I manage a choking laugh. “Is it… Can you tell what it is yet?”
“Yes. It’s a baby,” Andy says in mock seriousness, then winks at me. “It’s tricky to tell at this point, and your munchkin’s not in a position to make it easy to see. Not sure if we’re looking at a little Raoul or a little Emma yet, but either way, I’d say you’re gonna have your hands full, huh?”
My laugh is stronger this time, though the tears are still streaming. Things are suddenly falling into place in my head.
“I have to tell him!” I suddenly blurt. She hits a button, and a ribbon of paper prints out of the machine. She hands it to me. Little black rectangles that are the first images of our child. “Raoul needs to see this!”
“Well, yeah, babe.” Andy rolls her eyes. “I already told you that, didn’t I?”
“I know! Of course I know. But that was before…”
“Before?”
“Before I knew what this felt like. Before I knew it was a miracle!” I sit up straight, my palm curved over my sticky stomach as I stare at the pictures. “He has to see this. He has to hear that little heart!” I’m babbling, swinging my legs off the edge of the table. Andy passes me a wad of paper towels, but I’m too eager to get out of here to bother wiping the gunk off my belly. Suddenly, I realize I’m no longer afraid that Raoul’s going to try to force me to end this little life. I have a better measure of the man now.
“This is gonna blow him away!” I breathe, excitement swirling at the prospect of showing him these pics. Of course, there’s a little apprehension, but I know he needs to know.
“Sure will, babe,” Andy agrees. “I remember what Mateo was like when he found out. He wouldn’t let me out of his sight for weeks. These guys of ours take ‘Poppa Bear’ to new levels.” My hand shakes as I stare down at the string of images yet again.
“I have to go!” I say breathlessly, straightening my clothes and skipping to the door. Andy holds it open for me, grabbing my wrist and pulling me in for a quick hug before I can bolt out of the office.
“This is going to be amazing, Emma,” she says, sincerity warming her lovely face as she pulls back. “You’re going to be so happy. I’m sure of it.”
I nod like a madwoman. “I know! You’re right…it’s a motherfucking miracle!” I stop short, then peer down at my belly. “Pardon my French, little one.”
“That’s not French, hon,” Andy calls after me with a laugh.
Waving a quick goodbye, I dash out and head back to where the car is waiting for me. I’m on my phone as we head into midday traffic.
“Miss Em?” Parker’s familiar voice greets me. “Is everything all right, Miss?”
“It’sMrs.now, Parker!” I bubble. “And everything is great. Better than great! I miss you, though.”
“I…er…miss you too, Mrs. Em,” he says politely. He’s always polite. Typical British butler type. Which is odd to me, since my father is Irish. You’d think he’d have assigned one of his thugs to me as a minder. But I’m happier this way. Parker is gentle and considerate. And resourceful. And I’m going to get him back home as soon as I’ve shared my news with Raoul. But first, there’s something else on my mind.
“The reason I called is that I was hoping you’d give me your recipe for your orange duck thingy. The one I love so much.”
“Duck a l’orange, Miss? I mean,Madam?” Parker’s voice is hesitant.
“Yip. That’s the one!” I feel excitement brewing. I’m going to cook a world-class meal, then knock Raoul’s socks off with my announcement.
“Are you sure, Mrs. Em? It’s really rather complicated, and er…” He trails off.
“Are you doubting my cooking abilities, Parker?” I ask.
“Of course not, Madam!” he says quickly. “It’s just that… Perhaps I should come over to prepare it for you?”
It’s not a bad idea, but I don’t have time.
“I’m going to get you back with me, Parker, I promise! But right now, I’m on my way home, and I want it ready when my husband gets back.”
There’s a pause, and then Parker reluctantly begins explaining the process.
“I’ll text you a list of ingredients, Madam,” he concludes before we end the call. I sit back in my seat, grinning as I make my next call.
“Tell me you’re not wearing underwear?” Raoul asks as he picks up.
“I’m not wearing underwear,” I say, ignoring the grin of the driver in the rearview mirror. It’s not strictly true. I wasn’t going to go in to see Andy without knickers. But by the time he gets home, I’ll make sure he’s not disappointed. “Also, I’m wet for you, husband,” I add for good measure.
