by D. B. James
“Someone’s bossy,” he says while wiggling his eyebrows up and down, followed by a wink. “I love it when you’re bossy.”
“And I hate it when you’re creepy. The wink? Yeah, I’ll admit I love it. The eyebrow thing? Never do it again.” Making a show of it, I shudder.
We’re both still laughing as we enter the elevator. An elderly gentleman is inside, and the expression on his face when we get in causes us both to stop. Talk about a mood killer. He doesn’t offer a friendly grin or a reply to our simple greeting, and here I thought all Italians were jovial—or am I confusing them with the Irish? I’m still full of Ireland facts from my trip there.
Once we’re out on the cobblestone streets, I glance at Rhys and wordlessly offer him my hand. The aches in my feet are forgotten as I revel in the beauty of the city surrounding us.
Four nights later, as we lie tangled in each other’s arms, I broach the subject of Brant for the first time since the day in Cancun—the day I’ve been referring to in my head as B-day.
“When you spoke with your mother, did you mention anything?”
“Nope.” The one-word reply pops from his lips. He doesn’t offer anything else.
“I know it’s a touchy subject, but at some point, we have to talk more about what happened. You have to talk more about it. Vent it all out to me—that’s what I’m here for, to be your strength in these times. For better or worse, Rhys.”
Brant is still caring for Sadie while we’re away. It all exploded at the worst possible time and we had no one else to take her. My parents would have done it, but it was too much to ask, plus the fact that I didn’t want to explain why I was asking them to take over watching her.
Sighing, he pulls me in closer, as if it were possible. “I’ll tell her once we’re back home. As for talking about it, we will…in a while. I promise.” Placing a kiss upon my forehead, he lets out another long sigh.
Inside, I’m shouting for him to open up to me more, but I know he will in due time. I know he’s holding it all inside because he feels like bringing it up will put a damper on our time here. If only I could prove to him it wouldn’t.
“Goodnight, Rhys, I love you.”
“Goodnight, my beautiful wife. I love you, too.”
The days in Rome have flown by and before I know it, we’re on our last morning in the city. The time here has been magical; there’s no other way to describe it. The cobblestone streets, the history, the food, the people—every single thing has wooed me.
I’m in love with this city.
“Why do I feel like crying?” I ask as I toss my last piece of clothing into my suitcase.
“Because you love it here. It’s okay to feel sad you’re leaving. We’ll come back someday, I promise.”
Shutting the lid of my suitcase, I attempt to secure it closed. “Um, Rhys?”
“Yeah?” he asks from in the bathroom where, if I know him at all, he’s stealing the toiletries.
“Can you, um, shut my suitcase?” When did I acquire this much crap? When we arrived, my suitcase closed and had space for tons more; why won’t it close now? “Did I buy more clothes than I thought?” I ponder.
Laughing, he takes a moment before he replies. “Babe, you bought a whole new wardrobe, not to mention the complete stock of herb crap for your feet. It’s no wonder your suitcase won’t close. It’s okay though, I have plenty of space in mine.”
“Good thing we’re driving to Naples—at least I won’t be charged for my baggage weighing more.”
“Who says I’m not going to charge you for using the extra space in mine?”
“What’s the fee? I’m not sure I carry the currency you require.” Winking at him as he walks toward me, I feel bold. He always makes me feel this way: empowered and secure.
“Don’t worry, you carry it. Besides, I offer a payment plan—I’m flexible like that.”
“Name it,” I say as his arms snake around my waist, pulling me in close.
“Sex. I take payments in sex.”
His lips crash into mine, hungrily taking what’s rightfully his to claim. We’re disturbed by a rapid knocking on the door followed by a hotel employee telling us our car has arrived and is ready for us any time now.
Rhys utters our thanks through the door and we silently move my extra clothes to his suitcase. When we make it down to the lobby, it takes barely five minutes for us to check out and secure the car before leaving.
Naples here we come.
The drive has been so picturesque, and I’ve been snapping pictures left and right.
