Claim Me

by Geneva Lee

  I knew what I had to do whether she liked it or not. I went to her, lifting her in my arms before she could process what was happening. Clara didn’t fight me as I carried her across the hall to our bedroom. Her arm looped around my neck as though she might fall—as if I would let her—and I could swear I felt her fingers trail softly down the back of my neck. No doubt that was wishful thinking again.

  I brought her to the bed, wondering how far she would allow me to go. But she needed to rest and I needed to give her time to find her way back to me, even if it killed me to lower her onto the bed alone. I yanked the bed coverings down, drinking in her perfect body as she wiggled under the sheets.

  Without thinking, I cupped her face, running my thumb along the curve of her cheekbone. I didn’t dare kiss her and it was taking every ounce of restraint that I had to keep the rest of my body to myself. My thumb strayed to her full lips, tracing them and remembering her taste. I missed her. I needed her. I had to find a way to tell her that.

  Her lips parted slightly and a sigh escaped before she moved her face away from my hand. I reached for her again, unsatisfied. She belonged to me and if she’d only remember that, we would find a way to make it through this.

  “Don’t,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep even though her eyes clenched shut a bit too tightly.

  I yanked my hand back like she’d bitten me. I couldn’t blame her for saying no, but this time, unlike so many others, she meant it fully. There was no room for another interpretation, and as if to prove it, she rolled to her side, turning her back to me, before curling into a ball. Part of me wanted to climb into bed with her, take her into my arms, and force her to talk to me. Most of me wanted to climb into bed and take what was mine. I doubted she would stop me, but I couldn’t brush away the finality of her tone. Reaching down, I drew a blanket over her, allowing my fingers to brush over her shoulder softly before walking away.

  She was back in my bed, but there was a wall around her—invisible but felt. She'd built it between us. I couldn't blame her. A good man would bring it down brick by brick. I found myself looking for dynamite.

  Chapter 3

  Clara

  As soon as the nurse closed the door behind us, Belle turned her patented best friend glare on me. It went well with her crimson lipstick.

  “Fess up. What is going on with you and Alexander?” she demanded.

  I shrugged, painfully aware that she wasn’t going to buy any excuse I gave for his absence. She didn’t know about what had happened. No one did. I hadn’t even told Georgia what was waiting for me behind that closed door and she hadn’t asked. Because she understood sometimes a girl needed time to process having the rug pulled out from under her. That wasn’t a trait that Belle shared.

  “Clara,” she pressed. “Talk to me. I’m worried.”

  “Everything’s fine,” I lied, wishing I had more energy to sell it. I hadn’t been able to sleep after Alexander had carried me to our bed and abandoned me there. Did I wish he had stayed? I’d told him to stop. Why did he only listen to me when I didn’t really want him to?

  “Bollocks. You are practically comatose, and I would know, because I’ve seen you actually comatose.” She fell silent for a minute, her blue eyes narrowing. “You haven’t told him.”

  “No,” I said quickly, “and I’m not going to. This has nothing to do with that.”

  “He should know,” she started but I shot her a look that shut her up.

  “No good will come of him knowing something might be wrong with the baby.” My husband was a mystery to me in many ways. This wasn’t one of them. I knew with absolute certainty how he would react to that news. I couldn’t stomach the thought of him trying to coddle me and protect me, not after what he’d kept secret for all this time. It would only add fuel to his belief that I was too fragile for his world.

  “You shouldn’t face this alone.”

  “I’m not,” I reminded her, “unless you’re going to…”

  “Of course, I’ll be right here.” She dropped into a chair in the corner. “I just don’t understand how you deal with it. You two are like a roller coaster—up and down and bloody crazy. Sometimes it makes me nauseous just to watch.”

  “That might be the morning sickness,” I said dryly.

  “No, it is definitely e-motion sickness and I caught it from watching you.” She crossed her arms and I noticed for the first time the slightest hint of a baby bump as her shirt stretched from the movement. “The stress isn’t good for you or the baby.”

