Chapter 21
The winter melted away with barely a whisper of snow, much to my relief. As my pregnancy progressed, so did my bizarre cravings. Corn nuts, of all things, became my obsession – despite never having liked them before. But food wasn't my only hunger; my desire for Oliver grew insatiable, bordering on maddening.
I suspected he sometimes hid from me, overwhelmed by my demands – even at the office. On the day of our appointment to learn our baby's sex, I found myself searching for him, slowly moving through the corridors with determination.
I finally spotted him in his office, hunched over his silver laptop. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, exposing toned forearms as his manicured nails tapped a staccato rhythm on the keys. At my entrance, he looked up, those sapphire eyes piercing through me.
"Time to go?" Oliver asked, a hint of wariness in his voice.
I nodded, one hand resting on my swelling belly. "Yes. We have to be at the doctor by 3."
He glanced at his watch, eyebrows shooting up. "Is it that late already?"
"You know it is," I replied, narrowing my eyes. "Tell me you've been able to sit still today?"
A smirk played at the corners of his mouth. "I have. I can control myself. You're the one that needs to be leashed."
Heat rushed to my cheeks. "Leashed? I'm not a dog."
Oliver's lopsided grin – the one that never failed to make my heart skip – appeared. "You are insatiable lately. My balls are killing me."
"Then say no," I challenged, though we both knew it was an empty threat.
He stood, shutting his laptop with a soft click. As he unrolled his sleeves, I couldn't help but admire the play of muscles beneath his skin. Months of intense training with Bronson had restored Oliver to his former glory – lean, cut, and utterly irresistible.
"Maybe I don't want to say no," Oliver murmured, closing the distance between us. His hand cupped my cheek, thumb tracing my lower lip. "Maybe I'm just as addicted to you."
I leaned into his touch, my body humming with anticipation. "We're going to be late," I whispered, though I made no move to pull away.
Oliver chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. "Then we'd better hurry." He pressed a quick, searing kiss to my lips before leading me out of the office, his hand protectively at the small of my back.
As we made our way to the car, I couldn't help but wonder – boy or girl? Either way, our child was already loved beyond measure, created from a passion that showed no signs of dimming.
Waiting for the doctor to arrive in the ultrasound room felt like an eternity. Oliver couldn’t sit still, hopping from foot to foot until I finally told him to sit down.
“Will you be upset if we’re having a girl?” I asked, trying to break the tension.
“Absolutely not,” he replied, his eyes locked on mine. “Any child that’s a part of you is special.”
“But you want a boy,” I said, searching his face for honesty.
“I’ll admit I would, but I’ll take either,” he said, squeezing my hand reassuringly.
“We need to think about names, and none of the horrid ones you’ve come up with,” I said, giving him a playful nudge.
Oliver had handed me a list a couple of weeks ago with names he liked for our son: Reginald, Beauregard, Helios, Omega, and Ivar. I had flat-out refused them, preferring more traditional names. I could sense this would be a battle.
“Those names were perfectly fine,” he insisted, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.
“Sure they are if you don’t mind our son coming home with a bloody nose each day,” I retorted, rolling my eyes.
“Nonsense,” he said, dismissing my concern with a wave of his hand.
“The answer is no, so throw away the list and start over,” I commanded, standing my ground.
“For you, I will,” he said, his voice softening.
“Thank you, Mr. Fox,” I said, feeling a rush of affection.
“It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Fox,” he replied, leaning into place a firm kiss on my lips. My stomach flipped with desire, wishing we were alone.
Dr. Stein entered the room several minutes later, smiling as she washed her hands at the small silver sink. She came over and squirted some warm gel on my belly, her demeanor calming and professional.
Oliver held my hand tightly, his eyes glued to the screen that seemed to show nothing but globs. Dr. Stein stopped and pointed to the screen.
“There’s your baby. Let’s see if we get some cooperation to determine the sex. You do want to know, don’t you?” she asked.
“Yes, please,” Oliver practically shouted, his excitement palpable. Our baby turned, giving the doctor a clear view.
“It looks like you’re having a little boy,” she announced.
Oliver beamed, his wide smile showing all his perfectly straight teeth. I joined him, thrilled that he was getting his wish for a son. The doctor finished up and handed me some towels to wipe the gel off my stomach. After she left the room, Oliver kissed me hard, his tongue thrusting into my mouth, causing my belly to clench. I almost let a moan escape but managed to stifle it.
"More," I panted, my breath ragged.
"Jesus Christ, Ryleigh, we've already done it twice. Let me rest," Oliver groaned, his voice laced with exhaustion.
"I should be rewarded for carrying your son," I teased, a wicked glint in my eye.
"Rewarded, huh? This feels like penance," he shot back, chuckling.
I was on top of Oliver, his semi-hard cock still inside me. We'd headed for the bedroom the moment we walked through the door and had been at it for the past hour and a half. Oliver had spent several minutes with his head buried between my thighs before putting me on all fours and thoroughly fucking me. It wasn’t enough. Ten minutes later, I coaxed another erection from him and climbed aboard.
“It’s not penance. You love it,” I said, a sly smile playing on my lips.