It didn’t take Rhys long to become accustomed to driving the rental—and the streets of Rome—so it didn’t take long before we were outside the city proper. The drive to Naples isn’t a very lengthy one, but it is beautiful.
“Should we grab some of Naples’ famous pizza for dinner?” Rhys asks.
“You should know the answer to pizza is always yes.” Because pizza. As the last word leaves my mouth, I’m hit with an awful feeling of nausea. “Pull over—now.”
The car is barely stopped—I swear the wheels are still spinning—when I fling open my door and start vomiting. What in the world? Although…now that I think about it, I have been feeling queasy over the last day or two. As I’m getting sick, I hear the sound of a car door shut and see his feet before I hear his voice.
“Was it something you ate for breakfast?”
“I don’t think so.” I manage to get the words out before another bout of nausea hits, my back contorting with the retch. Thankfully my hair is tied back in a ponytail—I hate getting sick and having to hold my hair back. It’s a stupid thought to enter my mind, I know, but it’s honest.
His hands begin soothing me, rubbing gently up and down my back. “Do you think we could be pregnant already?”
“Actually, yeah, I do.” It’d be extremely early on in our pregnancy, but we’ve barely ever used protection other than my pills, and it could’ve happened before the wedding. I did miss a day here and there leading up to the event, and I stopped taking them at all back in Cancun.
“Wow. Yeah…okay.” He starts to nervously mumble under his breath, as if I can’t hear every word he utters—he’s only standing two feet away from me.
Once I’m positive I’m done getting sick, I open my purse, find a tissue, and clean myself up as much as I can at the moment. I’d kill for some mouthwash.
“Rhys?” He’s still standing in the same spot, his hand frozen on my back, though I’ve moved. “Stop muttering under your breath. If I’m pregnant, we’ll know before long. We wanted this. It’s okay.” It truly is. We want a lovebug of our own. It’s been slightly over two weeks since the discussion, but like I said, it could’ve happened sooner. I’m great either way—the sooner the better in my book.
“Can you open my toiletries bag and grab the mouthwash?”
I’d be overjoyed if I woke up tomorrow to find my stomach rounded with our baby. Yeah, yeah, yeah, it’d be impossible to be showing so soon, but that’s my dream.
Muttering—and now I can’t make out what he’s muttering—he hands me some mouthwash. Taking a swig, I make quick work of refreshing my mouth.
“My period should’ve started this week and it hasn’t, and then the mention of pizza made me sick. Adding it all together makes me believe we’re pregnant. I’m sure we can find a test somewhere in Naples, to help set our minds at ease. If we can’t, I’ll just stop drinking and enjoy the rest of our honeymoon—a honeymoon where we’re going to be making babies.”
It’ll also mean I may get hit with bouts of fatigue, but we’ll deal with it if it becomes an issue. For now, a few stints of nausea are nothing major.
“I’d like for my hulking, sturdy, muscular, virile, strong husband with super sperm to get back into this car and drive me to the nearest pizza joint, as fast as you can find one. Only stop if you spot gelato before pizza.”
Putting my legs back in the car, I close my door, effectively letting him know I’m ready to
continue on with our day. Why stress about something we don’t know to be true yet? I’d rather enjoy this beautiful day in Italy.
He gets in, starts the car, and pulls back out onto the road. Nearly five minutes have gone by when he breaks the silence. “I’m scared—not to actually have a baby, because I want at least a basketball team with you, but I’m sacred of becoming some hard-ass father like my dad, someone who’s always expecting things to be done a certain way, who has firm rules that must be followed. Fuck, my own father treated me like a soldier and eventually paid him to keep correspondence from me. I’m scared of becoming exactly like Frank.”
“You, my beautifully broken man, will never become Frank Gallhagar. The man you are? He’s a million times better than the man who raised you. I’m not saying Frank was always a terrible father—he had his good days—but he never should’ve been a father. He knew how to train soldiers, not raise children.”
