Chapter Nineteen #2
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Marcus.” She serves up the dinner, and we carry our plates to the dining table, put on some music, and sit and eat, chatting about our day.
I keep the conversation away from the bedroom, and instead we talk about our visit to Hobbiton, and what we’re going to do tomorrow.
I do my best to make her laugh, and gradually the redness in her eyes vanishes, and her stiff spine relaxes.
Afterward, we watch another movie and some more episodes of the thriller, and then as it nears eleven, we repeat the night before, Wren heading for the bedroom while I quickly check my emails and close up the house.
By the time I get to the bedroom, Wren is in bed, reading, fresh-faced and beautiful with her brushed hair and nightie.
Relieved she’s there, I get into bed beside her, and we read for a bit, lying next to each other like an old married couple.
I love it. I love having her next to me, and knowing I only have to reach out my hand and I can touch her.
I don’t—I try to give her some space. But it’s good to know I could if I wanted to.
Eventually, my eyes start drooping, and so I put down my book, and Wren does the same. We turn out the lights, and she faces away from me, but nestles back into my arms. I pull her tightly to me and hug her as I kiss her hair.
“Goodnight,” I murmur.
“’Night.”
Within a few minutes, Wren’s breathing levels out, and I’m pretty sure she’s asleep.
Despite my tiredness, though, I stay awake for a while, my gaze drifting off into the darkness.
It’s impossible not to feel a flicker of apprehension deep inside.
I was sure I could convince her to stay once she fell pregnant.
But I think the scars she bears from previous wounds are so deep that I’m not sure they’ll ever heal.
Her father started it all, his abandonment proving to her that men don’t stay, and her exes and Cory especially only compounded that conviction. Now, she’s sure that I’m going to hurt her, and because of that she’s terrified of opening up to me.
I want to help her heal. But unfortunately, time is the only salve that will work. I just hope I can hold onto her long enough to prove I want forever.
*
The next couple of days pass in similar cautious bliss. We rise in the mornings, have breakfast, and then venture out to explore the area, as Wren hasn’t really done that much since her family moved to Auckland.
We visit the caves at Waitomo and sit in the boat holding hands as it travels serenely through the dark cavern, looking up at the glowworms on the ceiling like stars in the night sky.
We check out the magnificent Ruakuri Cave with its spectacular spiral entrance, and visit the Otorohanga Kiwi House, which shelters several species of the rare native Kiwi bird.
The next day, we go to Rotorua, and Wren stares with an open mouth at the bubbling mud pools and the thirty-meter-tall Pohutu Geyser that erupts many times during the day. We wander through Whakarewarewa Village, and learn about the Māori myths and history behind the unique geothermal area.
We always start off holding hands and relaxed, but as the day wears on, I find my gaze being drawn more and more to her.
I begin thinking about what’s going to happen when we get back to the farm, and how it’ll feel to have her in my arms. I know today is day fifteen of her cycle, and she likely ovulated yesterday or today, and it fills me with a deep hunger to think that each time I make love to her, and every time I come inside her, there’s a chance we might make a baby.
Wren notices me watching her, and her face flushes as she obviously realizes what’s on my mind. She scolds me when I grab her for sneaky kisses, but her fingers clutch at me desperately, and when we return to the farm, she’s as eager as I am to take off our clothes and get intimate.
In fact, on the second day, we barely make it in the door before we start undressing.
I’ve been in a sexual haze all afternoon, and Wren proves with the haste that she takes off her summer dress that she’s feeling the same, which fills me with pure joy.
We strip naked right there in the entrance hallway, and when I push her up against the wall and fall to my knees to taste her, she doesn’t protest. I make her come with my tongue, and then I carry her to the bedroom and spend ages kissing and touching her until she’s on the verge of another orgasm—another first—before sliding inside her and taking us both to the dizzy heights of climax together.
All day, and in the evening, Wren is affectionate and warm. But each time, after we make love, she retreats to be on her own, and whenever I find her, her eyes are always red.
We still have three days left of our honeymoon, though, as we’re not heading home until Sunday, and so I try not to stress about it. On Thursday, we drive to Cambridge and wander through the antique shops before having lunch in a beautiful little café.
We’re close to finishing when my phone rings, and I take it out and say, “It’s Ruth,” before answering it. “Hello?”
“Marcus,” Ruth says, “it’s me. I’m sorry to interrupt you.”
“No worries, we’re having some lunch.”
“It’s just that Wren asked me to let her know when Luna was having her puppies. She started nesting this morning, and I think she’s about to start.”
“Oh! Yes, we’ll come over, then.”
“Okay, see you soon!”
I end the call and say, “The puppies are on their way.”
Wren’s eyes light up. “We can go and see them be born?”
“Yep. Finish your lunch and we’ll get going.”
She eats the rest hastily, and we head back to the car. It makes me smile to see Wren so excited. I love that she’s so eager to see the puppies.
“Would you like to have a dog one day?” I ask her as I drive to Ruth and Jacob’s cottage.
“I’d love one,” she says. “It’s difficult when you’re working though. I wouldn’t like to leave it on its own all day.”
“No, I know what you mean. I think it’s nice for young kids to have a dog around though.”
“Mmm.”
“Maybe we could have one at Stanley Point,” I add.
It’s the first time I’ve referred to the idea of us being a family together. Normally I’m more cautious than this, but the words tumble out before I can think twice.
She looks out of the window and doesn’t answer.
I glance at her, then return my gaze to the road, feeling a surge of frustration.
I have a horrible fear that I’m going to lose her.
I don’t know how else to convince her to stay.
Once we get back to Auckland, her fertile window will have passed.
Is she going to tell me there’s no point in having sex if she can’t get pregnant?
Will she insist on separate bedrooms until she finds out if it’s worked?
And what if it has? Will that be the end of our relationship?
I’d thought about what might happen if she didn’t enjoy sex. But I truly hadn’t considered that our time in the bedroom could go so well, and yet she might still not want to stay.
I told her I can’t make her do anything, and it’s true. I can’t force her to love me. To give me a chance. Or to believe in us. And I can’t make her stay.
She’s slipping through my fingers like a silk ribbon, and I’m completely helpless.