“It is nothing like I imagined it could be.” He shifted so her head was pillowed on his shoulder.
She relaxed, comforted by his seeming desire to get to know his babies through the wall of her belly. But she had to ask—with more than a little trepidation. “You really don’t hate me for this? I swear I didn’t do it on purpose.”
A pause, then his voice was very grave, rumbling beneath her ear. “I know. And I could never hate you.”
Not “I love you.” Not even “I care.” Just “I don’t hate you.”
Fresh despondency closed her eyes, but she had to wonder if he was withholding his heart because he was afraid of being too attached. What if something happened? As he said, he had every reason to believe bad things could happen if he wasn’t vigilant.
Oddly, she found herself thinking of his young self, fifteen and worrying about his missing sister. Her arm went across his chest and she tucked her face into his neck, hugging him tight. Saying nothing, but offering belated comfort.
“Are you changing your mind, chérie?” he asked, snuggling her closer with hands that cruised in a familiar way. “Would you like to make love?”
She suspected if this silly belly wasn’t in the way, she would feel he was aroused. She was growing warm and boneless, feeling him against her like this.
“No,” she lied, shifting so her head was on the pillow, putting space between them. “No, I—” She sighed, confronted by how difficult it would be, living with him again, resisting not just him, but herself. “No.” Just no.
She wondered how long she’d be able to keep saying that.
* * *
They didn’t make it to Paris until late the next day.
Cinnia was subdued, making Henri think of those days leading up to their breakup. He’d churned through those moments of pale silence a few times since, always concluding she had been deciding whether she wanted to leave him.
He saw it differently now. She had known she was pregnant. Along with that weighty knowledge, her body had already been under a lot of demands. The Cinnia he thought of as quite tough and impervious had fallen apart in his arms last night, then crashed for almost three hours.
Her mother had cautioned him to let her sleep, implying Cinnia didn’t always take as much care of herself as she should in her condition, which didn’t surprise him. She was as driven by ambition as he was. But her tears and exhaustion had thrust an unpleasant sensation upon him. Humbleness.
She had been carrying more than his children. Guilt. Fear that he would hate her. He had been honest when he’d told her he could never hate her, but he couldn’t give her the love she sought, either.
To counter some of that disappointment for her, he had stood in the doorway of her sister’s bedroom, cutting a deal with Dorry.
“My preference is to make Spain our base,” he had said. “My mother will be there, but she will be Abuela. We’ll need an au pair. Since you were already planning to nanny for Cinnia, I’d like you to come with us, at least for the short term.”
“Really?” Dorry’s quizzical eyebrow had gone up behind the round rims of her glasses. “Wouldn’t you rather, like, have someone professional? Who knows karate?”
“The babies will have their own bodyguards, absolument, but the guards’ duties will be protection, not feeding and changing. And Cinnia may be homesick without family nearby. It would be nice to have you there.” Cinnia often talked about her mother and sisters in a tone of exasperation, but she loved them to pieces. “We both trust you, and you and I get along well.”
“Also, his brother won’t try to hook up with you,” Cinnia had called sleepily through the cracked door of the darkened room behind him.
Henri had shaken his head, secretly delighted to hear her rallying, but sometimes her remarks were in such poor taste.
Dorry hadn’t flinched or laughed. She’d given him her sister’s exact deadpan look and said, “Forget it then.”
“I take it back,” he’d told the girl. “Two sharp Whitley tongues under one roof is too many.”
He hadn’t meant it. They’d all convened in the dining room for a late dinner, Dorry contemplating a year in Spain. He had also negotiated with her mother to bring in staff to serve as security and run the family mansion as a B and B if she wanted to continue letting rooms, but he promised to find her a flat near them in Spain so she could come and go as it suited her, and see her grandchildren.
Those were the simple details. There were a million more complex ones still to work through, but he found himself unable to catch at any of them as they entered his penthouse, tired from a long day.