Liam

She made it through her first treatment like a champ. I couldn’t be more proud. I almost lost my breakfast a few times watching them access her port, but I sucked it up. I also checked her pulse every five minutes when she took a nap. She was so knocked out it looked like . . . I can’t even think about what it looked like.

We’re all home now, and everyone is tucked into bed for a much-needed nap, but my brain won’t shut off. I can’t figure out what is going on with Amira. She’s been gone for five months, but she just started driving me crazy with text messages about the baby two weeks ago. I told her it was no longer her business and to sign the damn divorce papers so we could be done, but she hasn’t.

She hasn’t messaged me once today. I’m not complaining, but it’s such a strange change in behavior. What am I saying? All of Amira’s behavior is strange. I can’t understand why her father is still in a coma and no one will tell her what’s going on with his will. She’s still receiving her trust fund money, so I’m sure she sees that as a positive. That only lasts until he dies though.

My question is this: If she wants to be married to me so badly, why doesn’t she just come home and wait to hear about her father from LA? I mean, he’s unconscious. He won’t know unless he wakes up. That’s got to be it. She’s worried he will wake up and find her gone and erase her forever.

I grab my computer and gently climb into bed next to Lourdes so as not to wake her. I’m not tired, and I’m sick of thinking about Amira, so I may as well work. Lately, I work best when I’m with Lourdes.

She’s curled up on her side with her hands pressed together under her pillow, breathing softly. I reach out and lay my hand on her growing belly. I’ve never seen a more adorable pregnant woman in my life. She’s only gained eight pounds, but it’s all baby. I’m amazed she’s gained any weight at all. Her appetite has diminished progressively over the past few weeks, so much that I practically have to bribe her to eat. She’s craving things she never eats like marshmallow peeps, which are not available in October, so I have to order them from Amazon. She wants peanut butter anyway she can get it, in a candy bar or a cookie or just on a spoon, so that’s what she gets. Whatever she wants, she can have, even if she won’t ask for it—which she won’t. Toby has become my little spy. He tells me when she mentions she likes a particular food, and voila! It’s in the kitchen. I’m sure she’s caught on, but if it works for her not to ask directly, then it works for me.

I haven’t felt the little butterball move yet, but the doctor says Lourdes should be able to soon. She moves in her sleep, so I take my hand off her bump in case I’m bothering her. When she’s adjusted herself onto her back with one arm over her head, I kiss that palm and trace the words I love you onto it. She stays sleeping and I’m glad. She’s been through so much that I think sleep is her only escape.

Ninety minutes later, I’ve abandoned my laptop to lie and watch her sleep. She rolls toward me without opening her eyes.

“I need some of that stuff for nausea,” she says.

“Okay, hold on. I’ll be right back.” I slip off the bed and grab her prescription off the dresser and a bottle of water.

“Can you sit up a little, babe, or do you think you’ll puke?” I say, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“No, I think I’m okay. It’s mild. I just want to prevent it from getting any worse.”

I hand her the water and watch her swallow the pill.

“Where’s Toby?”

“Your mom came to get him a little bit ago. She wanted to take him to that new Pixar movie that just came out.”

“Oh. I’m glad he’s not here. Is that bad?”

“No, babe. It’s not bad for you to want to shield him from some of this. You’ll be feeling better in a couple of days, and he will never even know. Can you drink some water, or is the nausea too bad?”

“I’m gonna wait. Will you just lie with me?”

“Turn over.”

She rolls onto her other side, and I pull up the duvet and slide in behind her to spoon. God, she feels so good, and even though she hasn’t been near coffee or anything cinnamon today, the underlying scent of both are present when I nuzzle into her neck. It’s just her. She exudes the sweetness of cinnamon and the stimulation of coffee, neither of which I will ever get enough.

“Do you have any more Dr. Seuss rhymes for me today?” she asks.

“How about a game of love quotes?”

