Chapter 23
H e bought her a dress. Men had bought her gifts before—flowers, chocolate, and the like. Piedmont had even given her a ridiculously extravagant pair of sapphire earrings she now felt compelled to return. But in Ethan’s case it felt like something more, mostly because she guessed he had never bought a woman anything. Not only did he buy it for her, but he got up early while she was still sleeping, checked the size in the tag of her t-shirt, sneaked to a local merchant, and returned in time to surprise her with it when she woke. It was a simple white cotton sundress, but to Amelia it was better than anything she’d ever owned because it was imbued with so much meaning.
Now that she had a modicum of makeup and access to a hair dryer, she spent a while in the bathroom getting ready so that when she emerged clean, fresh, and wearing the new dress, she felt a bit like an actual bride. Ethan must have thought so, too, if his awed reaction was any indication. He was so enthusiastic about her appearance in the new dress that he promptly removed it. Two hours later, they began again and finally left the hotel.
They went to a museum and strolled hand in hand, enjoying the artwork. When that was finished, they strolled through streets and shops, stopping to look, but not to buy. It might have felt like any day in DC except Amelia was the only one who could understand what people were saying. When they grew hungry, they went to an upscale, sit-down restaurant, the first non-street food they’d had in days. When the meal finished, they walked hand in hand back to their hotel, talking and laughing. A boy of about fourteen passed them and then, without warning, grabbed Amelia’s wrist and yanked her to him, holding a knife to her side.
“Money.” His accent was so thick, it was clear he had learned the word for the sole purpose of robbing English-speaking tourists. Amelia could read the expression in Ethan’s face, could foresee the complete destruction he was about to reap on their unsuspecting robber.
“He’s a boy,” Amelia said. “A child.”
Ethan took a breath, and then another. Slowly, his fingers relaxed and unclenched. “Tell him I’m a mercenary who works for Les Irakiens de Bonaloka . Tell him you’re their property, and if he doesn’t get his hands off you, they’ll destroy him and his entire family.”
Amelia relayed the information. Before visiting Africa, she never imagined listing herself as anyone’s property, nor that it would keep her safe from being mugged. But it worked. The boy dropped her and ran off, a terrified expression on his face.
“Do you want to tell me why that worked?” Amelia asked, straightening and brushing her dress.
“The group I listed is a gang in Doula. They’re more terrifying than anything I could have done to him. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him.
“I’ve been with other civilians in the field, and you’re by far the calmest,” he noted.
“They must not have known or trusted you like I do,” she said. “I’m safe with you, I know that.”
“Thank you for that, and thank you for stopping me from destroying that kid. It would have been a terrible thing to live with.”
“You’re welcome.”
“The only problem is that I have all this unspent adrenaline rushing through me. I’m afraid I’m going to need an outlet.”
“I could show you some Pilates,” she suggested.
“I think I’d prefer that demo on the hot yoga,” he countered.
“I’d need heat and steam for that,” she said.
“I have a few suggestions about how to make some,” he said, holding the door to their hotel for her.
Later that night they lay in bed, sleepy but not ready for sleep, both cognizant of the fact that this was their last night, that tomorrow they would leave Africa and get back to reality.
“You’re a really good first date,” Amelia said, her finger trailing gently over Ethan’s chest.
“I’ll say I am,” he agreed, and she laughed.
“Tomorrow…”
“Nope. Not going to think or talk about tomorrow,” he said. “We agreed we would enjoy the time we had together. No strings, no talk about the future. Just us, just tonight.”
“That sounds like a reject greeting card that got sent to the discount store because no one bought it,” she said.
“New dream: retire from the agency and work for Hallmark’s rejected card division,” he said.
“Maybe if we don’t fall asleep, tomorrow will never come,” she said.
“Try it,” he said.
“I will,” she agreed and, twenty minutes later, she was asleep.
In the morning, they were both quiet. Ethan watched Amelia in concern as she seemed more subdued than usual.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked.
“I have a bit of a stomach ache. It’s fine,” she assured him, but he wasn’t sure. She barely spoke three words to him as they packed up their meager belongings and took a taxi to the airport. The flight would last nearly twenty-four hours, including layovers. When they arrived at the airport, Amelia disappeared into the bathroom and was gone so long they nearly missed their flight.
“Amelia, seriously, are you okay?” he pressed once they were finally seated and settled.
“I’m fine,” Amelia assured him, though she looked pale.
When they arrived at their first layover, she disappeared into the bathroom again for a long time. After she emerged, she bought a soda.
“Amelia,” Ethan began, but she held up a hand to halt him.
“I’m fine, really, everything is fine. I feel a little yak, but I’m good. Sorry to be a downer on the last leg of our journey,” she said. They sat in front of a television, spouting news in another language. “Which country are we in?”
“Brussels,” he said. “More use for your minor.”
She smiled weakly and rested her head on his shoulder. He took her hand, and she fell back asleep.
On the last leg of their journey, back to DC, he caught her wincing a few times, but every time he called her on it, she insisted everything was fine. Finally he’d had enough and snapped at her.
“Clearly you are not fine. Could you please tell me what’s going on?”
“I feel a little crampy, okay? I’ve sort of lost track of where I’m at in my monthly schedule, and I can’t remember if the timing is right. And it’s making me feel sick to my stomach. Aren’t you glad you asked.” She tore open his pack and searched for the antacid she’d purchased at the last airport.
“Yes, cranky pants, I am. If you’re not doing all right, I want to know about it.”
“Why? Because you’re my husband for,” she checked his watch, “two more hours?”
“One more hour,” he corrected.
“Stupid military time,” she groused, unrolling an antacid tab and popping it in her mouth.
“I want to know because I care about you and your wellbeing, regardless of the status of our relationship,” he said.
“That’s another card for your rejected Hallmark collection,” she said, leaning forward and gasping slightly as another pain hit.
“Amelia, you are not okay,” he insisted.
She frowned at him, but she was in too much pain to contradict.
When they landed in DC, they were the first ones off the plane. Amelia didn’t think much of it until they were met at the end of the tunnel by Maggie, Ridge, and two medics wheeling a gurney.
“You ordered an ambulance?” Amelia said, turning to stare up at Ethan in dismay. “I told you I’m fi…..” She doubled over and grasped his arm, biting back a scream as a wave of pain so intense washed over her, she feared she might pass out.
“You seem totally fine, but get checked out for my sake, please,” Ethan said sarcastically as he put his arm around her and half carried her to the waiting medics. “She was really good until this pain started a few hours ago,” he added, addressing Maggie and Ridge.
“I’m good,” Amelia tried to assure them with a thumb’s up. Then she groaned and clutched at her stomach, ruining the effect.
“Come on, we’ll get you checked out. You’ll be right as rain in no time,” one of the medics said.
“Is there any chance you might be pregnant?” the other EMT asked as his partner began buckling her onto the gurney.
“Yes, but only by a couple of days,” Amelia said and, as one, Maggie and Ridge swiveled to look at Ethan.
“I got nothing,” Ethan said, shrugging helplessly.