“But not this much. I need a rest,” he pleaded, his eyes weary but still filled with desire.
“I think you can give me one more,” I whispered, squeezing my walls around him, feeling his penis twitch inside me. I smiled triumphantly as Oliver shook his head.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” he protested weakly.
“If I move, it will. You’ll be hard in no time,” I taunted, a grin spreading across my face.
“Please, sweetheart, give me a break,” he said, his voice almost a whimper.
“I love when you beg,” I said, my grin widening.
“I’m not begging, I’m pleading. I promise to give you more later,” he said, his eyes earnest.
I reluctantly slid off him, moving next to him and placing my head on his chest. He stroked my face gently, his strong arms holding me close.
“I have something for you,” he murmured.
“A gift? For what?” I asked, curiosity piqued.
“Just humor me,” he said, leaning over to open the drawer of his nightstand and pulling out a black velvet box.
“What’s this?” I asked, eyeing the box suspiciously.
“Open it and stop being difficult,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“It’s part of my nature, and more than likely, your son will be the same way because he’s part of me,” I quipped, making him groan.
“Just what I need, two smartasses,” he muttered.
I popped open the box and gasped. Inside were a pair of large sapphire stud earrings, the same deep blue as my husband's eyes.
Tears blurred my vision. “These are gorgeous.”
Oliver rubbed his hands over my thighs. “They pale in comparison to you. I just wanted to give you something to commemorate this day.”
“It was unnecessary.”
"Not to me," Oliver said softly, his eyes shining with emotion. He reached out and gently caressed my swollen belly. "In a few months, you'll be giving me the greatest gift anyone could give."
I couldn't help but smile, though I countered. "You might not say that when he goes through his terrible twos."
Oliver shook his head, his voice firm with conviction. "I'll always say it. You're having my son."
Sensing a shift in the conversation, I asked, "Want to talk about names?"
He leaned back, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "I decided whatever you want, but I get to give the middle name."
"I guess I could compromise," I conceded, rubbing my belly absently.
"Any ideas?" Oliver prompted, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.
I bit my lip, considering. "How about Logan or Ethan?"
Oliver's nose wrinkled slightly. "Not impressed."
I smacked his arm, feigning indignation. "They're better than the ones you picked out. Why don't we just name him King or Prince?"
A mischievous grin spread across Oliver's face. "It would be fitting because I plan on spoiling him like one."
I rolled my eyes, suppressing a laugh. "This kid is going to be impossible."
Oliver chuckled and leaned back against the headboard, stretching his arms above his head. I finished putting on my earrings and then laid my head on his thigh.
His hand came to rest on my hair, gently stroking. "Don't even think about it, Mrs. Fox," he warned, though his tone was more amused than stern. "I need a break. At least let's get something to eat."
I sighed dramatically. "Fine. Eat, then more sex."
Oliver's eyebrows shot up, a mix of amusement and exasperation in his expression. "Is there a teenage boy inside you?"
I patted my belly, grinning at him. "Nope, just raging pregnancy hormones."
I jolted awake around midnight, the room bathed in the eerie glow of a television infomercial. Oliver slept peacefully beside me, oblivious to the strange sensation in my belly. At first, I dismissed the slight cramping, but then I felt an alarming wetness.
Heart pounding, I slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom. The sight that greeted me turned my blood to ice – crimson drops staining the sheets and streaking my thighs. Tears stung my eyes as panic clawed at my throat.
"Oliver," I choked out, my voice barely above a whisper. When he didn't stir, I found my voice again. "Oliver!"
His eyes flew open, instantly alert. As his gaze fell to the blood between my legs, fear etched itself across his features. He leapt from the bed, stumbling in his haste.
"Something's wrong," I managed, my hands instinctively cradling my belly. The words I couldn't bear to speak hung in the air between us.
Oliver's face paled, but he forced his voice to remain steady. "We're going to the hospital. Now. Everything will be okay."
He fumbled for his phone, fingers trembling as he dialed. I shook my head, fighting against the rising tide of panic.
"Not Vlad," I gasped. "He won't get here in time. We need an ambulance."
Oliver nodded, already hanging up and dialing 911. As he spoke urgently into the phone, he grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the chaise, nearly tripping as he pulled them on.
"Sweetheart, we need to get you dressed," he said, ending the call.
I looked down at my blood-stained nightgown, my vision blurring. "In what? I'm bleeding, Oliver. I'm bleeding..."
The room began to spin, darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision. I heard Oliver's panicked shout as my knees buckled, and then everything went black.
When I came to, I was being loaded into an ambulance, the world a cacophony of sirens and urgent voices. Oliver's hand gripped mine tightly, his face a mask of barely contained terror.
"Please," he whispered, over and over. "Not again. This can't be happening again."
As the paramedics worked around me, administering medication and monitoring vital signs, I felt my heart shattering. The fear in Oliver's eyes, the desperation in his voice – it told me everything I needed to know about the gravity of our situation.
The doctor's words washed over me, a meaningless stream of medical jargon that couldn't penetrate the fog of grief enveloping my mind. My eyes fixed on the stark white wall, occasionally drifting to Oliver's face. His expression was a mask of stone, betraying nothing of the turmoil I knew must be raging within him.
