Compulsively Mr. Darcy
Page 30
He raced through the streets, dodging pedestrians and cars, and reached the cause of the traffic jam. The sight of an ambulance parked next to a car, out of which he swore he could hear the loud wailing of a mother and infant, spurred his legs to a faster speed. Glimpsing a flash of yellow ahead, he sprinted and grabbed the door handle of a cab that had just pulled up to a group waiting at a corner.
“Wife, twin babies born now, must get there,” he gasped to the astonished faces of the people whose cab he was stealing.
Their scowls turned into beaming smiles. He shut the door on them, in the middle of their congratulatory wishes.
With the promise of a tip twice as big as the man’s yearly income, he persuaded the cab driver to break an unprecedented number of traffic laws to deliver him to the waiting DDF jet in record time.
The cross-country flight was agonizing. Despite his repeated urgings to fly faster and faster, the DDF pilot refused.
“Mr. Darcy, we are going as fast as the aircraft can, at maximum cruising speed. Your hovering in the cockpit, peering over my shoulders isn’t—”
“Helping, I get it.” Darcy interrupted impatiently.
“Perhaps before Mrs. Darcy next gives birth, you might look into buying a supersonic jet.”
He had no better luck with the helicopter pilot who flew him from the Oakland airport to the hospital’s roof. Darcy refused to wait for the hospital representative, now delayed by an elevator, to greet him and take him to his wife. His instincts would lead him to his wife quicker, Darcy was convinced. He charged down the stairs.
Five minutes later, cursing the incompetence of whoever had designed the maze of the hospital corridors, he managed to find the Labor and Delivery wing. He burst through its double doors and ran smack into his mother-in-law.
“William! You shouldn’t be running in a hospital.”
Fearful, he could only manage a small whisper. “Elizabeth?”
His mother-in-law must have recognized his state. Her expression softened and she gently led him into a room.
Friends and relatives crowded the room, but the only person he saw clearly was his wife.
***
One glance at her husband’s face and Elizabeth waved everyone out.
After everyone had left, her husband still hadn’t moved an inch.
Spreading her arms wide, she waited. After another paralytic moment, he flew toward her. She could feel tremors coursing through his body as he buried his face in her neck. She pressed harder into him, offering comfort with her body.
“I… I…” his voice stumbled against her neck.
“I know, my love.” She stroked his arms and waited.
At last, his body stopped shaking and his breathing calmed. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. I’ve been having strange sensations but it’s all normal.”
He pulled back and gently rubbed her abdomen. “What sort of sensations?”
One of the babies kicked at his hand and he smiled. She thought that was the most wonderful sight, her husband’s delighted smile. Describing her contractions as best she could, she ended, “I’m not uncomfortable at all.”
“I should never have left you.”
She caressed his sweat-drenched hair. “Shhh! I made you go to New York. You needed to be there to deal with the security problem. Think of it as securing DDF for our babies’ inheritance. I’m fine. We’re all fine.”
“I was so afraid I wouldn’t see you again,” he whispered. “You’re as necessary to me as breathing, my Lizzy. Without your warmth, I can’t… I’ve only begun to live.”
She closed her eyes and inhaled, letting his pepper scent infuse her. “You’re my air, William.”
“I remember that first day I arrived in Vietnam, how I resisted going inside that hospital when Bingley injured himself. Today, I couldn’t get to you inside this hospital fast enough.”
“I’m cuter than him, that’s why.” She was gratified to see her husband smile at that.
“Will they be okay?”
“They’ll be fine. Now, it’s time to think of names.”
“No. No names yet.”
She laughed at the firmness in his voice. He was more superstitious than Aunt Mai’s Vietnamese relatives. They had convinced him it would be bad luck to have the baby names before birth; the gods would be jealous.
“You’re only at thirty-four weeks,” he said.
To distract him from his worrying, she groped him. “I know a way to pass the time while we wait for your children, Mr. Darcy.”
Groaning, he pulled her hand away. “We’re in a hospital room and you’re in labor.”