  “I know.” I took a deep breath and forced a smile that I hoped was reassuring. “Everything is fine. We just had a little fight.”

  “Stress bad,” she repeated defiantly.

  “Got it.” I needed to change the subject because she was beginning to stress me out now. “You’re showing.”

  That did the trick. She flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder, her other hand sliding down to the tiny swell and rubbing affectionately. “I know. Smith hardly lets me leave the house now.”

  “Getting overprotective?” I guessed. Belle didn’t like to admit it, but I knew her husband was every bit as macho as mine was.

  “No, he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself,” she said with a giggle.

  “Oh that! Yeah, it’s a real problem for men like ours.”

  “Men like ours?” she repeated.

  “Cave-dwelling, beat-their-chest types. They enjoy seeing us knocked up as much as they enjoy knocking us up,” I said with a smile that was actually genuine, if a bit rueful. “Alexander won’t stop until we have an army.”

  I said it without thinking and then I remembered that wasn’t possible. One complicated pregnancy was chance. Two was a sign. It felt like someone had hit me in the chest with a hammer. I gasped for breath and blinked against tears. A house full of babies wasn’t in our future, because I was damaged goods.

  “Hey,” Belle said softly, coming to sit next to me. “We still don’t know that anything’s wrong and there’s no reason to think—”

  “One caesarean might not be a big deal,” I sobbed, “but I’ll probably need another if the baby’s heart…” I couldn’t finish the thought. It was bad enough confronting the possibility that I would have to tell Alexander we shouldn’t have more children. When I had to face that something could happen to the baby growing inside me now I felt like I was going to crumble. I swiped at my eyes, embarrassed to have broken down so easily. “Sorry, I’m just…”

  “Stressed,” Belle finished for me. She wasn’t accusing me just making me see the truth. “Clara, what’s going on? Do you need to talk?”

  I wanted to open up and tell her everything, but I couldn’t. Not yet. Not before I had real answers about why Alexander had kept secrets from me. I still didn’t know if Edward knew, and until I found that out, it wasn’t my secret to share. “We’re fighting,” I admitted. “It’s normal stuff.”

  “You’re the Queen of England,” she pointed out. “I’m doubting it’s normal stuff, but I understand if you don’t want to tell me.”

  I bit my lip, trying to keep everything from tumbling out. This was my best friend. I told her everything. “I want to tell you, but I can’t. Not yet.”

  “Like you can’t tell him about the baby?” she asked softly.

  I opened my mouth to explain that this was different, but there was a knock on the door. Belle gave me a tight smile and went back to the chair in the corner as the doctor entered the room.

  “Your Majesty,” he said as I swallowed a sigh.

  “Clara,” I reminded him. Any man who had been face to face with my nether regions should probably be on a first name basis with me.

  He nodded as though he might consider using my real name, but I knew better. We’d been through this dozens of times when I’d been pregnant with Elizabeth. It wouldn’t stop me from trying, however. I would never get used to being present but apart. It was no wonder Alexander was screwed up.

  “I’ve spoken with the s
pecialist you saw. I know he wanted to look into your scans and your charts further,” he continued, his finger skimming over a chart.

  “He didn’t tell me much.” I smoothed down my dress nervously. I’d thought I would know much sooner than now, but even though I was panicked over the results, I hadn’t sought them out. Even now, I wasn’t certain I wanted to know what he had to tell me.

  “He took a cautious approach given…” he trailed away, and I filled in the blank: given who I was or, more importantly, given whose child this was. He flipped open a file and drew out a black and white image.

  The doctor wasn’t volunteering much and his obvious hesitance wasn’t very reassuring. He moved closer and held out the image, pointing at a spot that had been circled digitally. “This is your baby’s tricuspid valve. It connects your baby’s right ventricle with the right atrium. While it’s a bit early to be conclusive, it appears to be a bit too narrow.”

