sucks.”
“You look beautiful,” I add, looking forward to a whole afternoon of touching her. We’re newlyweds after all, everyone at Elizabeth Winfield’s garden party would find it strange if we didn’t show each other affection.
“ I look like a twelve-year-old going to a birthday party. But nothing else fits.” She growls in frustration, looking down her body as if her new form is an inconvenience.
“You look like a glowing duchess.” I can’t resist stroking my hand over her perfect, round belly; it’s gotten so much bigger over the past few days, and seeing her looking so fertile has me continuously wanting to touch her body.
“Don’t use flattery to get you out of this; you know I don’t want to go.” She starts walking to the door, and I tilt my head, watching her and wondering when she’ll start to waddle like Olivia did. I totally understand now why Alex was so obsessed.
“It’s only polite that we show our faces; we don’t have to stop long, we have the perfect excuse to leave early.” I pat her tummy as I pick up my keys and hold the front door open for her.
“You are making this up to me when we get home….with your tongue.” She huffs as she struts past me and makes her way to the car.
“Oh, Grace, look at you; what a vision.” Elizabeth Winfield gives us an exaggerated welcome, and Gracie manages to hold off her eye rolling and smiles instead. “You look absolutely radiant. How far along are you?”
“Twenty weeks and three days,” I answer for her, placing my hand proudly on her bump and kissing her cheek.
“I hope you’re both making the most of the time you have alone together. Since there was no honeymoon, will there be a babymoon?” she asks, sipping from her china teacup and pursing her lips.
“I’m sure it’s something that could be arranged.” I look to my wife and smile, all the while thinking of all the places I could take her. She’d love the sunsets in Santorini. I can imagine her paddling in the crystal clear waters of the Maldives; fishswimming around her feet while her hands stroke that sexy belly I’ve given her.
“Well, you're always welcome to visit our chateau in the French Riviera; the views are spectacular, aren’t they, Henry?” She turns to face her husband. “Henry!” She searches around for him, angrily, when she realises he’s not there. “That man, I swear, I need to keep him on a leash.” She shakes her head and goes in search of him, while Gracie and I try to hide our amusement.
“A chateau on the French Riviera, huh?” Gracie raises her eyebrows as we slowly walk the garden path to where all the other guests are congregated on the lawn.
“It’s overrated, I much prefer Italy.” I nod at Sir Walter as he passes us.
“You’re lucky to be so well-travelled,” she sighs, looking disappointed when a server offers her a flute of champagne and she has to decline. I shake my head and refuse one, causing her to smile.
“Just because I can’t drink doesn't mean you don’t have to,” she offers.
“I have to drive you both home.” I stroke her tummy over the soft, sheer fabric she’s wearing, feeling a stab of jealousy when I notice the group of men standing by the marquee, ogling her.
“Seems silly when I could drive us home,” she points out. Oblivious to how fucking beautiful she is, and all the men staring at her.
“I didn’t know you had a licence." How have we lived together for almost six months, and I’m only just learning that she can drive?
“I haven’t got a licence, but I can drive.” She looks proud of herself.
