“Yes, but it’s not even lunchtime yet and I just got up a couple of hours ago.”
“Still. Two babies will sap your strength if you aren’t careful.”
“They are the size of beans, Rashid. I think I can handle some activity. Besides, I still have things to do before we go into the desert. Layla has promised to give me some more lessons this morning on protocol. I think it would be wise to learn as much as I can if I’m not to embarrass you out there.”
He grew very still then and a tiny thread of unease uncoiled within her. She knew what he would say before he said it. “Perhaps you should not go with me, habibti. We’ll be moving around a lot. Besides, it’s dreadfully hot, and you might get ill. You should stay here and think about the public wedding. There is much to be done yet.”
Sheridan put her hand on his arm. He stiffened beneath her touch and she dropped her hand, hurt by his rejection. Frustration pounded into her. She would not be silent.
“Why are you behaving like this? I’m not any more pregnant than when we left here this morning. Why is it suddenly too hot for me to go with you?”
He swallowed. “It’s not suddenly too hot. It’s always been too hot. I failed to consider it before.”
Of course she knew what was wrong with him. She’d been worried about it since he’d insisted on going with her to the hospital. How could he contain his anxiety at what might happen to his children when his previous experience had been so tragic?
“So now that you’ve seen the babies and heard their heartbeats, it’s too hot? What else, Rashid? Is it too dangerous to have sex now, too? Too dark at night, too light during the day, too many steps between the bedroom and the kitchen? Is Leo too energetic for me? Should I lie down in bed and not get out for the next few months?”
She was on the edge of hysteria. She knew it, but she was just so furious. It was like she’d had him for a little while, had the beginnings of such a perfect life going with him, and now he was slipping away. Slipping into the past and the tragedy that had happened to him.
Slipping away from her.
Because he was afraid of caring and afraid of being hurt. Her heart ached so much for him. She wanted to slap him silly and she wanted to hold him close and tell him that he had to learn to feel again. For their family. Because he deserved to know love again.
She wanted him to know that she loved him. She couldn’t help it. She’d tried not to fall, but how could she not?
The way he touched her, held her, the way he said her name when they were in bed together, and the way he reached out to her when she knew it was a difficult thing for him to do. He had feelings that went deep, and he was terrified of them.
But how could she love a man who didn’t love her? How could she watch him with her children and know he would always keep part of himself separate from them?
At this moment, he’d retreated behind his barriers. He was aloof and cool and she wanted to scream.
“Don’t be melodramatic, Sheridan,” he snapped. “I’m thinking of your health and the babies. There is nothing wrong with this. You should be thankful I give a damn at all.”
And that was it, the blow that had her reeling. The metaphorical slap to the face that reminded her of her place and jolted right down to her soul. She knew she wasn’t a replacement wife, but she’d hoped—no, she’d begun to believe—that she might mean something to him in her own right.