Tell Me a Lie (The Story Series Book 3)

by Tamara Lush

  Breaking potentially bad news wasn’t my strong point.

  I laid the food out carefully on the mats and unwrapped a sandwich roll. He watched me in silence, and I could tell he was appraising me, waiting for me to answer his question. It took a few frustrating minutes to undo the tight plastic around the sandwich and I finally handed it to him, along with a napkin.

  He took a bite, then chewed and tilted his head while staring at me. I glanced at him and marveled at how edgy he looked at the office. More like his brother Colin and less like the man I knew at home. Caleb inhaled the sandwich in five big mouthfuls. I opened the tortellini salad and speared one piece.

  “You must have been starving. Here.” I held the fork out to his mouth.

  He didn’t take my offering. “Emma. What are you avoiding my question? Is the baby okay?”

  I popped the tortellini in my mouth, chewed, then swallowed. “Yes. The baby is perfect, according to the doctor. It’s me that could have a problem.”

  His brow sunk. “Explain.”

  Whenever Caleb was at work, he tended to be more curt, businesslike, colder. Even when it came to me and the baby. I swear, his blue eyes even turned a lighter, icier hue when he was working.

  “Maybe I should have waited to tell you this at home-”

  “No. You’re doing the right thing by telling me now, but let me know what’s wrong. You know I hate being kept in the dark.”

  “The doctor says my blood pressure is slightly high.”

  He chewed on his bottom lip, then inhaled impatiently. “Is it high, or not?”

  “Well, it’s on the high side of normal, whereas it wasn’t before we went to Canada. They’re not sure if it’s gestational hypertension or not. It’s too early to tell, and my blood pressure was one-thirty-five over eighty.”

  “What’s hypertension?”

  “One-forty over ninety.”

  He nodded slowly. “Okay. So what does this mean?”

  “They want to see me next week, and the week after. It has to be two consistent readings of one-forty over ninety for them to make a diagnosis. They’d like me to buy a home blood pressure monitor to track the numbers. High blood pressure can be a serious problem in geriatric, uh, older pregnant women. It needs to be watched because there’s lots of potential complications, like preeclampsia. And my doctor’s suggesting more prenatal meditation and massage so I can de-stress.”

  “I’d suggest cutting back on some of your activities as a way to de-stress.” His expression was solemn.

  “I’m not really doing much,” I protested. “I gave half of my shifts to Gina at the bookstore.”

  “Right, but every day since we got back from our honeymoon, you’ve been out scouting for a location for your new bookstore or running around trying to get things ready. Why don’t you think about putting it on hold, at least until the baby is six months or a year or so?”

  “I told you I wanted to see if I could get it up and going before I give birth. I signed a lease and hired a manager. I’ve got a few months left to do everything.”

  “I think you’re taking on too much. Especially now, before the holidays.”

  I shot him a sharp look.

  “I’ll go to prenatal yoga. And maybe get a caterer for our Christmas Eve dinner.”

  “Maybe? No, you will. And I’ll tell my mother you’re not bringing anything for Thanksgiving.”

  “Fine. You don’t need to be so bossy and controlling.” My lips pursed into a pout.

  “I’m concerned, Emma. Because I love you. And from now on, I’m going with you to all of the doctor’s appointments so I can ask questions.” He rose and marched to his desk. “Did they tell you what kind of home blood pressure monitor to buy?”

  I leaned over, extracting a paper from my purse. He beckoned me with his finger and reached for the paper while pressing a button on his phone. I sank back down on the sofa.

  “Marie, please call Emma’s OB doctor to find out when her next appointments are and put them in my calendar. Block off two hours for each appointment. Oh, and send an assistant out to buy…” In a tense voice, Caleb read from the paper, repeating the model name and number of the blood pressure monitor twice. “Thank you.”

  I rolled my eyes but was secretly thrilled he was so interested in my pregnancy. I picked up the other half of the sandwich. “Look, the doctor said the slightly elevated blood pressure could be nothing. Let’s not worry about it until we start charting it at home, okay? Please eat. I made these for you because I know you like the homemade hummus.”