“Okay, how do you play?” She threads her fingers through mine and tucks both under her pillow.

“I’ll say a famous author’s quote about love, and you guess the author. If you get it, you get to choose one for me.”

“Okay, who’s going first?”

“Me. I love her and that’s the beginning and the end of everything.”

“That’s easy. F. Scott Fitzgerald.”

“Shit, you’re better at this than I thought. Okay your turn.”

“Love is like the wind. You can’t see it, but you feel it.”

“Aw, easy peasy. Nicholas Sparks.”

“Okay, okay. You go, then, smarty pants.”

“Love is a serious mental disease.” She’s quiet for a moment, and just when I think I’ve stumped her, she blurts out the correct answer.

“Plato. I don’t know why I couldn’t think of that. It was on the tip of my tongue.”

“Mm, I do love the tip of your tongue.” I adjust my body around hers until there’s not a millimeter of space between us.

“I feel you back there,” she says with warning in her tone.

“I’m not asking for anything, babe. You know that.”

“I know, but I’m sorry anyway. I just don’t feel great.”

“I’m rolling my eyes so hard it hurts, just so you know. I wish you would quit apologizing for things that are totally out of your control. This shit sucks, but I’m standing by your side no matter what, so stop focusing your energy on how this is affecting me. Instead, focus it on you and how you’re going to get better. I love you. I got you. We got this.” I kiss the back of her head, and she takes a long, shuddering breath and blows it out.

“Even when my hair falls out?”

“Yeah, babe, even then.”

“Even when I’m barfing?”

“Yeah, even when you’re barfing.” She squeezes my hand and snuggles against my hard cock.

“Barfing and bald isn’t very sexy,” she says.

“I don’t care about your hair, and I’ll never ask for sex if you’re barfing, so don’t worry about it.”

“Shush . . . did you hear that?” she says. Every muscle in her body just tensed, and her head popped up off the pillow an inch.

“No, what is it?”

“I swear I heard the door open upstairs.”

“It’s probably your mom bringing Toby home.”

“No, you said they went to the movies. It’s too early for them to have seen a movie.” She’s sitting up now, with one hand protectively on her belly and the other on my shoulder.

“Then the wind, maybe. Lie down, you need to res—”

The door to Lourdes’s bedroom is shoved open so hard that it hits the wall with a loud bang. All of my uneasy feelings about Amira are confirmed when she bursts in, screaming at the top of her lungs.

“What the fuck is going on around here? I fucking fly halfway around the world to sit on my dad’s deathbed, and you’re here fucking some fake surrogate tramp in my own house? Bitch, you’d better be up and outta here before I count to five, or I’mma beat your scrawny little pregnant ass!” Amira yells and hitches her thumb toward the door with her hand on her hip—her very round hip that molds into a very round, pregnant belly. Holy fucking fuck, Amira’s gone and gotten herself pregnant. Oh, this is rich, her coming in here and accusing me of cheating with Lourdes when it’s as plain as day that she’s been fucking around on me.

“Amira, you need to leave,” I say with a lethal chill in my voice as I rise from the bed and stand between her and Lourdes.

She scrunches up her face in irritation and fury. “Oh, I’m not leaving, Liam. She is,” she says, leaning around me to point her long, sharp, manicured nail at Lourdes.

I turn to Lourdes, “Babe, just sit tight and stay here. I’ll be right back. Don’t stress, okay? Just lie back down and rest.”

She shakes her head back and forth and closes her eyes.

“No, Liam, I should go. I’ll leave so you two can work things out—”

“That’s right, bitch. You’re gonna go, and don’t ever fucking come back!”

“Amira!” I roar, and she is finally paying attention.

“Get the fuck out of this room and go upstairs, or I swear, I don’t care whose fucking baby you’re carrying, I’ll make you.” I point at the door, and a slow, nasty smile spreads across her face.

“I think you’re gonna be very interested in who my baby daddy is, Liam.”