Chapter 8
"I'm fine." Eliza tried ineffectually to push him back, but he refused to budge. "It's normal. I'm in my first trimester and I was told this would happen." She leaned back against his solid chest weakly and closed her eyes.
She would not say it to him, of course, but she was wondering if she had bitten off more than she would ever be able to chew. She was as sick as a dog every morning and the dizzy spells were getting worse.
"You're not fine," he gritted out, brushing back the hair from her damp forehead. "I think it's time we call the doctor."
"You want me to go and stay at the clinic."
"Where you can be better monitored." He helped her up and over to the sink where she could rinse out her mouth. She also had a dentist on call to monitor her teeth. The constant vomiting was an oral health problem as well. Lord, she had no idea she would be going through so much!
"I want to stay here. This is my home and it's where I'm most comfortable." She sighed softly when he scooped her into his arms and carried her back to bed. "You didn't have to rush home to be with me. I know you're into the production of the movie."
"Where else would I be?" She had started gaining weight as well but paradoxically looked thin and gaunt.
Her stomach was rapidly growing, and she was eating a lot, but most of it came back up.
If this was just the first trimester and she was going through all this, he was dreading the next three months and wondering fearfully if she was going to survive the rigors and stress her body was going through.
According to the numerous ultrasounds, the fetuses were thriving, if slowly.
"Want some tea?"
She gripped his hand. "Stay with me. Talk to me about work, anything. And tell me that the blonde standing next to you in that photo did not want you to take her back to her place."
He smiled at her attempt at levity and decided to humor her.
"She did, yes-" Using a damp washcloth, he bathed her brow.
She had the stylist come in to braid her hair to avoid having to style the heavy waves every day.
She took walks around the grounds to keep up her exercise, but she kept overdoing things and ended up exhausted.
"But I told her that I have the most beautiful wife waiting for me at home, and besides which, she will probably put out a contract on my head if I step out of line. "
"Damn straight." Capturing his hand, she pressed it against her cheek and closed her eyes, inhaling his scent.
"Do you resent me for doing this?" She opened her eyes to stare at him.
It was rough going and she knew it was going to get even rougher.
"Your mother thinks I'm insane," she added wearily.
He hated the fact that she seemed down in the dumps.
She had been here every day for the past three weeks because her symptoms had increased so rapidly that the doctors had curtailed her activities, and she was being hounded by the press who had somehow gotten wind of the fact that she was pregnant.
He was in the middle of production and could not afford to stay with her.
He also had obligations that required him to attend several functions where he was supposed to kiss contributors' collective asses in order to get funding, not to mention the fact that he had a responsibility to attend board meetings.
When he had to leave, he would ask the housekeeper to stay for the time and have Sally look in on her.
"My mother does not speak for me." He brushed back tendrils of hair from her damp cheek gently. "I'm just concerned about you. I hate that you're going through this."
A smile curved her lips. "You're supposed to say that if you could take this away from me, you gladly would."
"That goes without saying," he told her tenderly. "I want to take all the pain and discomfort away."
Lifting a hand, she touched his hard cheek lightly. "You need a shave."
"That's on my to-do list."
"Tell me about the movie. Distract me from the fact that I feel like I swallowed an elephant.
" She started to ease up on the pillows and he helped her, plumping the pillows behind her back to give her more comfort.
He had a list of things to do, calls to make, but he would make time for her.
He had to. He knew she was doing a lot of reading and had even joined an online support group for women carrying multiples.
But being in the house every day was not easy on her, especially the fact that she did not get to go and do her usual visits to the various charities.
"We're shooting the garden scene right now." Reaching for the tub of cocoa butter, he lifted her shirt and started applying the cream over her mound. It still gave him a jolt to see her swelling with his seed inside her.
"Oh! I love that scene, and I'm sure they will do justice to it.
" Her eyes gleamed in excitement. "I know Clara is supposed to be telling Jack that she is breaking things off with him.
