West Wing to Maternity Wing!(28)

Amy had sat bolt upright with the knock on the door, leaving her breast  above the bubbled waterline and her flat side exposed. Her hands flew to  her chest and she ducked beneath the bubbles again. 'Lincoln! Don't  come in, I'm still in the bath!' Her cheeks flamed red. She must have  dozed off as the water was now lukewarm. She leaned forward to grab a  fluffy towel from beside the bath.

He must have seen her scar. He must have seen the empty side.

Lincoln pulled back. The panic on Amy's face was evident. He hadn't  meant to embarrass her, he'd just wanted to check she was okay. Then he  stopped. Took a deep breath, stepped into the bathroom and closed the  door behind him.

'Lincoln! What are you doing?'

'Something I should have done weeks ago.'

He bent forward and picked up the towel she was grappling for, holding it open in front of him. 'Come on.'

Her flaming cheeks burned even harder. 'You've got to be joking.'

'No. I'm not.' His voice was firm and determined. He gestured with the towel once more. 'Come on, Amy.'

'No.' Her voice was sharp and to the point.

He stared at her.

'Don't, Lincoln. You're making me uncomfortable.'

He knelt down next to the bath so his face was level with hers. 'I'm not  trying to make you uncomfortable, Amy. But this is an issue between  us-you know it is. I'm not here to upset you. I'm your friend. I'm here  to support you. Now, get out the bath so we can talk about this. Take  the first step.' He held the towel out again.

Her bottom lip trembled. She didn't feel ready for this. She wanted to  pull her knees up to her chest, tuck her chin on top and hide her body  from the world. Why couldn't he be plain? Why couldn't he be ugly? Would  that make it easier? Would it be easier to bare your blemished body to  someone who didn't reek of perfection?

She bit her lip, a sheen across her eyes. Take the first step. How did  he know exactly what to say? She had to be brave. He was right. He was  getting right to the heart of the matter. It was an issue. She just  didn't know if she could handle this.

There was only one way to do this. She had to try. She owed it to  herself to try. She closed her eyes and stood upright, stepping out the  bath almost simultaneously and moving across into the comfort of the  white fluffy towel. He wrapped it around her and she caught the edges of  it, pulling it closer and tucking it around her before she opened her  eyes.

He gestured to the side of the bath. 'Sit down.' He picked up another  towel and dried her bare legs. Had he even had a chance to get a proper  look at her scarred body? What had he thought?

His arm went around her shoulders, escorting her from the bathroom and  into his bedroom. His bedroom. She hadn't set foot in this room the  whole time she'd been staying here. She felt the breath catch in her  throat as he guided her over towards his bed, then her heart plummeted  as he stood her in front of the free-standing, full-length mirror next  to his bed. He raised his hand and pulled the cream blind at the window,  plunging the room into semi-darkness, with some of the early evening  sun still filtering through the blind.

All of a sudden she didn't feel so exhausted. Maybe the nap in the bath  had revived her, but she didn't think so. Her blood was racing around  her body. Why did this feel so natural? Why wasn't she terrified?

She'd been planning to leave. She'd been thinking about telling Lincoln a  million reasons why she and Zachary shouldn't stay there. So why did  this feel as though it should happen?

'Now.' He guided her in front of the mirror, standing behind her with his hands at her waist. 'What do you see?'

'What do you mean?'

His voice radiated calm. A man totally in control, who knew exactly what  he was doing. 'I want you to look in the mirror and tell me what you  see.'

She turned to face him. 'I can't. I don't want to do this any more.'

There it was on her face again. Panic. Put her in a situation out of her  control and she floundered. He ran his finger down her cheek, the most  delicate of touches. 'Yes, yes, you can.' He gently spun her around  again. 'I'll tell you what I see.' His hands crept back around her  waist, his tall body right behind hers, his strength and muscles running  down the length of her body, his chin resting on her shoulder, staring  at their joint reflections.         

