Chapter 12 #2
He had found a peace and contentment with her that he never dreamed existed. When he left her in the mornings, he was reluctant to go. They had gotten into the habit of grabbing lunch with each other whenever they could.
And they talked about everything, or so he believed.
Stopping at the window, he stared out bleakly, hardly noticing the full moon or the blanket of stars filling the velvety blue sky.
How the hell was he supposed to go on with his life while waiting to see if his wife was going to make it through her pregnancy? How could she do this to him?
He loved her. The knowledge of it no longer caused him panic. He had come to accept it but could not vocalize it. He had shown her in every way how he felt, but each time he tried to tell her, it was as if the words were stuck inside his throat.
He knew how frustrating it was and because he knew, he did everything in his power to show her how he felt.
Raking a hand through his already disheveled hair, he walked back to the bed and sat on the edge, his expression contemplative.
He was going to have to think this through rationally and not in anger.
Right now, he was furious. He wanted to wring her bloody neck.
He did not give a blessed damn about producing an heir. His family was tainted as it is.
He had been given a gift. The woman he had married was surely a gift and he was damned if he was going to allow it to be taken away from him.
If she had confessed, had told him the truth about her situation, he would have told her that. She was the important one. Yes, he had thought about having children with her, but if that was not possible, he would have been prepared to live his life with her without a child.
She had brought life and light into his life and now he could not do without any of it. He could not do without her.
Lifting his head, he gazed up at the ceiling. "Do you hear me?" he whispered in an agonized tone. "I will not lose her. So, don't you dare think you can take her away from me. I won't have it."
*****
She woke the next morning with the sun streaming through the drapes and realized she had overslept. Which was not surprising, since she had spent the night tossing and turning, only drifting off a few hours ago.
Shoving the sheets off her, she was about to climb off the bed when her eyes caught the note propped up against the lamp. Heart thudding, she tentatively reached for it.
"'I've spent half the night thinking of a solution.
I know a doctor who specializes in problem pregnancy.
He's the best in his field. I will consult with him today and hear what he has to say.
And Catherine? If he advises that it's best to terminate, hate me all you want, but that's precisely what will happen.
You had no right to put me in this position. Losing you is not an option.'"
She read the note angrily again before tossing it aside. "We'll just see about that!" she thought with a determined lift of her chin. Surging to her feet, she marched into the bathroom and then marched back out again.
No doubt he had already left, but she had to see for herself.
Going down the hallway, she opened the door to the cream and gold guestroom where the evidence of his occupancy was there. She stood just inside the doorway and felt her heart lurching. He had obviously tried to get rid of the fact that they were at odds and that they had slept in separate beds.
A wry smile doused her anger. He had tried to make the bed but had not done a good job of it.
A part of the sheet was hanging drunkenly under the quilt.
Mrs. Bent, who was a stickler when it came to her housework, would know as soon as she stepped inside the room that something was amiss.
Shaking her head, she decided to aid him in hiding the evidence.
*****
Dr. Eric Wynter was a famed OBGYN, very noted in his field.
His various studies and the books he had written based on his research made the New York Times bestseller list and he was noted for problem pregnancy.
It helped that the Collier family had donated a vast amount of money to his research over the years and that he was a family friend.
That was the reason why he had left his busy schedule behind and flown all the way from London, where he was scheduled to do a series of lectures on the viability of placenta rebuilding, to come for a consult, and why he had decided to come to the apartment instead of them coming to his clinic.
Catherine had received the call from him this morning while she was at school, asking for permission to access her medical records.
Now he was seated in their living room, his light blue eyes studying her intently.
"I read your medical file from top to bottom," he informed her with a faint smile.
"And?"
The man lifted his eyes from Catherine's at Dean's impatient demand.
"Your wife has what is called uterine (womb) damage," he explained. "Which means the accident caused a lot of scar tissue damage, weakening of the uterine wall and structural abnormalities."
"Sounds serious."
The doctor nodded. "It is."
"Can the pregnancy be terminated?" he asked rigidly.
"I don't-"
"Well?" Dean interrupted her rudely, his eyes pinning the doctor's.
"At this point it would be dangerous." He turned to look at Catherine, who had her hands clasped before her, tension radiating from her in waves.
"I'm the best in my field and I do not say that to boast. I'm saying it because I want to reassure you that the damage can be reversed. The body has a way of healing itself."
Hope flared in her heart as she stared at him. "What do you need to do?"
"I need to do a thorough examination and see what we're up against."
"I won't lose her." Dean's tone was implacable. "If it comes down to her or the fetus, the choice is clear."
The doctor nodded. "I understand completely.
" He smiled at Catherine. "We're going to make certain it does not come down to that.
" He glanced at his watch. "I'm still on Europe time and my body clock is shutting down.
I would like to see you, young lady, at my clinic first thing Saturday morning. " He rose and Dean rose with him.
"Dr. Wynter?" Catherine got to her feet, her hand outstretched. "Thank you."
He took her hand in both of his, a smile on his craggy face.
"Please call me Eric. We're going to be a team for the next seven months, so we ought to dispense with the formalities.
And your husband's family has made it possible for me to do my research over the years.
I'm honored to be in a position to be of assistance. "
When Dean came back from seeing the man out, she was no longer in the living room.
He had gone back to their bedroom the next night, but things were strained between them.
They had slept on the same bed which was big enough to allow them not to touch.
It had been pure torture for him. He hated being so distant.
Sighing softly, he made his way upstairs.
She was sitting out on the balcony, her feet curled beneath her and a cup of tea cradled in her hands.
She had changed out of her baby blue linen suit and donned a black silk robe.
Her hair was loose around her shoulders and back, and she was pensive.
For the first time since he met her, she wasn't smiling with that happy glow about her. He was responsible for that.
She must have heard him or sensed his presence because she turned her head to look at him.
"Mrs. Bent left a roast in the warmer."
"I ate at the office." Hesitating a bit, he came and sat next to her, careful not to touch her. "Look, I won't apologize for the last couple of days."
"Of course not."
Her tone was soft and non-judgmental, but he felt judged and what was worse, he felt guilty for hurting her. He never even asked how she was doing.
Clearing his throat and appalled at how callous he had been, he blurted out, "It's just that I don't want to lose you."
"You made that perfectly clear."
For some irrational reason, her calm, quiet tone was making him feel even worse.
"You lied to me."
"I never lied to you."
"You withheld essential information from me. Same thing."
She inclined her head regally. "Point taken."
"Look." He dragged restless fingers through his hair.
"I don't know how to deal with this." He rose jerkily and walked over to the rail.
There was a scent of rain in the air. The pungent smell of flowers blooming wafted upwards and the breeze was cooling.
"I cannot lose you," he repeated dully. "If that's something you can't understand then, I don't know what else to say.
" He turned to face her. "Do you want me to apologize? "
Her tapered brows lifted. "Not if you don't mean it."
Abandoning pride and anger, he walked over and crouched down. Taking the cup from her, he clutched her hands, a naked expression of undiluted fear on his handsome face. "I'm scared as hell. Do you get that? I'm scared down to my bones."