You recommended a different approach from that of the writer's.
Clara would be rushing from the gala in tears when she witnessed Jack dancing with her sister. And he would follow her out."
He smiled as he continued rubbing slowly. "You were paying attention."
"I love the way you work. I witnessed firsthand your magic in turning a mundane plot into something twisty and sinister."
"Is that so?" he asked with lifted brows.
"Yep." She laughed softly. "Remember the episode 'Caught in the Act'?"
"The one where you had to rat out a fellow officer?"
Her smile widened. "That very one. You changed the ending. You wanted violence and emotions. I thought you were wrong, but it turned out it was the right call."
"That's why I'm the producer," he told her loftily.
"And the ego to match."
"They go hand in hand."
Love shone from her eyes and had his heart quickening. "You're brilliant," she told him softly. "If you hadn't made the wise decision to enter the world of movies, we would have lost out."
He stared at her with narrowed eyes. "Why do I get the feeling you're softening me up for something?"
She merely flashed him her famous smile. "How about that tea?"
"Opportunist," he grumbled. Bending his head, he brushed his lips on hers. "Coming right up."
She watched him walk out of the room, her smile fading as he closed the doors behind him.
Sitting up straight, she rubbed her chest where the heartburn felt as if someone was pressing burning coals into her stomach.
She was getting all the symptoms and getting them in spades.
She had not told him about the constipation or the dizziness, for fear he would insist on taking her to the clinic.
She was in constant dialogue with the doctors, and her online support group was a tremendous help.
She also did not share with him that one woman had lost two of her babies and had never gotten over it.
The women had warned her about PTSD.
One woman had been frank in her discourse.
"My husband and I wanted children to the point where we would have done anything to make it happen.
We went the IVF way and ended up with quads.
Only one survived. That was six years ago and I'm still doing therapy.
We questioned ourselves and, of course, God, asking what we did wrong.
It's so unfair to think that there are people out there abandoning their children, and we who are able to offer love and care have been denied the privilege of bearing children the normal way. "
The woman's bitterness had come through her message and had Eliza wondering.
"That was quick." Forcing a smile to her lips, she accepted the tray. "You found saltines."
"In the pantry." His silver gaze scanned her face. "What's the matter?"
"Aside from the usual queasiness and discomfort? Nothing much. Hmm, this is good. Look at you being domesticated."
"One of my hidden talents." Taking the cup from her, he put it down.
"We promised each other transparency and I'm holding you to it.
What's going on? And if you think of evading the question, I have to remind you how persistent I can be.
" His implacable tone warned her that he was going to sit there until she told him what was bothering her.
"It's the online group." Picking up her cup, she wrapped her hands around it to ward off the sudden chill.
"What about it?"
"A few women suffered losses."
"And you're wondering if you're going to be doing the same? What happened to being positive?" he chided gently.
"I've been projecting positive energy, but something one of the women said has been haunting me.
" She lifted her eyes to his. "What if I forced this?
What if we weren't supposed to have children?
" She put the cup down without taking a sip.
"I was so bent on being a mother that I did not think this through all the way. "
"That's utter BS and you know it," he rejected her reasoning firmly. "You have been thinking about this for years."
"Yes," she agreed. "But what if I wasn't meant to be a mother? And considering my history, that makes sense."
"It doesn't, and I cannot believe you're entertaining that nonsense.
" Clamping his fingers on her chin, he forced her to look at him.
"You're meant to be a mother. I've gone to some of the children's homes you dragged me to, and I saw the way the kids rallied around you.
Some of them had grubby little hands, but that did not bother you one bit.
I've never met a more giving and caring person in my life.
You're going to make a terrific mother."
Tears gathered at the back of her eyes and spilled over. "Hormones," she whispered with a watery smile.
"Of course." He kissed the tears from her cheeks. "Drink up. I have some calls to make, and I'll be right back."
"Samuel?"
He turned to look at her.
"I love you."
His expression softened. "You'd better."