Wrong a Pregnant Wife, Pay Dearly (Before the Due Date #5)

1. Ironclad

Chapter one

Ironclad

The tires ground over the decorative gravel, coming to a halt outside the grand entrance of the wellness retreat.

Warren cut the engine. He unbuckled his seatbelt, pushed his door open, and stepped out into the crisp autumn air.

The trunk popped with a dull thud. Our heavy leather travel bags scraped across the carpeted liner as he hauled them out.

Naomi had already exited the passenger side. She rounded the hood of the car, her heels clicking against the stones, and pulled my door open.

“Watch the gravel on this side,” Warren called out from the rear bumper. “It’s a bit loose.”

“I can manage, Warren,” I said.

I pressed my palm against the passenger door frame, using it for leverage. My center of gravity had shifted weeks ago. Climbing out of a low car seat at seven months pregnant meant I had to awkwardly heave myself up.

Naomi reached into the cabin, grasping my elbow, and guided me to my feet. Once I found my footing, she linked her arm through mine. I leaned my weight into her side, letting her support me.

Warren walked over, a large duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a rolling suitcase trailing behind him.

“Easy on the steps, Junie,” Warren said. “I’ve got the bags. Just focus on keeping your balance.”

He watched my feet carefully, making sure I didn’t slip on the stones. The gesture made me want to cry. I had spent years running the fashion firm on my own, relying on nobody.

But now, they refused to let me carry a single burden. They had both put their own lives completely on hold to run the firm, just so I could rest. I smiled at my husband.

“Button your cardigan,” Naomi said, reaching over to adjust my collar. “The wind has a bite to it today.”

I let her fuss over my clothes. Naomi had always been my fierce protector in the orphanage, sending bullies packing while I hid behind her skirts.

As I stood here, with the autumn wind whipping my hair across my cheeks, nothing had changed.

She had been battling sterility for years, enduring countless rounds of exhausting hormone treatments.

Yet she constantly pushed her own pain aside to make sure I was taken care of.

“I’ve already told them you need the extra pillows for your lower back,” Naomi said. “We are not leaving until they treat you like absolute royalty.”

I shifted my free hand, resting my palm over my stomach. My baby kicked against the fabric of my slacks. I was bringing a child into a family overflowing with love, surrounded by the man who vowed to protect me, alongside my oldest friend.

“You two are going to make me cry,” I said. “I honestly don’t know what I would do without either of you.”

We stepped away from the car and walked toward the building.

The automatic glass doors glided open with a quiet hum.

The biting wind vanished, replaced by the climate-controlled warmth of the lobby.

A sharp scent of eucalyptus essential oil hung in the air.

Soft acoustic guitar music played from hidden ceiling speakers, meant to completely shut out the rest of the world.

I unlinked my arm from Naomi’s as we moved across the gleaming marble floor. The lobby featured towering marble columns and plush velvet seating areas.

“Seriously, Naomi… You didn’t have to reschedule your fertility clinic appointments to set this up for me,” I said.

“I didn’t have to, but I wanted to,” Naomi replied, brushing a stray blonde curl from her forehead. “Now come on. Let’s get you off your feet.”

We approached the front desk. I rested my hands against the edge of the polished mahogany counter to ease the ache in my back.

Naomi dug into her expensive leather purse and produced a folded itinerary.

She placed it down, smoothing the creases with the flat of her palm.

The retreat concierge, a woman in a pristine tailored uniform, offered a welcoming smile.

“She is scheduled for the prenatal massage at two o’clock, but she needs a specialized cushion,” Naomi dictated. “Also, please ensure the kitchen is fully aware of her mild dairy allergy.”

“Absolutely, Ms. Mercer,” the concierge said, pulling up my reservation on her screen. “We have the largest suite prepped, and the kitchen has already adjusted the tasting menu for Mrs. Davenport’s stay.”

Warren stepped up close behind me. He pressed his large hand flat against the small of my back. I leaned backward, letting my weight sink into the solid pressure of his hand. His body heat radiated through my wool cardigan.

I stood quietly at the desk, looking down at the printed itinerary.

When Naomi first introduced me to Warren, I kept my guard up.

Trusting people did not come easily after the way I grew up.

But Warren was so relentlessly patient with me that I finally let my guard down.

