Chapter 7 Jensen
SEVEN
JENSEN
I’m in a meeting when I get the message from Theo. It’s short, sharp, him in every way.
Took Mrs. Rivers home. She’s unwell.
I stop listening to whatever shit my head of tech is spewing. All I see are those words on my phone. My wife is ill, and my brain is building catastrophes.
I should have made her stay home this morning, I knew something was wrong, but I know I’m overbearing when it comes to her. I tried giving her space, and now she’s unwell.
Whatever the fuck that means.
I check the tracking device on her phone. She’s almost home, which eases the bands around my ribs a fraction, but not enough.
She’s sick, and I’m not with her.
I pull up the gallery cameras on my phone and I scroll through the footage from today. When I hit play, there’s a boulder in my stomach.
I watch my wife trying her hardest to push through while Juno talks to her. Even on the cameras, I can tell her smile is thin and her eyes dull.
She looks awful.
She’d been tired this morning. No appetite. Moody. But nothing that indicated illness.
“Boss?” Derek says. “Did you hear what I said?”
I don’t look up from the footage playing on my phone. My wife. Struggling. Suffering. There isn’t a single thought in my head right now other than getting to Mia. I don’t care about whatever shit Derek’s saying.
“I’m going home.” I push to my feet so abruptly my chair wobbles. “My wife’s sick.”
There’s a mumble of voices around the boardroom table, but I don’t give a single shit what they think. All that matters is her.
“But the Washington portfolio.” Derek stands with me. “We need to finalize the—”
“Just do whatever you think,” I snap.
I’m already at the door before anyone can stop me. I move like I’m being chased by the ghost of every ‘what-if’ I’ve tried to ignore since I watched her leave the penthouse this morning.
The drive home feels long, even though I’m only ten minutes across the city. Traffic moves too fucking slow and by the time I’m in the elevator, watching the numbers climb toward the penthouse, my thoughts verge on dangerous.
I need to see her.
I need to lay eyes on her.
As soon as I step into the apartment, the silence hits me. It’s too quiet, too still, and every nerve ending in my body stands to attention. I move through our home, checking the usual places I’d expect to find her. She is not on the couch, not in her art studio that overlooks the river.
She’s not in the bedroom either.
Did I fucking hallucinate that message? Maybe Theo took her somewhere else…
I dig my phone out of my suit jacket to recheck her location and I spot her on the balcony.
My pulse stutters, my feet moving before I’m conscious of the action. She’s curled under a blanket on the lounger, her cheeks pink, her eyes distant.
I say her name as I drag the door open. “Mia?”
She turns, and her face softens. The way she looks at me, like I’ve hung the damn sun, splits my chest open. I don’t deserve it, but I take it anyway.
“You didn’t have to rush home.” She doesn’t ask how I knew she was here. Theo may adore her, but it’s me he answers to.
“Of course I did.” I crouch down next to the lounger, scanning every inch of her face. Too pale, dark circles under her eyes and an exhaustion that seems bone deep. “What’s going on?”
I rest my hand on her thigh under the blanket, needing that connection before I lose my mind. She’s not bleeding or curled in a ball. That’s the only reason I’m still in control. I know I’m an obsessive bastard, but I can’t rein it in when it comes to her.
I don’t even try anymore.
Mia lowers her lashes, and I freeze. “I…”
Fuck. I squeeze her. “Sweetheart, talk to me.”
She takes a shaky breath, and my heart seizes. What’s she scared to tell me? “I’m…uh... Okay, I thought this would be easier to say.”
I lift our joined hands to my forehead, then kiss her knuckles. “I’m about to lose my mind, princess. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m pregnant.”
The word reverberates in my skull.
All I hear is the pounding of my heart. She’s pregnant.
My wife.
My world.
And she’s carrying our kid.
I stare at her, at the hope and joy shining in her eyes, at the hint of fear I want to kiss off her face.
She’s… fuck. She’s having our baby.
I did it. I got her pregnant.
“I mean… I think I am.” Her voice is small and uncertain. “I took a test. It was positive. But I had my period. And Juno said bleeding can still happen and—”
“You’re pregnant.” I cut her off. I don’t care about Juno or bleeding or periods.
“Yeah.”
“Shit.” It scrapes out of me like gravel.
I pull the blanket aside and just stare at her belly.
It’s hidden under too much fabric, but I’m too stunned to unwrap her.
Instead, I place my hand there, like I’m expecting to feel the swell of our baby, but there’s nothing.
Of course there’s not. I would have noticed.
