Midwife's Longed-for Baby & the Prince's Cinderella Bride & Bride for the Single Dad (9781488022142)

by Anderson, Caroline; Berlin, Amalie; Taylor, Jennifer

  “Your body’s different.” She tried to sound unaffected, but she might’ve turned so that her underthings were displayed anyway. He’d turned her down, after all. By his heavy-lidded stare, he was at least distracted. “I bet you’re at least thirty-five pounds heavier than when I last saw you undressed.”

  He’d not undressed for the office sex that Quinn’s vehemence troubled her ability to categorize. She’d been the only one naked for that.

  She shimmied out of the baby-blue pencil skirt and retrieved the scrubs.

  “Your body is different too,” he said thickly. Then, with way more energy, he added, “You got a tattoo!”

  Before she could say anything about it, her door guard left his post and crossed to her.

  “Quinn!” she squawked, grabbed the scrubs top and darted around him to block the door herself. “You are supposed to be blocking the door with your extra pounds!”

  “Hold still. Infinity symbol… Tiny writing.” He fell to one knee, grabbed her by the hips and spun her around to get a better look at the slender ribbon of script circling back on itself. “Today’s courage is tomorrow’s peace.”

  The words had his brows pinching and he looked up at her, working on the meaning in relation to her.

  “I know what you’re thinking.” She tugged the top on and carefully stepped around him. “Stay at the door this time. I need the bottoms.”

  “That’s not what I was thinking.”

  “No. You’re thinking, with a motto like that I should’ve handled Wayne on my own.”

  “Wrong again.”

  Of course she was. People didn’t get tattoos to remind them of things they’d like to forget. She’d made the mark on her flesh in the hopes of getting it off her heart.

  Leave today, have peace tomorrow…only it hadn’t happened that quickly. But she didn’t want to talk about it right then. “Okay, maybe I don’t know then.”

  She tugged on the bottoms and, after her usually nimble fingers refused to tie the drawstring, gave up and just stuffed her utterly impractical and improper kitten-heeled feet into the shoe covers from the bottom of the bag.

  He was still watching her; she could feel it, vibrating the air, bringing on another round of tingles and an accelerated heartbeat that could either be desire or the sick feeling this conversation summoned.

  Let it drop. Today was already too emotionally fraught for him to engage in this.

  “Do you want to know?” He obviously didn’t feel the desire to let go, but the low rumble his voice developed echoed other desires.

  Ignore those other desires too; he’d made clear the price and she wasn’t willing to pay. “Will it bring me peace tomorrow?”

  The laugh she got in return eased her a little, another form of distraction.

  “You’re kind of hit and miss on the application of this motto.”

  “I’m a work in progress. It’s there to remind me.”

  “That change takes courage and an act of will?”

  She nodded, her throat suddenly unwilling to let sound through.

  Please, stop there.

  “Did it work with me?”

  When he said those things, it always made her feel as if the ground were falling away from under her.

  It would do her no good to deflect again; that his question knocked the air out of her answered well enough. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  “Truth is always appreciated.”

  Not true. He wouldn’t want her if he knew the truth about her lackluster judgment, morals…the battered self-esteem she fought against all the time. “In a way, it did. In other ways, it didn’t.”

  He nodded in a slow, measuring way. “How did it make things…not better?”

  “You know how,” she said, but couldn’t find any strength to make her words more than a ghost of the feeling she’d wallowed in for years after leaving.

  “Tell me anyway.” He was near her now, near enough to touch, near enough his whispered command felt like a warm request.

  “I missed you.” Because she’d already admitted she’d left for his good once, not because she’d wanted to. “But I stopped being so afraid all the time. If you’re angry about that, I get it—I sacrificed us to save me. And you. Your family. It was the only thing I could do.”

  “And now?”

  He wanted her admission—and Anais could only pretend to herself that she didn’t love him when he wasn’t with her—but she didn’t want to accept that he still loved her. Or had ever loved her. It meant taking all the blame for their marital failure; it meant saying his emotional distance would’ve made no difference. That was something she wasn’t even able to consider.

  If only she’d known how to make him listen back then.

  If only she’d tried harder.

  If only she’d been stronger for them both.

  * * *

  The limousine stopped outside the American embassy in the heart of the capital, Anais and Quinn in the back. A red, white and blue awning, patriotic sashes, flowers and decorations lent color to the gray stone nineteenth-century building, honoring the country’s Independence Day celebrations.

  Anais smoothed her hands over the sleek up-do Aunt Helen had wrestled her frequently frizzy waves into. Still intact. A quick inventory of her sapphire dress reassured her further. Unrumpled, at least from the front.

  “You look gorgeous,” Quinn said beside her, capturing one of her fussing hands along with her attention, but making no move to exit the car yet. “Did you know they do this at almost all their embassies? Even the American Embassy in London.”

  “I wondered,” she admitted, going with his efforts to distract her, even if he’d not really picked a subject that could do anything to take her attention from the knot in her middle or a curiously jelly-like weakness in her arms she’d bet would worsen when she had to teeter her way up the red-carpeted entrance where all the cameras could legitimately film them tonight without violating Quinn’s request for space.

