52. Chapter 52
A ria
The hours after the hospital were wrapped in a strange stillness intertwined with worry.
Back at the inn, Aria sat on the edge of the bed, one hand resting protectively over her stomach.
Her other hand gripped the creased ultrasound printout with the kind of tenderness reserved for something which could have been too easily lost. Crispin, as always, was the picture of restraint, though there was a lot going on just beneath the skin.
A lot he wanted to say. He hovered, he fetched water.
He made tea, which she was too stressed to drink.
His shoulders were rigid. His jaw had barely unclenched since the doctor mentioned retroplacental bleed.
"You need to rest," he said finally, at the knife edge of his control. "Please, Aria."
"I am resting."
"I mean properly. No work, no standing for hours. No being alone at night-"
"I'm not alone at night," she snapped. "Dana's just a knock away."
Crispin ran a hand through his hair. "No. It's not enough. "
This time he did not back down. That night, he insisted on sleeping in her room. Dana had brought in an extra bed for him, but it was narrow and clearly made for someone shorter, softer, and blessed with considerably narrower shoulders.
It creaked under his weight and squealed in protest every time he shifted. Aria couldn't sleep for all the cacophony.
Around midnight, she turned over. "You'll hurt your back."
"I don't care," he shot back grumpily.
"Neither of us will sleep if you keep doing gymnastics every twenty minutes."
He let out a heartfelt groan. "Then come to my room."
She blinked. "What?"
"Just sleep there with me-it wouldn't be the first time. There's a double bed, and I promise on my 1952 Jaguar C, I will restrain myself."
In 'Crispin speak' that was equivalent to sacrificing his firstborn. He had restored that car with his own two hands.
She gave him a look. "Are you mocking me?"
"I'm completely serious," he said, sitting up with a wince. "Aria... I'm terrified that something will happen. That you'll wake up and need help, and I won't hear you."
That silenced her.
Because she was scared of the same thing.
"I just want to be nearby," he added, voice low. "Please."
She didn't answer, but she got up and went to his room .
Aria lay as far to one edge of the bed as gravity would allow, her back to him, arms wrapped around her belly. A silent wall of 'I'm here, but I'm not ready' between them.
But sometime in the night, Aria woke to find herself tucked against him, his body wrapped protectively around hers, one hand cupping her belly, the other cushioning her head.
His breathing was slow and deep.
A furnace. That's what he was. She wriggled her ice-block feet between his calves.
He hissed awake. "Bloody hell."
She smiled in the dark.
But he didn't move away, just tucked her closer before they both drifted off again.
Over the next few nights, it became a rhythm. They'd lie apart and wake tangled, his lips at her nape, his hand warm and steady over the soft swell of her stomach, her socked toes burrowed between his ankles.
He never tried anything more, though she could feel how affected he was-and she never asked him to move away.
Something about his presence lulled her to sleep every night. It was like her body knew, even if her heart still hesitated, that he would catch her if she fell.
It had been a week since the hospital.
Even though everything had seemed alright, the fear hadn't left either of them.
Crispin had been more watchful .
He'd taken to waking early, often pacing the shingle shore before sunrise, phone pressed to his ear as he tried to manage the London office from a place that had more sheep than signal. He didn't complain, but Aria could see the tension collecting in his shoulders, the fatigue in his eyes.
They hadn't spoken about it, like not mentioning it would ensure it wouldn't happen again. But she knew he hadn't really slept, not since that night.
And truth be told, neither had she.
The spotting had stopped almost immediately, and thankfully, the nausea was now manageable.
But she still woke at odd hours, hand pressed protectively to her belly, listening to the wind howling through the walls and wondering what they would do if something did go wrong.
The hospital was more than an hour away on a clear road, more if the weather turned.
The staff had been kind, but the place was stretched thin.
Every seat in the A the what-ifs that had grown teeth in the quiet hours of night while they waited.
She studied him.
She noticed how careful he was with his words, as if she were a skittish foal. How gently he moved these days. How he always checked her tea was the right temperature, how he tucked the quilt around her when he thought she was asleep.
He was still Crispin, still infuriating, still annoying. But he also thoughtful, considerate. And putting her first.
This version of him? She didn't entirely hate it.
Before she could answer, he shifted forward slowly until he was kneeling between her legs, placing both hands gently over her belly.
"You look beautiful," he murmured. His eyes trailed from the flush of her cheeks to the braids wrapped around her crown.
"And the house...it's in your name," he added. "I would do anything to win a piece of your heart...even tattoo your name on my forehead."
A small laugh escaped her. "That sounds painful."
"I deserve it."
She laughed again. The tension in the room began to ease .
They were to leave the next morning. The bags were packed.
That night, Crispin spooned her as he had for the last few days. When she woke from a nightmare, he was shaking her awake with a frown on his face. "What happened?"
"I was dreaming of Mami and Babi," Aria croaked.
Crispin just held her tighter and kissed her hair.
As she drifted off again, she pressed her cold feet against his calves. He hissed but didn't move.
His hand hesitantly traced her belly.
They lay on their sides, his body pressed against hers. She felt his arousal and tensed.
"Ignore it," he whispered. "It's been like this for a while. It'll go down...eventually."
She chuckled. "I don't understand. I'm so big."
"If I agree, will you smother me with a pillow?"
She pulled away, but he caught her hand .
"Wait...your boobs are bigger. They are very distracting. But the rest of you, aside from the obvious, is the same. Only more beautiful. This is my baby in here. I want to shout it from the rooftops. Of course, I want you."
A week later, they returned to London.
The house Crispin had bought was a Georgian-inspired townhouse, elegant and spacious, with a garden for future playdates.
Aria stood in the foyer, taking it all in.
"It's yours now," he said, handing her the keys. "And hopefully, ours someday. I thought you would want to furnish it, so I only had the essentials done. "
She looked at him, emotions swirling in her eyes and nodded.