I’m inside her constantly. I know every inch of her.
“Are you okay?” Her voice wobbles, laced with hesitation.
I’ve spent months trying to get her pregnant. Obsessing over it. Dreaming about it. Thinking about how her belly will feel under my hands.
Something detonates in my chest. Hope. Love. Joy.
And terror.
I’ve always worried about Mia’s safety, but now I have both of them to protect. She’ll need more guards. Tighter security. She doesn’t go anywhere alone again. Not now. Not with my baby inside her.
I’m going to lock down the entire damn universe to make sure nothing touches them.
I drop my head to her knees, my hand still splayed over her belly. “I’m… fucking perfect,” I breathe. “I love you—you and this baby. You have no idea how fucking much.”
Her fingers trail through my hair. “I love you too.”
“This belly—it’s mine. And I’m going to love every part of you. Big, round and beautiful. I can’t wait to see you swell with our baby. To feel what I did to you. To see it.”
“You’re crazy,” she murmurs, but there’s no heat behind her words.
“For you, yeah.” I lift my head. “This is why you couldn’t eat this morning.”
It’s not a question, but she answers it anyway. “I guess so. Loss of appetite and nausea is apparently a first trimester gift. It also explains why I can’t stand the smell of coffee anymore and why I’m so exhausted all the time.”
I freeze. All the time? “How long have you been feeling like this?”
“I don’t know. A week, maybe more. I wasn’t really paying attention…” She trails off, biting her bottom lip at the look on my face.
I take a slow breath, choking down the irritation clawing at me. “You felt shit for a week and didn’t say a word? You should’ve told me.”
My beautiful, independent wife stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Welcome to the con of having hormones and a uterus. It gets you a full-time subscription to feeling like shit eighty percent of the time, even without being pregnant.” Suddenly, I want to fight my wife’s body.
Her palm rests over mine on her belly. “You look like you’re about to throw hands. ”
“I should have done better,” I murmur. “You’ve been nauseous for a week at least.” A realization dawns on me. “Did you let me fuck you when you didn’t feel good?”
Her eyes soften instantly. “Oh. Jensen, no. You’ve never done anything to me that I didn’t want.” She leans forward and kisses me like she’s loving my doubts away. “I enjoyed every second.”
I believe her, but my mind is racing. Is Mia okay? Is the baby? “I’ll call Dr. Patel.”
Mia’s fingers close around my wrist before I can pull up her contact. “For what?”
“Because you’re pregnant,” I say, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. I don’t like how pale she is either, now that I’m looking at her.
She blinks. “It’s a baby, not a terminal illness, Jensen. I don’t need to see our physician.”
“You’re exhausted and nauseous. You can’t even look at coffee without gagging—”
“And I’m pregnant,” she cuts in. “It’s normal.” She cups my face, her thumb brushing over my jaw. “I know want to take care of me, but try not to suffocate me in the process.”
Try not to suffocate her? I’m already building plans in my mind. Contingencies. Adjustments.
She needs another bodyguard—no, two. One for gallery hours. One for home. No more last-minute errands. Everything needs to be planned. No runs with Juno for coffee. No wandering to the bookstore on her lunch break.
My thoughts veer into another lane. A far more terrifying one.
What if her bleeding wasn’t implantation like she thinks?
What if it was something else?
What if I’ve already failed them?
“I want Dr. Patel to see you today.” My voice is firmer now, steadier. I need the confirmation that everything is okay. That’s she’s okay.
“Jensen—”
I grip my phone like it’s a lifeline. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart. Please.”
She sighs, the sound full of affection but also resignation. “Fine, but only because I want to know everything’s okay too.”
I don’t take my eyes off her as I make the call. She’s washed out, exhausted and the most beautiful she’s ever looked. She’s carrying my child.
My seed.
Me.
Fuck.
I stand slowly. The balcony is secure—I made damn sure of that when we bought the place—but right now, it feels exposed. Dangerous in a way never has before.
My neck prickles with awareness.
I hold my hands out. “Let’s go inside.”
Mia opens her mouth like she’s going to argue, then decides it’s not a battle worth fighting. She takes my hands, small and delicate in mine. Was she always this fragile? Why does she look different?
I pull her gently to her feet, my arms wrapping around her the second she sways. My nose buries in her hair, holding her up. I can smell her shampoo. Strawberries this time. She rotates the scent, but it’s her.
I want to be inside her. Loving her. Painting her thighs in me, but not while she’s suffering.
“Try to relax,” she murmurs against my shirt.