  He walked back over to the sofa, loosening the knot of his tie. Silently, he took the sandwich from my hand and set it on the coffee table. He eased next to me, and his voice dropped while he caressed my belly with his big hand. “I’m not trying to be bossy. I apologize. I’m worried. It scares me to think of you being sick while pregnant.”

  He paused to swallow, and that’s when it hit me. He’d watched his first wife die from cancer. Of course he’d be concerned for my health. Sometimes I forgot Caleb had a life before me.

  “Emma doll,” he continued, trailing the back of his index finger down my cheek, “you need to relax. You don’t have to make me homemade hummus. You don’t have to even make me lunch. You could have saved yourself time and stress by stopping at Subway. Or by staying at home and resting. Don’t try to be the perfect wife.”

  “But I like making you lunch. I don’t want you to eat Subway. Doing things for you makes me feel productive, and…I don’t know. Makes me feel like I’m caring for you. I want to be the perfect wife.” I looked down at his hand on my swollen stomach.

  “You are caring for me. You are the perfect wife.” He kissed my temple. “Promise you’ll go home and watch a movie or something? Read a book?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay, sure, I just got a bunch of new books in. One really good erotica novel I’ve been waiting for. You know how I like to read before starting to write a new story.”

  Caleb groaned and allowed his head to flop back. It made a thud when it hit the wall, and he scrunched his eyes shut. “Do you have to write erotica, on top of everything else? Won’t that elevate your blood pressure? We shouldn’t have been so kinky in Canada. Can we even have sex?”

  “It’s funny you ask.” I crawled into his lap and pressed my lips to his. “The doctor told me sex during pregnancy lowers a woman’s blood pressure.”

  Opening his eyes, he lifted his head and his hands went into my hair, fingers twisting into the curls. “So I have to take one for the team and make love to you more often?”

  I nodded slowly, and the warmth in his gaze finally returned.

  * * *

  Thanksgiving came and went, as did Christmas and New Year’s. Unlike previous years, I didn’t cook a feast and instead relied on a caterer for the holiday parties. It freed up time to work with a decorator on the baby’s room.

  Caleb and I had decided on a nursery theme based on the book Where the Wild Things Are because it had been a favorite book of Caleb’s and mine as a child, and I pored over wallpaper that looked like leaves and scoured websites to find the perfect birch wood crib. I’d selected a porch swing that doubled as a daybed, so I’d have a place to nurse and lounge. The designer had suspended the white, wooden swing from the ceiling by hooks and chains. It was only a foot off the floor and faced one of the condo’s stunning floor-to-ceiling windows.

  I’d already spent hours in there, swaying and reading, rubbing my tummy and wondering who my baby would look like. Caleb or me? Hopefully he or she would have Caleb’s cheekbones. And his eyes. All of his family had such interesting blue eyes of varying hues. Yes, my baby should have the King family eyes, I thought as I rocked.

  The nursery’s overall vibe was light and whimsical, the stuff of fantasies. It was like stepping into another world, and I hoped the baby would love it.

  One day, Caleb walked into the penthouse carrying a five-foot-long alligator stuffed animal. I chortled. “A gator?”


  “I thought you’d enjoy a more lifelike one than a cartoon-looking one wearing a University of Florida shirt.”

  “What’s this for?” I asked, squeezing the soft head. It was made of a smooth, almost shiny, fabric.

  “I had an idea for it. Come.”

  We went into the nursery, and he knelt down with the alligator. With a little push, he slid it under the swing so its nose poked out, then he looked up at me. “Too macabre?”

  I shook my head and laughed. “I love it. It goes perfectly with the giant giraffe in the corner.”

  He stood and we both grinned down at the gator. “I don’t want our child to fear anything. I want him, or her, to face the monsters under the bed, so to speak. Make friends with them.”

  I flung my arms around Caleb. “Do you think we should find out the sex of the baby? Like maybe before you go to Brazil next week? We have an appointment tomorrow for an ultrasound.”

