Chapter Twelve #2
She pulled up the list she’d prepared on her phone. “First, before we get started, we should both get tested for STIs.”
He spread his hands on the wooden surface. “Naturally.”
“And no unprotected sex with anyone else for both of us while we’re trying to get me pregnant.”
He nodded. “Agreed.”
She dipped her hand into her shoulder bag.
“I’ll leave some plastic jars with screw tops here for you.
If you could fill them one at a time with.
..your contribution, that would be great.
I’ll let you know when I’m ovulating. That’s when you’ll have to spring into action.
” Her mouth quirked upward before settling into a serious line.
“Now to the legal stuff. Since you mentioned wanting to be involved in the parenting, I presume you want shared custody?”
“Yes.” He braced his elbows on the table. “I want to be an involved and active father. That’s the reason for me offering to become the donor in the first place.”
“Good.” Another item off her list. “I think this will work brilliantly since we’re both happy to stay in Renwood.
And because I originally planned to have the child on my own, I consider your co-parenting to be a bonus in itself.
” She’d share custody with him, but not fifty-fifty.
That needed to be clear from the outset.
“Our child would principally live with me, and I’d not expect you to pay any child maintenance.
I gather you’re not exactly flush with cash. ”
“I’m not.” He lowered his gaze. “But I still would like to do for our child whatever I can.”
“Excellent. He or she won’t be liable for any debts pertaining to Renwood Hall, I take it?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure of that.”
“Perfect. That’s it, really.” She locked her phone and put it away. “I’ll get a document drawn up by a solicitor to make sure everything’s legally sound then pass it on to you to read before we sign it.”
“That was quick and efficient.” He poured the tea and put a slice of chocolate fudge cake on her plate.
She sat back in her chair, and her muscles relaxed. Looking at him, a sigh escaped her. “You know, it’d be nice if our baby inherited the color of your eyes.”
A flush crept across his cheeks when he met her gaze. “And what are the chances of that happening?”
“That’s not easy to predict because the passing down of eye-color is polygenic, which means several genes are involved.” She contemplated him from below her eyelashes. “But I still hope our baby will have your eyes because they’re the most amazing blue I’ve ever seen.”
He coughed, the color on his face deepening. “Well, er, thanks.”
“But we must leave it in the hands of mother nature.” She lifted a forkful of dark rich cake to her lips. “As long as our child’s healthy,” she added after a pause, “which reminds me...” She rested her fork on the plate. “There’s one more thing.”
He raised his head. “Yes?”
“You might think as a geneticist I’d be keen on doing the full set of prenatal tests, but I won’t. I mean I’ll do the recommended examinations, ultrasounds et cetera, but I’m not going to get a genetic profile done.”
The look in his eyes was warm. “I know what you mean. Robbie, one of my cousins, has Down Syndrome and he is my favorite of them all.”
She folded her hands behind her head and exhaled slowly. “Gabriel, you’re going to be the perfect father.”
~ * ~
D elia rushed out of the Life Sciences building to the staff car park.
The sun beat down on her, and she fumbled in the coat pocket for her sunglasses.
She was ovulating. Her body habitually gave her a sharp pain on either her left or right side, depending on which ovary’s turn it was to spew out an egg.
Just to make sure she remembered that she inhabited a female body primed for reproduction.
Now that she had tenure, she was perfectly willing to listen to those nudges.
Luckily, Gabriel had come along at exactly the right moment and had kindly agreed to collaborate. Such a nice man with such stunning genes. She had alerted him in the morning, and now was sperm-collection time.
Her heart was hammering, and her hands clammy when she halted her Fiat in front of the gatehouse.
If she was extraordinarily lucky, she’d be pregnant by the evening.
A large syringe lay ready in her bathroom, and a cooling bag was in the boot of her car for safe transportation of Gabriel’s donation.
What a thought. She got out of her car and made her way to the gatehouse.
Would this be an awkward meeting? Both of them too embarrassed to chat? She dropped the brass knocker twice on the blood-red wood of his front door but to no avail. The sharp sound merely echoed in his hallway.