     



 

He smiled into the mirror and touched her hair. 'I see a beautiful  woman, with gorgeous red tresses and magical green eyes.' He ran his  finger along the skin at her neck. 'I see pale skin and a tiny splash of  freckles across her nose.' His chin swapped round to the other side of  her body, as if he was appreciating her from all angles. 'And I like the  pale skin-because it's different. Most women here could die a death  from fake tan-or a death from a real tan. I like it that your skin is  completely natural and untouched by the sun. You don't need a tan. Your  pure beauty radiates from your skin.'

His words danced like a song over her. Rising and falling, causing her  heart to flutter in her chest one moment and her clenched stomach to  flip over the next.

She looked at the reflection in the mirror. The pale face stared back at  her. The tired eyes, the washed-out face. Why couldn't she see what he  did?

She leaned backwards a little, relaxing into his strength. In some ways  she hated this, and in others she knew that the time was right and this  was exactly what she needed. And Lincoln was right-it was easier doing  this with a friend.

His hands reached in front of her body to where the towel was tucked in.  She flinched. No! She could see the fear in her own face in the mirror,  but she was intrigued by his reflection. His fingers were gently  untucking the towel, loosening it and lifting the edges, dropping the  white towel to the floor and leaving her naked body exposed in front of  the mirror.

And his face didn't look shocked, didn't look disgusted and didn't look  repulsed. In fact, he bent and kissed the skin at the bottom of her  neck, wrapping one arm around her waist, keeping her close to him.

He lifted his head again, staring at her in the mirror. 'Don't be  afraid,' he whispered, a comforting smile on his face. Her hands were  trembling again, she couldn't help it-she'd never felt so exposed. And  although the room was warm, goose-bumps appeared all over her pale  flesh.

His hand came up on one side and cupped her full breast. There was  nothing sexual in his touch. Her breast was working overtime feeding her  son right now and even the slightest touch could make milk leak. On the  other side his fingers traced a light line up from her hip bone to  under her arm, pausing for only a second before running along the flat,  pale, white line of her scar-where her breast should be.

Her eyes took in her reflection. Six weeks on from giving birth and her  lower body had started to return to normal. Her stomach wasn't flat. It  probably never would be again and there was a small, visible red scar  running along her bikini line. But it was a neat scar, well healed and  already starting to retreat into her body. In a few years' time it would  be pale and virtually unnoticeable. Unlike the scar at her breast. A  visible marker of something missing.

He kissed her neck again whilst his fingers danced along her skin. And  he kept on kissing her as his hands gently caressed her. She was caught,  watching the reflection in the mirror of a handsome man touching a  lover's body. There was no shame. No horror. Like a slow movie scene,  with romantic music playing. Only this time, instead of music, it was  one word repeating itself over and over in her head. Acceptance.

The kisses reached the bottom of her throat. The hand left her full  breast-as if he knew it was too sensitive for touch right now-and  reached up to tangle in her red curls. He moved, lifting up her arm on  her affected side and looping it around behind his neck. Then he watched  in the mirror as he ran his fingers once more down her side. Another  woman might have flinched at the light, tickling sensations. But for Amy  it was different. It was all about acceptance. And it wasn't about his  acceptance of her. It was about her acceptance of her changed body.

She was staring at the reflection in front of her. And the old  sensations were gone. And she didn't see something to be ashamed of. She  didn't see something she should hide from the world. This wasn't  something she would ever share. But it was something that she didn't  need to hide away from any more. For the first time in six years she  could look at her naked body without feeling fear or repulsion. This was  a woman who had the right to be loved.

Her hand moved from behind his neck to run through his hair. The  movement caused her to lean backwards, exposing even more of the  sensitive flesh at the base of her neck to his lips. She wasn't looking  in the mirror any more. She was losing herself in the feelings.

'This is the body of the woman that I love. This is the body of a  vibrant, healthy and whole woman.' His fingers went to her flat surface  again. 'This is only a tiny part of Amy. And I don't care if you decide  to have reconstruction surgery or not. I will take you however you come.  If it matters to you then fine. But don't change anything for me,  because I love you just the way you are.'