Prince's Son of Scandal(19)
“Pain. Tearing. They scanned and said it has to be now.” Her mouth trembled.
Thirty-four weeks. So early.
“Shh.” He leaned to shelter her, trying to smooth her tense brow with his thumb, but feeling the trembles coursing through her. “Are you having an attack?”
“No,” she choked. “This is real fear, Xavier.”
“It will be okay,” he insisted, undone because she had every right to be scared and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do. He was scared. “I’ll come in with you.”
What help do you think you will be?
“You can’t. I asked.”
How did that reach inside him and squeeze his lungs dry? Her wanting him with her spun and wrapped and pierced his heart like a barbed hook, deeply uncomfortable, but inexorable, tethering them together. “I’ll come in anyway.”
“You can’t, but listen. I asked them to wait until you were here so I could ask... I’ve texted my family. Tell them how it goes as soon as you can. If I don’t make it—”
“Of course you’ll make it.” He closed his ears against any other outcome.
“Listen. If I don’t, swear to me you’ll give the baby fair time with them. They’ll need it.” Her eyes filled. “Our baby deserves to know what love is.”
Her words punched a hole clear through him, leaving an expanse of emptiness that was replaced with agony. The gentle rebuke in her eyes was another blow, searing and brutal, too painful to withstand, too impactful to avoid.
“You’re going to come through this,” he managed. What if she didn’t? He couldn’t even.
“Promise me on everything you hold sacred. Your crown. Everything.” Her nails dug into the back of his hand.
“If you need to hear it, yes. I’ll take the baby to your family myself.” He would promise anything to ease that terror in her eyes. To ease his own sense of failure. Of being so lacking she had no faith in him to give their child what it needed. Their baby did deserve to know what love was. If she wasn’t here to offer it...
“Sir, we have to take her now.”
“Kiss me goodbye,” Trella whispered.
He swooped without hesitation, felt the tremble in her pouted lips, thought he ought to be gentle, but he took. Ravaged. He invaded her mouth with his tongue and drowned in all she was, trying to slake a hunger he feared would last all of eternity. Her lips opened, surrendering, even as she responded, flavoring the kiss with sweetness amid the shared desperation.
He kissed her as though it was the last one they would ever share. He couldn’t bear the thought that it might be.
“Sir—”
He straightened abruptly, feeling the loss like he was torn away by a tornado, hating that he was forever doing what must be done.
Trella covered her mouth with her wired hand, eyes blinking above her white fingers. She kept her grip on his fingers until she was forced to let go.
“Sir, there’s an observation room for students. Let me show you.”
A nurse showed him to a small room with a window. Beyond, he saw Trella nod at the anesthesiologist before her face was covered with a mask. Her doctor motioned gloved hands to the team then everyone moved into place so all he saw were backs clad in scrubs.
“It shouldn’t take long,” the nurse said. “If you feel lightheaded, there’s a chair.”
He ignored her, all his attention on the surgery.
“They’re waiting for confirmation she’s out,” the nurse said. “There they go.”
They began to move in a controlled, efficient way and the nurse was right. In a very short time, the doctor was handing a tiny, naked infant to the nurse standing by with a towel. The nurse angled the baby to the window, showing him it was a boy.
The anguish in the small face at being separated from his mother pierced Xavier unexpectedly. He felt ridiculously helpless, wishing he could comfort the boy.
“We’ve been preparing for a premature birth. He’s small, but that attempt to cry is a good sign. That’s the pediatrician who’s taking him. He’ll run tests and place the Prince in an incubator then come speak to you. You’ll probably be able to hold him. Your son, I mean,” she said with a wry attempt at humor. “Not the pediatrician.”
Son. Xavier nodded and texted Trella’s family, including his grandmother.
A boy.
It seemed such an inadequate few letters for the magnitude of what was happening to him. He had a child. A son.
His phone buzzed with returned texts from Trella’s siblings, congratulating him and asking after her.