Where was he? Had he changed his mind? She rounded the squat, little house and peered through the kitchen window—silence and an empty room. Nobody was home, not even Renoir. She checked her watch; she was fifteen minutes early, and Gabriel was probably still in his office.
The summer air was balmy, and she decided to walk the half mile to the big house.
The road to Renwood Hall was lined on either side by old and mighty lime trees in full bloom.
She inhaled the honeyed fragrance of their blossoms. Bees buzzed overhead, collecting nectar, but otherwise it was blissfully quiet.
A few minutes later she became aware of a rhythmical swishing, cutting sound and tried to locate its source. To her right, where the meadow rose then dipped toward the enclosing wall, she spotted Gabriel. He stood in the high grass, wearing a check shirt and cut-off jeans, and wielding... a scythe?
She watched his vigorous yet graceful movements for a moment, then stepped around to where he could see her. “Holy hell, Gabriel,” she called out. “What are you doing with that lethal thing?”
“Ah, Delia.” He looked up and wiped his brow on the hem of his shirt. “There you are. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
His shirt was undone, affording her a glimpse of his toned upper body. She averted her gaze while he buttoned his shirt. This particular pleasure she’d have to forgo if she wanted to forge a stable co-parenting relationship with this man.
“I’m cutting the grass where the ground is too uneven for the lawn mower. Even the trimmer can’t handle the coarse, high grass. Every so often, I have to cut it manually. It’ll be for the horses once it’s dry,” he explained.
“You ride horses?” She pushed her sunglasses up on her head.
“Used to, but not anymore.” He leaned on the handle of the scythe and smiled at her. “Our three horses are too old. They’re taking it easy for the rest of their days.”
She could just picture him high up on a horse, bolt upright and beautiful. This wasn’t helpful. She shook the image out of her head.
Gabriel, his shirt now closed, leaned the scythe against the wall and joined her. Together they made their way to the gatehouse.
She took care to stay an arm’s length away from him because there was no saying what her hormones might entice her to do. Ovulation was a tricky time to be around a gorgeous man like Gabriel.
The gatehouse was nice and cool, and she sank gratefully into the kitchen chair. Like most redheads, she wasn’t great with the sun and didn’t even contemplate leaving the house in summer without being slathered in factor-fifty sunscreen.
“Can I offer you a cold drink, or are you in a hurry?” he asked.
She let out a small groan. “Yes, a cold drink would be heaven.”
He opened the fridge. “Water? Apple juice? Lemonade?”
“Uh, lemonade sounds great.”
He took a glass from the kitchen cabinet and placed it on the counter next to the fridge. All the while, her gaze tracked him, taking note of his muscular, tanned legs and general loveliness.
“Ice?” He looked at her over his shoulder.
She started. “Oh, yes, please.”
Two ice-cubes clinked into the glass, followed by the glugging of liquid being poured.
“There you go.” He handed her the misted-up glass, and a jolt went through her when his fingers touched hers.
“So, Gabriel, last chance to change your mind. Are you still comfortable and happy with being my sperm donor?” Much as she had her heart set on their plan, she didn’t want to coerce him. They both needed to be all in for this to work.
“And co-parent, yes of course.” He drew a chair next to hers and sat.
“Excellent.” Her voice was husky, and she took a hasty sip of her cold drink. “Is it...uh...all ready?”
“Yes,” he grinned, “stored in the fridge on its own special shelf.”
Laughter erupted between them.
“Goodness me, we’re such professionals.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “You should see the set up in my bathroom.”
“I would imagine a large syringe, minus the needle of course.”
“Yes, a very large syringe. And a sterile covering for the working surface in case I accidentally spill some of your precious contribution.” She took a large gulp of lemonade and was happy to hide behind her glass for a moment.
He shifted in his seat. “I know this sounds silly, but would you mind sending me a message once...”
She shook with mirth. “Once your sperm is on its way, you mean.”
“Yes.”
“No bother.” She stood. “I better go.”
“Sure.” He went to the fridge once more and produced the much-discussed plastic jar.
She quickly took it from him, and after a hasty goodbye, made her way home.