  Quinn’s car door swung open, a smartly suited young man holding it for them, but Quinn leaned closer to her, a soft chuckle announcing the joking tone that had always delighted her but which she’d only heard a handful of times since coming home. “I always wondered if it was considered rude. It seems kind of rude.”

  Good mood undamped since Ben’s successful surgery hours earlier. She shared his relief and happiness for his best friend—and, having watched him with Ben’s fiancée the whole day, fully understood what the couple meant to Quinn, which invested her even more in their now hope-filled future.

  But the prospect of an official diplomatic function in formal attire? Yeah, that put a damper on her glee.

  She made herself come up with words; talking about anything was better than silently worrying about how she’d perform tonight.

  “I don’t know. I guess I never thought about it. I wasn’t even aware they celebrated it here. Growing up, anytime I saw random fireworks displays in the city, I’d watch, wonder briefly what they were about, then go back to whatever I was doing—reading, most likely.” At home, the salon or the library—the extents of her teenage territory.

  Her knees wobbled as he led her up the carpet, but the long gown hid that manifestation of fear turning her bones to cartilage.

  Quinn didn’t miss it. He closed his free hand over hers and continued in low, conspiratorial murmurings as flashes went off on either side of them, which she’d darned well smile for over the butterfly tornados in her belly. “Like going to your ex’s house to throw a Remember-When-I-Threw-All-Your-Things-On-The-Lawn party.”

  She smiled for real, despite her nervousness. “Actually, it’s considered American soil. Not sure about the skies above, but this ground is theirs. So, welcome to the USA on Independence Day.”

  It made
her feel a little better, talking with him, or maybe just doing anything with him that could distract her from the worry that had knotted her up in one form or another all day.

  And maybe it also helped to get to be a wee smarty-pants. Quinn had always appreciated that about her—she got to be something besides a jabbering idiot once tonight before she did something stupid and laughter chased her from the party.

  “Been studying?”

  “Yes. And it’s probably against some custom, making fun of a nation’s favorite holiday. Although, having been to a number of Fourth of July celebrations in the States, some sort of ruckus wouldn’t be out of line, though my previous experiences might clash with tonight’s festivities.”

  “Which would be…?”

  “A barbecue, copious amounts of beer, ill-advised and inebriated handling of barely regulated explosives, a possible trip to the Emergency Department, and prayers for a nearby fire extinguisher.”

  “Definitely at odds with a black-tie dress code.”

  They breezed through a decorated lobby with security checking invitations. Open double doors led into a wide, expansive room probably only for entertaining, and which made her double down on her nerves.

  Quinn steered her towards official-looking people and made greetings and introductions. She had to release his arm to shake hands or risk looking even more like the lot of them terrified her, but regretted it immediately. His hand had steadied her a little; without it her smile trembled in a way that couldn’t be missed.

  By the time she’d gotten through her third set of introductions, Quinn steered her to a corner and turned her to face him.

  Standing so close, when she met his gaze, the gathering party faded a little behind him. When he cupped her cheeks and planted a sweet, chaste kiss on her lips, the din faded even more in a wash of warmth and a strange peace. Their first kiss since the fight.

  “Do I have your attention now?” The teasing note in his voice softened the criticism she always felt too vulnerable to in this kind of situation. “You have to stop fidgeting.”

  Her grimace couldn’t be thwarted.

  “Everyone’s looking at me,” she tried to explain, and immediately heard how ridiculous it sounded. Right behind that, she actually processed his words and felt herself twisting the engagement ring around her finger. “I didn’t realize I was fidgeting.”

  His thumbs began stroking lightly over her cheeks and he kissed her again, this time well enough to send shivers to her belly and the tingles she’d developed a begrudging love of to the rest of her. This was what she’d always found so addictive about the man; he could pour molten desire into her by simply touching her face. A few seconds of kissing sky-rocketed the effect.

  When her heart pounded enough to jiggle her chest, he lifted his head again. The playful spark had vanished, and now his heavily lidded eyes told her he was regretting that sexual détente he’d issued.

  “People are looking at you because you’re beautiful and elegant. And because we’re news—more than usual because we asked not to be news. They’re not watching because you’re messing up.”

  “Except fidgeting and having attention issues.”

  His response was a gentle smile, then a brief brush of his lips on her forehead. “We don’t have long before they call us to dinner. I rang ahead to confirm we’d be seated together. Relax. Be yourself. What do you think they see when they look at you that’s so objectionable?”

  “I don’t know.”

  His raised brows bid her try again; he wasn’t going to let her blow the question off. Releasing her cheeks, he took her hands and waited.

  “They see uncultured riff-raff. Or a devious, low-born she-wolf who tricked you into marriage—”

  “No. I didn’t ask what they said about you,” Quinn interrupted, “or do you believe you tricked me into marriage with your magic vagina?”

