My baby. My wife. My whole world.
“So you’ll do it? Ineedto readPregnant with his Pucking Twins, immediately.” She snuggles into me and presses her lips onto the spot beneath my ear that makes me shiver.
I love having her close, and even after being together for months now, she still has the capacity to surprise me with how at peace I feel when she’s near.
“Everyone else has to wait until the author has finished writing the book.” I wouldn’t feel so bad if this was just getting an early copy. “I think there might be a reason authors do things like edits and?—”
“She said she was writing it. It’ll be published eventually. This is just like pre-ordering.”
I do not point out that this is nothing like pre-ordering. The pregnancy hormones are making Tess a little bit crazy.
But whether it’s peanut butter and raspberries on toast with whipped cream at three in the morning, redecorating the nursery for the third time, or breaking into her favourite author’s computer and stealing the unfinished manuscript ofPregnant with his Pucking Twins, I will do it.
My love for my wife knows no bounds. Even ethical ones against unsuspecting middle-aged authors who don’t update their computers as often as they should, and who have totally inadequate back-ups.
I sorted that. All this author’s work is now backed-up daily to a cloud subscription she won’t remember signing up for because I did it for her. It’s very reasonably priced too. She got a great discount.
I give it one more try. “I’m just saying, you’ll be reading?—”
“Not the way the author intends it, blah-blah-blah, I know. I need it now. It’s calledPregnant with his Pucking Twins! And I’m pregnant! On that basis, I’m sure.”
I’m still not sure what that title means exactly. Hockey player, accidental pregnancy, and twin babies, I assume.
I’m clearly not the right audience.
“You cannot tell the London Smut Club about this,” I remind her. I promised to give up most of the malicious hacking when I joined the London Maths Club, and I have no faith that the wives wouldn’t tell their husbands. And apparently death isn’t a solution I’m allowed to routinely use anymore, so I have to utilise more stealth.
“Yep, got it. I promise. This is our secret, husband.”
“One of them…” I wink. What used to be a solo murder hobby has become something we plan together—when she’s not reading the latest smutty ice hockey romance—and share with the London Maths Club.
Tess jokes being married is like having her own true crime podcast, complete with vigilante justice.
She’s not wrong.
Truly, the joy of finding and murdering people who deserve it is best shared. Like boxes of chocolates, but with more mess.
Tess’ returning smile is positively wicked.
“Okay.” I feel more ambiguous about this than most of the killing and torture I’ve done. “I’m sending it to your e-reader now.”
“Eee!” She wriggles until I release her, and when she’s on her feet, she does a little happy-dance and kisses my cheek. “Thank you! I love you!”
“I love you too,” I say and she kisses me again, this time on the lips, before she grabs her e-reader.
I watch her indulgently as she curls up as best her pregnant body will allow onto the sofa on the other side of our library, and starts reading. Her face shows her every thought. Excitement, happiness… total confusion… Then she’s consuming the book with obsessive speed, just like I do when I get engaged with a project.
And as ever, her joy is infectious. If she’s content, I’m content. It’s that simple.
Over the next few hours, Tess reads, and I fetch her regular top-ups of tea and snacks and work on opening a backdoor into an organisation Tess particularly dislikes. I did a bit of digging, and I agree with her.
The afternoon slides into evening, and I bring over a blanket, tucking it around my girl. I send some instructions to my second-in-command of Blackfen, and he messages back with a summary of the day’s events. Quiet, since it’s a weekend.
I’m deep into my work when my wife’s happy sigh and the soft thump of her e-reader hitting the sofa makes me look up.
She’s glowing. Admittedly, she has been all the way through her pregnancy, apart from the brief morning sickness moments when she was glowing green.
“Did you enjoy that?” I ask as I save my work and push away from my desk.