"Mrs. Fox, do you understand what I just told you?" The doctor's gentle voice finally broke through my haze.
I looked up, meeting his kindly gaze, and managed a weak nod. Understanding wasn't the problem – accepting was. A scream built in my throat, threatening to tear free. Why us? Why now? A small, selfish part of me felt relieved we hadn't told my family about the pregnancy yet. At least we'd be spared the added pain of sharing this loss.
As the doctor quietly left the room, I whispered, "Oliver?"
His eyes met mine, but it was as if he was looking through me, focused on some distant point beyond. The emptiness in his gaze made my heart fracture anew.
"We should go home," he said, his voice flat and detached. "I have a conference call tomorrow at 8."
Shock jolted through me. "What? You're going to leave me home alone?"
Oliver's jaw clenched. "I have work to do. I need to be kept busy."
"Oliver, you can't run away from this," I pleaded. "We should talk."
His eyes flashed with sudden anger. "Talk? Like you talk about your problems?" he spat, his words laced with bitterness. "You bottle them up and hide rather than get help for your nightmares."
The harshness of his tone made me flinch, but I recognized the pain fueling his outburst. Swallowing my own hurt, I tried again. "We can try again."
"I don't want to try again," Oliver said, his voice dropping to a hollow whisper. "It's not to be."
"I want a child," I insisted, tears pricking at my eyes.
Oliver's laugh was devoid of humor. "Then maybe you should marry someone who isn't so defective. I'm sure Ty would volunteer."
"I don't love Ty, I love you," I said fiercely. "I want you to be the father of my children."
He shook his head, defeat etched in every line of his body. "There are forces working against me. A child is not in my future."
Before I could respond, Oliver stood abruptly and strode to the door. He paused for a moment, his hand on the handle, but didn't look back as he left, shutting the door with a quiet click that felt as final as a slam.
I stared at the closed door, bewildered and heartbroken by his behavior. The loss of his daughter had always been a closely guarded wound, but I'd never realized how deep it ran. As I lay there, feeling more alone than ever, a thought occurred to me.
There was one other person who might understand, who might be able to shed light on Oliver's pain. But would she even speak to me? I closed my eyes, gathering my strength for the difficult conversation ahead.
Oliver spent the next day holed up in his office while I rested in bed. The doctor said I should be up and running in the next few days, but I didn’t want to. I was filled with self-pity and aimlessly flipped through the channels on television. Even though Oliver was somewhere in the penthouse, I felt alone.
When we got home this morning, he slept on his side of the bed and only for a couple of hours before he got up for his conference call. It was like he was shutting me out of his life the way he shut the hospital room door. I needed his support. Sometime in mid-afternoon, thirst drove me to get out of bed. I hadn’t seen Oliver since this morning, he didn’t even bother to check on me.
I passed by his office and saw he was on the phone. He gave me a dismissive glance and went back to looking at his laptop screen. It hurt. Trouble followed me, probably hoping he would get some tidbit of whatever I would eat but I had no desire. I grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator and while I slurped it down, I stared out the terrace window at the park.
It was early spring, and the trees hadn’t started to bloom leaving the park looking barren. Barren like my womb. Tears silently rolled down my face and I wiped at them with the sleeve of my robe. I felt that the life and happiness I had just the day before was slipping away.
I drained the last of my water, the cool liquid doing little to soothe the ache in my chest. Grabbing another bottle, I padded back to the bedroom, my bare feet silent on the hardwood. A chill ran through me, goosebumps prickling my skin despite the warmth of the room.
I shrugged off my robe, letting it pool at my feet. The sight of my body in the full-length mirror stopped me short. My hand instinctively went to my belly, still slightly swollen, a cruel reminder of what we'd lost. Blinking back tears, I turned away and fumbled in the dresser for my favorite pink sweatpants and a soft, oversized t-shirt.
As I climbed back into bed, a soft rumble announced Trouble's arrival. The Frenchie leapt onto the mattress with graceful ease, padding over to place his head against my thigh. His warmth was a comfort, but also a stark reminder of the absence I felt so keenly.
The dam finally broke. Tears spilled down my cheeks as sobs wracked my body. I buried my face in Trouble's fur, letting out all the pain and grief I'd been holding back. The dog stayed put, a steady presence as I cried until my chest heaved and my throat was raw.
Through it all, I strained to hear footsteps in the hallway, hoping against hope that Oliver would come to me. But the house remained silent, save for my muffled sobs and Trouble's soothing rumbles. The distance between us, measured in mere feet, felt like an unbridgeable chasm.
As my tears finally began to subside, I stroked Trouble's soft fur, grateful for his simple, unconditional comfort. "At least I have you," I whispered, my voice hoarse. The dog blinked up at me slowly, as if to say he understood.
I glanced at the open bedroom door one last time before closing my eyes, exhaustion finally overtaking me. The space beside me in the bed remained cold and empty, a physical reminder of the emotional gulf that had opened between Oliver and me. As sleep claimed me, I wondered how we would ever find our way back to each other through this fog of grief.