  The words magic vagina were like a tiny hammer to her knee, and her foot sprang forward before she could think it through. Her toes bounced off his shin hard enough for him to wince, but it conveyed how seriously she’d always taken that particular slight…

  “I think they’ll see me kick someone important,” she grunted. “Or make some other mistake in protocol or manners. It doesn’t matter that yesterday I downloaded instructions for American diplomats on how to behave at social functions. I read it three times, but I might miss something small, or do something dumb and…”

  “They’ll think you’re an idiot?”

  She felt heat rush into her face and she forced herself to nod. “My intelligence is the only acceptable thing about me. Even when the country was at the height of their hatred and disapproval, that was the one back-handed compliment I got. How could someone so intelligent think an illegitimate commoner eloping with a prince could ever be acceptable?”

  He leaned in again as if to kiss her and she pulled back.

  “If I mess up or do something stupid I’m nothing special at all.” The words came in a rush, but heated up a little at the end as she whisper-hissed, “I don’t even have a magic vagina.”

  “Oh, yes, you do.” He laughed at that. “But, more importantly, one mistake doesn’t make anyone into an irredeemable idiot.”

  “We have this thing called the Internet—and yes, it does. Mistakes live forever online. Ask celebrities with their awkward school pictures everywhere.”

  He looked briefly pained and out of his depth, but a slow breath and a shake of his head released it. “I’m not going to talk you out of this tonight. But you just smiled a little. Why did you smile?”

  She’d smiled? A quick inventory of her face confirmed it. Her cheeks did feel recently bunched. “I’m not sure. I guess somewhere in that I stopped feeling so afraid. Maybe even felt a little good?” No wonder he liked to use distraction on her. “Or maybe I felt better because I kicked you.”

  “Do you want to kick me again? I’m here to be supportive.”

  The offer made her cheeks start to bunch again, so she leaned up to give him the kiss she’d dodged.

  “Or that. Kicks, kisses, groping behind Old Glory over there, I’m good for all of that. In the name of being a supportive husband.”

  “Okay, enough with the husband business, support man,” she said but didn’t step away from him.

  “Enough with the husband business for now,” he agreed, then jerked his head toward the party. “You ready to go back in?”

  And…smile gone. She forced a fake one that was at least steadier now.

  “Follow my lead and remember they’re our allies; this isn’t some tense diplomatic situation. You lived there for years; you have things to talk about.”

  She wouldn’t turn down a little pep-talk. The talking was what helped.

  “I do think you should reconsider your position on alcohol. It helps sometimes.”

  That she would turn down.

  They returned to circulating and she took every spare second he was in conversation to examine others in attendance and mentally compare herself before switching up her posture to mimic the most graceful she noticed.

  By the time dinner had been rung, she’d nearly gotten control of her worrying. No matter what Quinn thought about her alcohol prohibition, she had hard evidence and personal experience on how stupid she could be when her self-esteem and inadequacies collided with booze. She might end up topless, giving the ambassador a lap dance. And the ambassador was a long-married grandmother.

  As soon as they sat, Quinn snagged her closest hand and kept hold of her between courses—sometimes beneath the table, sometimes on top. Even when he’d half turned away from her to engage in conversation with his neighbors.

  It helped, but her table neighbors’ social graces made up the difference, not hers. They drew her into conversation so subtly she didn’t even realize the subject had tur
ned to her until she’d answered several questions.

  How was it to be home?

  What State had she lived in?

  Was she excited about the wedding?

  These were easy to answer, mostly. The wedding talk? At least she knew what she was expected to say and fell into that narrative well enough.

  “How did you choose your specialty?”

  The steak she’d been enjoying seemed to transform, from charred delight to a ten-ton boulder in her belly.

  The woman who’d asked probably thought it a completely innocent question, but easy answers came to an end and she had to put her fork and knife down before she dropped them.

  She could give the standard response she’d used—a patient during her rotations had captured her heart. It was touching, and complete fiction.

  The truth would maintain Quinn’s narrative, but…

  Quinn taking her hand beneath the table again made her aware of how long she’d taken to start answering. She glanced his way to find him watching her, interested brows up, no censure there.

  She wasn’t sure whether to say it, or even how to say it. How she should even feel? Would someone secure in her relationship feel that old pain, or the shame the admission would still trigger? Would a normal person have gotten past it all? Would she own it, flaws and all? Would she feel the aching sense of exposure Anais still had to swallow past?

  She didn’t know where the decision came from, only that Quinn’s hand in hers gave her the strength to say it.

  With a steadying breath, she started to speak.

  “I was a first-year general surgery fellow when I changed to orthopedics. When Quinn was injured.” She stopped. Having never heard him speak of his injury in public added another layer of hesitation. Would he mind? Truth, he’d claimed, was always appreciated. A quick glance showed no dismay, just sharpening interest.

  “Like everyone else, I’d heard he’d been shot, but not where, or how seriously for a couple of very long days.”

  The hand holding hers lifted their joined hands back to the table top; she took the silent encouragement.