  My own heart plummeted into my stomach as I tried to process what he was telling me. “What happens if it is too narrow?”

  “It would be difficult for blood to leave the baby’s heart and get to its lungs. In most cases, we can keep the ductus arteriosus open with medication. Normally that valve closes when babies begin to breathe on their own.”

  I couldn’t think. I had too many questions rattling around in my head. I looked to Belle for help, only realizing I’d begun to cry when the movement made hot tears hit my cheeks.

  “So we keep it open with medicine,” she jumped in, nodding to me. Thank God for best friends. “Then what?”

  “It will depend on a number of factors. Likely the baby will need a surgery not long after birth. We will continue to monitor this very closely, Your—” I shot him a look and he fumbled for a second before shifting gears “—Clara.”

  Belle glanced at me, clearly torn about her next question. Our eyes met and I knew she was wondering exactly the same thing I was, but she couldn’t say it. She shouldn’t have to, I realized. Swallowing against the ache in my throat, I forced myself to ask it instead. “What are the baby’s chances?”

  “Very good,” he answered quickly. “We’re quite fortunate to have caught it. Early intervention means a very high survival rate.”

  Survival rate. Early intervention. Words I’d never expected to hear about my unborn child. I was cracking slowly, breaking under the weight of my life. I needed to be strong for the baby, but that was the only thing holding me together. One wrong word might be all it took to shatter me.

  “There are a few other things you should know,” he began and I braced myself, wondering how much more my own heart could take.

  * * *

  A half hour later I was on information overload. Norris was waiting with the car as Belle and I exited the private entrance to the clinic. I would never know how he always managed to keep the paparazzi at bay, but today I was especially grateful for it. He eyed me without comment as I gave him a tight-lipped smile and climbed into the backseat. Belle cast furtive glances at me but kept quiet, massaging her own baby absently as we drove.

  “Home?” Norris asked, and I realized I’d fallen into a daze.

  “Don’t I have a schedule?” I said coldly, immediately regretting my bitchy tone. It wasn’t his fault that this was happening. It wasn’t his fault that the baby was sick. It wasn’t his fault that he was here and Alexander wasn’t. No, that was all my fault.

  “I believe you’re free this afternoon, if…” he said without a hint of sarcasm or annoyance. Of course, he usually had to put up with Alexander and his whiplash-worthy mood swings. The man was a saint—the father Alexander had never had and the man most likely to talk sense into my often irrational husband.

  “Why don’t we go somewhere?” Belle offered.

  “Where?” I asked her. I wanted to, more than anything, but I couldn’t just go out to lunch or to shop. I wouldn’t know where to go, even if I could.

  Belle searched for an answer, clearly understanding my unspoken need for privacy. “My house? I’ll send Smith out for some curry and we can chat. Norris can sweep the entire building if he needs to.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said, his eyes following our conversation in the rearview mirror.

  “Look, I’m on the approved list!” Belle clapped her hands like she’d won a prize, earning a laugh from both of us. I didn’t tell her that I suspected she was more than on the approved list. It wouldn’t surprise me if Alexander had security checking in on her regularly. He was overbearing like that.

  Smith met us in the foyer, giving me a quick hello before wrapping his arms around Belle. He was one of the few men in the world completely nonplussed by my presence and I loved him for it. No fawning over me. No awkwardness. Then again, he didn’t seem to notice much when my best friend was around. He gave her a swift kiss, and the look on his face sent my thoughts to Alexander.

  Alexander looked at me that way. He didn’t notice anyone else when I walked into a room. That wasn’t what I missed, though. I missed his kiss. I missed his arms. I missed a thousand little things that I hadn’t even known I missed. I missed him.

  “Can you go grab us some curry for lunch?” Belle asked Smith in a low voice.