  “No. We’re going to wait. This is one of the only big surprises in life.” He laughed. “You’re having a difficult time not knowing, aren’t you? You’ve never been good with delayed gratification.”

  I snickered. “Yes, but it’s totally fine.” I was anxious to find out if the baby was a boy or a girl, but I did agree with Caleb. Already, I knew so much about the baby: how it liked to kick right when I was falling asleep and how it seemed to dance around after I drank orange juice. The fact I was carrying a person in my body and didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl seemed like alchemy.

  “I can’t wait to meet her. Or him.”

  “We made a human,” Caleb said softly, caressing my stomach.

  It was moments like these when I felt like life was happening as it should. As if, after thirty-five years, I’d finally hit my stride. I went to prenatal yoga and delegated tasks for my new bookstore and for the old one. Life held purpose on every level, and I couldn’t recall ever being so happy. I found myself singing in the shower, in the car, and in the kitchen.

  Still, my blood pressure often remained on the high side of normal, and doctors watched me carefully. So did Caleb. He made a point of taking my readings in the morning and at night with the expensive little machine. He looked so serious one day as he wrapped the cuff around my arm that I giggled. We were on the sofa, me propped against some pillows in a sitting position. He knelt over me, his brow furrowed in concentration.

  “Don’t move,” he said. “And stop laughing.”

  I bit my tongue until he got the reading, which was in the normal zone.

  “See, Dr. King? I’m perfectly healthy.”

  He grinned as he carefully folded the cuff into the box, and I twisted to face him, my hands at the buttons of my short-sleeved pajama top.

  “You were an excellent patient, Mrs. King.”

  “Doctor, I was hoping you’d also check my heartbeat.” I undid one button of my shirt, then another. “I feel like you need to do a thorough physical.”

  “Hmm. It seems like I’ve forgotten some key instruments, so I’ll have to use some old-fashioned diagnostic tools,” he said, caging me with his arms. One hand opened my shirt, which allowed my breasts to spring free. They’d gotten huge over the past month.

  “Oh, no, what kind of tools?” I said, pretending to be concerned.

  “My mouth,” he whispered, putting his lips to one nipple, then the other, sending a frisson of desire through me.

  “But, Doctor!” I gasped in a fake, high voice. “Whatever will my husband say?”

  “Mrs. King, we’re not going to tell your husband about my unorthodox medical practice.” Caleb’s long-lashed eyes were half-closed now, and a little smile played on his lips.

  “What methods do you use, Doctor?”

  He murmured a laugh and put my hand between his legs. He was already erect, and I wrapped my hand around the outline of his erection and widened my eyes.

  “I have certain instruments that will allow me to gauge your overall health, Mrs. King.”

  I opened my mouth. “What a big instrument you have, Doctor. Is this safe for pregnant women?”

  That made him laugh hard. “I’m sorry, but I’ll need to perform further tests before I judge.” His hand roamed up my bare leg and under the hem of my pajama shorts, making me laugh. Then he pressed his mouth to mine and kissed me, hard and virile.

  All roleplaying was over, because I wrapped my arms around his neck so I could devour him.

  He was about to slip a finger inside of me when I heard the elevator ding. Caleb sat up with a start.

  “Caleb, who’s here?” I scrambled to button my top. I kept meaning to do something about the damned elevator; anyone we’d approved to visit could soar right up and into our living room. This setup had worked for Caleb as a bachelor, but now we were having a family, I didn’t want unannounced chaos. I made a mental note to talk to the concierge.

  “Oh, shit, I forgot I told Colin to come over. We’re playing racquetball tonight.”

  I rolled my eyes as the doors slid open. “And I thought I had pregnancy brain.”

  Caleb stood up, glancing to make sure I was clothed as his brother walked in. He smelled like a cloud of cologne, and I sneezed.

  “I thought you were going to spend every night at home until you went to Brazil.” I sounded like a nagging wife, but seeing Colin’s even, white grin annoyed me.

  “Hey, lovebirds,” he said, cocking an eyebrow. “Sorry to have interrupted.”