He glanced up and something had changed. The team around Trella had snapped into frantic action. The anesthesiologist was clearly alarmed and the surgeon’s movements became agitated. Through the glass, he heard raised voices issue sharp commands.
“What happened?” Xavier slapped his hand to the window, even as his gaze looked for the door to enter the room.
“Sir, I—” The nurse made as if to close the curtain.
“Find out what’s happening.”
“Of course.” She hurried away.
He pressed his forehead to the cold glass, terror snaking to squeeze his heart. He strangled on the one word he managed to whisper.
“Bella.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
TRELLA CAME TO in a blurred awareness of voices and stark white. Even Xavier looked carved from pale marble, his blue eyes translucent as antique glass. Bottle blue, she wanted to call it. She should use that shade in next season’s collection.
Why was he leaning over her like that? So close and grim?
“Baby?” She tried to say, but there was no sound. Her voice had evaporated.
“Fine. Really well, considering how small he is.” He backed off as a nurse picked up her wrist, but his eyes stayed locked on her.
He. “A boy?” That came out in a raspy whisper.
“Yes.”
She blinked heavy eyelids and tried to smile. “Sadiq.”
“What?”
“He saved me.” She was becoming aware that she was stoned. Recreational drugs weren’t her thing, but she’d been prescribed so many pharmaceuticals to quell her panic attacks that she knew what this foggy haze was. She hated it and fought to think through it. “I wouldn’t be here without him.”
“Dr. Lagundo saved you,” he snapped.
“Why are you mad?” She frowned, startled to find the nurse was still beside her, fussing with her arm. Whatever she did hurt, but distantly. “Can I see him?”
“Soon.” The nurse seemed familiar. Her smile was nice, but Trella couldn’t recall her name.
She hated drugs. Hated being dopey and disassociated. She ought to be upset as Xavier’s remark belatedly penetrated. “I almost died?”
“There were some tense moments,” the nurse said. “Your doctor will tell you more. I’ll let her know you’re awake.”
She left and Xavier came back to her side, mouth pinched.
“Are you angry that I pulled through?”
“What? No! Why would you think that?”
She tried to think through a brain made of cotton balls. “You don’t like me. You’re mad about the baby.”
“None of that is true.” He loomed over her again, very intimidating. If she wasn’t so spaced-out, she would think he sounded tortured. “You scared the hell out of me.”
Was he holding her hand? Something cupped her fingers in warmth. It was nice. She liked the gentle stroke across the back of her hand.
“But it would have been easier for you.” She was briefly thankful for the drugs because despair didn’t overtake her. “I make things harder. I don’t mean to. My family forgives me because... I don’t know. They love me, I guess. But you don’t, so it’s okay if you wish I had died.”
“Stop saying that. What would Tyrol do without you?”
“Who’s Tyrol?”
“Our son.”
She frowned. “I expected a girl.”
“I texted you the name a couple days ago.” He sounded disgruntled. Maybe self-conscious. “You said you liked it.”
“When? I hate drugs. They make me so stupid. Is it Tuesday or Wednesday?”
“Wednesday. I texted on Monday and asked what you thought of Tyrol or Trentino.” He seemed to be petting her arm, combing his fingers into the gaps between hers. “They’re family names. You said you liked Tyrol. We’re not naming him Sadiq.”
“But picture your grandmother’s face if we did.”
He choked out a laugh, turning his face away, shoulders shaking. “You’re funny when you’re high, I’ll say that much.”
“You should laugh more.”
He looked back at her with an expression she couldn’t decipher. Regret maybe, but something like appreciation?
She closed her eyes against his sorcery.
“Did you know, bella? Is that why you said those things before you went in?”
“I don’t get into trouble on purpose,” she grumbled, ignoring the number of times Ramon had accused her of doing exactly that. “And I don’t apologize when I do. It makes people feel good when they help me. My whole medical team is feeling super heroic right now.”
He let out another incredulous laugh. “That is some seriously backward logic. Exactly how ripped are you?”
“Admit it. This morning you were ambivalent about having a son. Now you’re grateful. You’re welcome for the clarity.”