He never asked for anything, only offering his time and his affection until I surrendered.

A bellhop approached with a brass luggage cart. Warren intercepted him.

“Take the luggage straight up to the suite, please,” Warren said. “We want it waiting for her once she’s settled.”

The bellhop nodded and loaded the cart. The concierge handed over a pair of sleek plastic key cards in a customized paper sleeve. Warren took them, turning to press them into my palm. He held my gaze, silently promising I wouldn’t have to worry about a single detail.

“Make sure she actually rests, please,” Warren said. “My wife has a terrible habit of trying to work on her laptop when she’s supposed to be relaxing.”

The bellhop grabbed the brass rail of the cart.

The rubber wheels squeaked against the marble as he rolled my travel bags down a side corridor.

I turned to my best friend, lifting my arms to wrap them around her neck.

The soft silk of her blouse pressed against my shoulder.

She squeezed me tight, her familiar floral perfume masking the lobby’s clinical eucalyptus scent.

“Make sure he actually unloads those bags inside the suite,” Naomi called out over my shoulder, keeping a suspicious eye on the bellhop. “Don’t let him just leave the cart in the hallway.”

I laughed, patting her back before pulling away. “I think the five-star retreat staff can manage a suitcase, Naomi.”

“Good girl,” Naomi said, smoothing a fallen lock of hair away from my face. “And call me if you need absolutely anything, even if it’s just to complain about the green juice. Have the best time, Junie.”

I stepped away from her and moved into Warren’s waiting embrace. I pressed my full weight against the solid wall of his chest. The dull ache in my lower back finally eased as he wrapped his arms around my waist, supporting the baby.

The scratchy fabric of his wool coat brushed my cheek. He leaned down, pressing his lips against my forehead. The warmth of his mouth lingered on my skin, making me feel completely secure.

“Naomi and I will hold down the fort, so you just worry about yourself for once,” Warren murmured against my hair. “Stop thinking so hard. Can you promise me that?”

“I promise, Warren,” I replied, resting a hand over his lapel. “I’ll relax.”

He kissed my temple one last time before stepping back.

I stood near the mahogany front desk, cradling my swollen stomach as they turned toward the exit.

The heavy doors slid apart with a low mechanical hum.

A brief gust of bitter wind invaded the lobby, swirling around my boots before the thick glass panels glided shut again.

Through the glass wall, I watched them walk to the car.

Warren opened the passenger door for Naomi, placing his hand over the roofline as she ducked inside.

They took care of each other, just as well as they took care of me.

The engine roared to life, and the tires crunched over the loose stones.

The car turned down the long driveway and disappeared beyond the tree line.

The lobby was too large and far too quiet. The sterile eucalyptus aroma did nothing to settle my sudden anxiety about being left alone. Regret sank in. I almost wished I had refused the trip. I was standing in a five-star retreat, and all I wanted to do was get back in the car.

“Right this way, Mrs. Davenport,” the concierge said, gesturing toward the interior wing.

I turned my back to the glass doors and followed the concierge down the lit hallway toward my suite. I exhaled a long breath, eager to just lie down and close my eyes.

The hired town car idled at the curb. I thanked the driver and stepped out onto the pavement.

The noon sun offered no real heat against the biting autumn wind.

The black sedan pulled away, leaving me standing alone at the edge of the driveway.

I slung my heavy leather travel bag onto my shoulder and walked up to my own concrete front porch.

I dug my hands deep into my pockets, shivering as a gust swept dead leaves across the lawn.

The retreat had been a miserable failure. The bland, organic detox meals they served for dinner had sent my nausea spiraling. I spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling of the luxury suite, unable to fall asleep without him beside me.

“Stop thinking so hard,” Warren had told me in the lobby yesterday.

It was an impossible request. Being away from my family only made my anxiety worse. I stepped up to the front door and pulled my keyring free.

The icy brass of the lock chilled my bare fingers as I slid the key into the deadbolt. The tumblers aligned with a dull clack. I eased the door open, leaving just enough of a gap to slip inside.

I crossed the threshold into the foyer. The wall-mounted security keypad registered my entry, emitting a high-pitched beep. It started the thirty-second countdown, threatening to ruin my surprise. I shoved my keys back into my coat pocket and yanked my phone free.