  I sat up, grunting. It was probably obvious we’d been fooling around. My hair was wild, my nipples poked through my pajama shirt, and my face was hot and probably pink.

  Hoisting myself off the sofa, I waddled slowly into the kitchen. It only took Caleb two steps to catch up with me.

  “Babe, I’m sorry. I’ll only be gone a couple of hours, okay? I’ll take a full day off from work before I go. How’s that?”

  He looked like such a sheepish little boy, and I grinned. It was impossible for me to stay irritated with Caleb.

  “Have fun.” I put my arms around him. “Can you stop and get me one of those huge oatmeal cookies from Whole Foods on the way home?”

  He pressed his lips to mine. “Anything for you. I’ll get you two.”

  Chapter 5

  “I hate leaving you like this.” Caleb sighed into my neck.

  “I know. I’ll miss you too.” I ruffled his hair. We were lying on the bed, him clothed, me in pajamas. It was nine in the morning and he was waiting for a limo to arrive to take him to the airport, where he’d fly to Brazil. “But it’s only for five days. Quick trip. No big deal.”

  I was just over six months pregnant and now spending a lot of time in leisure wear while I worked on the computer from the bed or the sofa. That’s what I called it, anyway. Leisure wear. Caleb called them jammies.

  At least they were silk maternity pajamas. I had a different pair for every day of the week, and that morning, I had put on a light blue ensemble after showering.

  He groaned. “I know. But you’re so pregnant. I don’t want to be so far away from you. What if something happens?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen. I don’t want you to be away, either, but you’ve been working on this project for years. Since before I met you. Remember? You told me about this the first night we met at Story Brothel. You have to go to the opening party. The Brazilians would be put off if you didn’t show up.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. I wish you could see it with me. Be there with me. It’s an incredible building, Emma. Twice the size of this one.”

  “I know. And I’ll see it someday. We’ll see it as a family. And, anyway, even if the mosquito viruses weren’t a concern, I wouldn’t feel like going now. Not when I’m this big and uncomfortable.” It was difficult to believe I had two and a half more months of this. I felt like I’d been pregnant for years.

  He sighed and propped himself on his forearms. Stared at me with those big blue eyes of his, in the way he always did that made me feel both vulnerable and loved.

  “I don’
t care about the opening. I can stay home. If you’re uncomfortable, I should stay.”

  “No,” I said, shifting and flopping to my left side, facing him. I glanced down at my legs and caught a glimpse of my ugly, swollen ankles. “You need to do this. I know how important this is. How difficult it’s been to get this building through. It’s been three years, right? More? You need to celebrate. Put the project behind you. I’ll be fine.”

  I rattled off all the things I had to do over the next five days, which included changing out of my leisure wear. “Bookstore, baby clothing store, organic market, pregnancy massage…”

  Caleb interrupted me. “Please? Try to take it easy, okay? Tack an hour on to the massage. Make it a two-hour session. Between massage and the yoga, your blood pressure’s holding. Thank God it went down last week.”

  “I think it’s actually because you’re satisfying my carnal needs,” I teased, then lowered my voice, thinking of how I’d been on top in a reverse cowgirl position that morning and I’d rode him hard. “You really satisfied them this morning.”

  He exhaled so his bottom lip pushed out and shook his head. “One minute I was thinking about how amazing your ass looked and the next minute I was considering whether to dial 911. I was scared you were going into labor.”

  This made me chuckle and I bit his neck.

  He growled at me. “God, I’ll miss you. And don’t forget to go to the doctor on Wednesday.”

  “Have I ever forgotten a doctor’s visit?”

  “No, but you did accidentally put the coconut milk in the freezer.”

  I laughed. “It’s called pregnancy brain. Which I think you’re suffering from by proxy. You’ve been really absentminded lately.”

  “Probably, yes. Or it’s those damned malaria pills I’ve had to take. I hate those things. Oh, make sure to take your pressure readings twice a day, like we’ve been doing. I’ll send you a text to remind you.”