Letting out a sigh, he glances over my way, catches my gaze, and continues on the drive taking us to Naples.
Who knew an unexpected round of morning sickness would be so enlightening?
Is it possible to go into a coma from eating too much pizza? Asking for a friend.
We’re sitting propped up on our hotel room bed, patting our full stomachs, watching an episode of Arrow dubbed in Italian.
“Will using Siri cost us an international rate?” I ask.
Shrugging is the only reply Rhys gives me. He must think if he talks, he’ll either burp or barf—my money is on burping.
“Hey Siri.” After she answers back in her oddly alluring robotic tone, I proceed to ask her what I want to know. “Is there such a thing as eating too much pizza?” Blasphemy, I know. I’m scared of the powers that be hearing my question and never letting me eat pizza again.
“If one ate and kept eating in excess, thus getting sick, I’d say yes, there’s such a thing as eating too much pizza. Here’s what I found on the web for ‘eating too much pizza’.”
Rhys’ shoulders are shaking in silent laugher. “I can’t believe you asked Siri about eating too much pizza. Does she call you by your nickname, or have you not trained her?”
Trained Siri? What the heck is he talking about?
“Did eating too much pizza make you high? What do you mean, ‘trained her’?”
“Do me a favor, ask her your name.”
“Um, odd, but okay.” After a moment, I do as he asked. “Siri, what’s my name?”
“Your name is Averill. Since we are friends, I may call you Averill.”
Hm, interesting. No nickname like Rhys seems to think, but she does use my first name.
“Now listen as I ask mine the same thing,” he commands. “Siri, what’s my name?”
“Your name is Rhys, not Rice. Since we are friends, I may call you Reese’s Pieces.”
Not able to control the hysterical laugher busting out of my mouth, I don’t bother to try. It’s priceless. His damn phone calls him Reese’s Pieces! It takes me at least five minutes before I calm down enough to be able to ask him how he trained her to call him by another name.
“How?” is all I manage to get out before I start laughing again.
“Easy, you tell her to start calling you Tiger Lily and she will.”
The silly things we do in our downtime. I wouldn’t trade these little moments for anything. After “training” Siri to call me by my nickname, I ask Rhys if he wants to join me for a nice soak in the bathtub. He declines, but only because he wants to go out and grab us some more gelato. I’m stuffed, but there’s no way I’m turning down more gelato.
A friend of mine gave me a tip before visiting here: eat gelato at least twice a day. She meant every word of it, and we’ve done our best to eat our weight in the creamy goodness. I may tease Rhys about eating too much of it, but the truth is, we walk enough to burn off the calories. The pizza on the other hand? Nope, the pizza will be sticking to my thighs.
We’ve been in Naples for four days now, and we leave tomorrow to go spend almost eight full days on Capri. I’ve asked if we can tour the Blue Grotto more than once, and of course, Rhys readily agreed. We talked about wanting to break the law and try to swim there after hours, but with his job as a lawyer, it probably wouldn’t be a great idea to get arrested in a foreign country. On the other hand, if security had been alerted of our tryst back in Cancun, we could have both been arrested. Worth it.
Yesterday, we walked aimlessly in several different areas of the city. We stumbled upon a children’s football game, or as we Americans call it, soccer.
Fans of calcio, as they call it here, are brutal. You should have heard them cheering and booing. I swear the children playing were no older than eight, maybe nine. What made us stay was the coincidence that we both were wearing red and one team’s colors were red and black. We cheered for them along with nearly the whole crowd, and we were lucky they were the home team. I can honestly say watching the calcio game was one of my favorite times we’ve had since landing in Italy. Cheering along with the crowd when one of their kids made a goal was exhilarating.
In case you’re wondering, yes, I’ve been experiencing waves of nausea in midmorning and early afternoon all week, but we’ve yet to find a pregnancy test. It’s not because we don’t want to know, it’s basically because we’ve forgotten. I’ve stopped enjoying a glass of wine with dinner and instead have been drinking mainly water or juice.