  I blinked at the sound of her voice, realizing only then that I had started to cry again. Smith cast a worried look in my direction but nodded. Thank God for men who could take a hint. He grabbed a jacket off the hook by the door and slid it over his broad shoulders. Giving Belle one more quick kiss, he left.

  “Let's talk.” Belle took me by the shoulders, obviously not trusting my dazed state, and led me into the parlor.

  “I don't want to talk about Alexander.” I barely processed that we’d changed locations. I was too busy holding back tears. Taking a seat on her cream-colored sofa, I grabbed a pillow to clutch to my chest. It felt good to hold something. Later I would go home and cuddle Elizabeth.

  Nothing really mattered to me now but her and this baby's health. I didn't care about the secrets Alexander had kept. I didn't have room to stress about that in my life. There were more important things to consider. At least, I kept telling myself that. I only wished I believed it. “I don't know how I'm going to do this.”

  It hurt to admit it, but I knew if anyone would understand it was Belle.

  “Well, to start with, you aren’t going to do it alone,” she said.

  So much for not talking about Alexander.

  “I can't tell him,” I said forcefully because she didn’t seem to be hearing me on this point. “He will make this stressful. He won't be able to keep himself from worrying. This is about the baby, not us. Alexander knowing will only make things worse than they already are.”

  We weren’t just talking about the baby’s health anymore and we both knew it.

  “Clara,” Belle said my name with some hesitation. “What happened?”

  “You know.” But she didn’t and that was the problem.

  “Something else is going on.” She took a deep breath and then rattled off the last question I expected from her. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No! Nothing like that.” I shook my head at the thought. “Alexander would never hurt me physically.”

  “Would he hurt you other ways?”

  “Not intentionally.” I knew what she was driving at. Both she and Edward worried about my often tumultuous relationship with Alexander and their concern had been mounting lately. “He doesn't seem to know how to be honest with me.”

  One of Belle’s expertly shaped eyebrows arched into a question mark. “It seems like you both have that problem.”

  “It's complicated.” I was aware of how stupid that sounded. Yes, Alexander and I had more to worry about than your average couple, but, at the end of the day, should things be this hard between a husband and his wife? Belle didn't say anything as I stewed. “Maybe it shouldn’t be, but I don't know how to change it.”

  “It would help if you started talking about things.” There was no recrimination in her voi
ce — no edge of accusation. This was my best friend trying to remind me of a simple fact: if I wanted things to be less complicated, I should make them easier.

  “Look,” she continued. “Alexander frustrates the shit out of me. He always has. Sometimes I don't know how you put up with him, but I'm sure people wonder the same thing about Smith.” Her accompanying laugh was hollow. “You know why you love him. I’m just worried. You’re hurting. I can see that.”

  “Love increases our tolerance for pain,” I whispered.

  “Maybe it shouldn't," Belle echoed me earlier.

  “It has to,” I said. She didn't argue with me.

  Love made people stronger. That much I knew. In a world where it was so much easier to hate, love was defiant. But love — true love — also broke hearts and tore people apart—then pieced them back together. We were all scar tissue masquerading as people. I'd seen Alexander's scars. The ones that marred his body and the ones that marked his soul. There had been no one around to love him through it then— to help put him back together. Under his strong body and dominant exterior he didn't have the layers of protection that loving him had given me. I’d developed a thicker skin with every lie and every secret. Every time a tabloid shared a vicious rumor that hit too close to the truth, I’d gotten stronger and with that strength, I’d shielded him. But maybe that was where I had gone wrong. I'd kept no secrets from him even while I guarded his from everyone else. We were caught in an endless cycle—my love protecting him from pain by enduring it myself. I’d fooled myself into believing that he carried the weight of the world but if we were going to be stronger together, we both had to change. I had secrets from him now—secrets that were going to hurt him. Secrets that could change everything. They were enough of a burden to carry. I couldn't carry his anymore.

  I knew what I had to do.

  “There's an estate outside of Windsor,” I began. It was time to tell someone the truth.

  Chapter 4