“Likely just false labor. I’m here as a precaution because my OB is afraid of you.” Per doctor’s orders, she’d had to abstain from sex for weeks. She’d refused, however, to give up the one sure way she knew would relieve stress for her husband. She smirked. “You know I do some of my best work with my hands and mouth lately.”
He blushed. “Naughty girl. I don’t want it without you.”
“We’ll see how long you’ll last.”
“I’m willing to be patient.”
For the next two weeks, their babies sorely tested William’s patience by refusing to be born. Her labor did not progress until a day shy of her thirty-sixth week of pregnancy, when she awoke one night more uncomfortable than usual.
Her husband, who had been sleeping in a cot next to her bed, instantly joined her when she restlessly moved. “You want me to rub your back?”
“Yes.” Her hand took advantage of his proximity. When he tried to move her hand away, she snarled at him. He stopped resisting. Despite her discomfort, she smiled at having gotten her way; she wasn’t in the mood to behave and she was glad he recognized that.
Occupied, they didn’t hear the quiet entrance of the night nurse coming to check Elizabeth’s vitals. William’s gasp echoed the embarrassed nurse’s gasp. The woman quickly retreated. The sight of his mortified face made Elizabeth laugh so hard, her water broke.
She was now in active labor.
Immediately, her medical training took over. She barked orders at the staff. She wanted perfection and prompt responses. No way was she going to accept anything less, not with her children’s lives at stake.
“Sweetheart, everyone is trying hard. Please calm down,” her husband said at one point.
“Why the hell are you the easygoing and calm one now?” she shouted at him, irritated that the staff had turned to him for guidance on how to deal with her.
“Because I, we, have done everything possible to make this experience safe for you and our babies,” he answered, his tone even. “I can’t promise you nothing bad will happen, but you and I have done everything in our power to prevent what we could. The rest is up to fate.”
“For a man who doesn’t usually say much, you can talk pretty when you need to, Mr. Darcy.”
“With your total love and acceptance of me and my neuroses, how could I not at least learn and grow a little, Mrs. Darcy?” He bent and kissed her forehead. “Besides, I did promise to talk more. That’s all I can do right now, talk. You’re the one who has the hard work ahead.”
And she worked hard the next few hours. Their baby boy was born first, followed minutes later by his sister. As soon as their daughter’s lusty cries followed their son’s hearty howling, Elizabeth’s husband promptly fainted.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The best part of writing this novel is the friendships I have gained. Besides the numerous readers who kept asking for more, I owe a big debt of gratitude to: my sister and Maria for being there from the first word, laughing; Kendra, Mary Anne, TJean, and Susan for their invaluable encouragement and help with the first draft; Mischa, Dawn, and Teresita for cheering and reading the finished first draft; Linda, Francesca, Carol, and Josephine for cheering and reading the ninth draft; and Sharon, Catherine, and Patricia for cheering and tirelessly proofreading the nth draft.
A special thank you to my critique par
tner and guardian angel, Pamala Knight, who encouraged, pushed, and threatened me with bodily harm if I didn’t pursue publication.
Thank you to my editor Deb Werksman for finding it a compulsive read and for her sharp editorial insights.
Thank you to my agent Jill Marsal for believing in my writing voice.
Lastly, thank you to my husband and children for bemusedly tolerating my Jane Austen addiction and my tabloid addiction.
Nina Benneton
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
When Nina Benneton and her family first arrived in America years ago, she took one look at the front lawns of her new neighborhood and thought, Gosh, these Americans are indeed a blessed race. They even got the gods to give them the power to grow trees in perfect geometric shapes. Inspired, she spent years making her family proud by trying to achieve the American dream—college, graduate school, gainful employment, then conquering the world and winning a Nobel Prize in something. A wonderful husband and a gaggle of beautiful children interrupted her attaining the last two goals, though the family promised she could resume her campaign once the nest is emptied.
Meanwhile, armed with a laptop, a stack of tabloid magazines, and a dog-eared Jane Austen novel, Nina started writing. On the same week that she learned Compulsively Mr. Darcy would be published, she went to the local nursery to look for trees with perfect geometric shapes to plant in her yard. She is hard at work on her third novel.