Slipping into the tub, I sigh in contentment as the hot water soothes my achy body. I’ve begun putting the herbal concoction I purchased for soaking my feet into the whole bath, and it’s been working wonders on my tired body. Lately I’ve been feeling more tired than normal—another sign of pregnancy. Rhys has yet to notice, or if he has, he hasn’t said anything.
“Hey, sleeping beauty, I have raspberry goodness for you.”
Rhys is standing next to the tub, waving gelato in my face.
“Huh?” I’m confused. I didn’t hear him come back, and he’s back super fast—I just slipped into the bath.
“You were asleep, and I woke you by waving gelato under your nose. It actually worked.” He takes a lick of my gelato while I’m still processing what he’s saying.
“Eat your own,” I say while struggling to get up. It’s hard to find purchase; I must’ve put too many herbs in because it’s particularly slippery.
“I’ll help you. Give me a moment to go set your gelato down and I’ll come lift you, baby.”
“M’kay,” is all I can manage to say. I’m so damn tired. My eyes begin to close again, too heavy to keep open. It must be all the walking we’ve been doing over the past two weeks, not to mention all the sex we’ve been having. I swear it’s like we’re competing in the sex Olympics.
The next thing I remember is Rhys’ arms holding me tight while he walks me toward the bed. He lays me down on the comforter without drying me off first.
“I’ll worry about the bedding later. I’m working on drying you now and getting you into some pajamas.”
“Okay, what about my gelato?”
“It’s safely tucked away in the freezer. If you can keep your eyes open long enough after I get you taken care of, you may have it.”
He begins drying my body as swiftly as possible, starting with my feet and ending at my neck. Grabbing another towel, he twists my hair up in it then proceeds to place one of my new nightgowns over my head. The whole time I’ve been drowsy but still awake. I want my damn gelato. Stubbornness is one of my many flaws.
“Before we leave for Capri, we need to make a point to find a pregnancy test. This sickness and now the fatigue have to be connected. After you eat your treat and are safely tucked in, I’ll run back out and go to the store.”
“We don’t need a test. This is how I was feeling the first time around. The symptoms are exactly the same. We can call to book an appointment with the doctor for once we’re home. We can call tomorrow if you like, but I don’t need a test to prove to me what I’m feeling inside my own body.�
��
I may have wanted one a few days ago, but not anymore. Once the tiredness started seeping in, I knew without a doubt I was pregnant. The only thing a test would do is give us confirmation, but like I said, I can confirm the way I’m feeling at the moment. We have fourteen days left of our honeymoon, and I can wait until after to find out from a doctor.
“If you say we’re pregnant, I believe you. Holy shit, Averill.”
His perfect face lights up with his grin. Hell, he’s lighting up the whole room, and I can’t help but grin back at him.
“Holy shit, Rhys,” I mimic.
“Is it weird that I kind of want to open the balcony doors and scream from them?”
“Hell no, it’s not weird. Let’s do it together. We can scream, ‘We’re having a baby!’”
As far as I’m concerned, we could shout it for the whole world to hear, loud enough for Smith to hear it as it made the bars of his cell ring. He’d know for certain then that he didn’t win when it came to stealing my happiness.
“Averill?”
“Yeah?”
“I fucking love you, and I’m going to love this baby as much as I love its mother. It’ll never know a day without love, I promise you.” He has tears gathering in his eyes—tears of happiness. For the first time since leaving Cancun, he’s truly happy. He’s not thinking about what his friend and father did, he’s just bursting with joy.
“I couldn’t love you more if I tried.”
As the sun sets on the streets of Naples, we open our balcony doors and shout out our news to the world.
The ferry ride into Capri has been…fun.
Fun for Rhys—if you think holding back your wife’s hair while she’s sick for nearly the whole ride is fun. Personally, I don’t think it would be. Rhys, a gentleman to his core, has stood by me the whole time, massaging my back, whispering words of love and encouragement. He brought me warm tea—black and plain—as well as some dry toast.