Page 117 of Glitterati Omega

She nodded. “They’ll come when they’re ready.”

“I’m supposed to have surgery next week,” he admitted. He glanced away. She waited; much like Winston, she was all too patient. He let his brows tent. “I don’t want to have surgery.”

“No?”

“It’s … it’s too soon.” He looked at her. “You said they’d come when they’re ready, and it feels like the doctor’s forcing me. Forcing them.”

“Mm.” Her brows jumped. “Then tell the doctor this. Tell them that date is no good, it must move.”

“But …”

“You tell them the babies say no, that is not the day they are being born. Okay?” She clasped his hand tight. “I have been a midwife more than thirty years, goose. The babies will come when they are ready.”

Rupert sighed. “But it’s twins. And I’m high risk, so I should have the surgery.”

“But is that how youwantto do things?”

“No,” he admitted tearfully. “I don’t want to have any more surgeries.”

She stroked his hair. “Then you must speak up. The doctor cannot read your mind, and if you say nothing, they will do whatever they want. You have to stand up for you and your babies. You’re the mother, mother knows best.”

“But do I?” Rupert asked. He didn’t feel like he did.

She rolled her eyes, then smiled. “Good Lord, child. Yes. You did good just now—you are feeling and listening, and you said in your heart, this is not right for me, for my babies. So you know this. Now you must say this to the doctor, because the doctor cannot know what you feel in your bones.”

“A-all right.” The thought of telling Morgan—any doctor, really—no was a little terrifying.

Mama Thandiwe got up. “Let’s do this right now,” she said, casting about, presumably for a phone. Finally, she located Rupert’s and offered it to him. “Here. Call the doctor and tell them.”

Rupert frowned at the mobile, then picked it up. Hesitantly, he selected the number for Morgan’s office from his contacts. He glanced at Mama while it was ringing.

“Yes, hello. Rupert Cullinan, I’m just going over the paperwork Dr. Warwick sent over this morning about my scheduled C-section.” He paused. “I’m not comfortable with the procedure.”

He almost zoned out while Mandy parroted back some garbled information about C-sections being perfectly safe and how they’d take precautions to make him more comfortable. “I understand all that,” he said when she ran out of breath. “I don’t want to have a C-section. At all.”

He glanced nervously at Mama again. She nodded. “Well, it’s just—I feel like it’s scheduled too early, I’d rather … no, I … I want … could you let me speak?”

Both of them were silent for a second, surprised by the outburst. Rupert sighed again. “I’m not comfortable with thirty-seven weeks; I’d rather let the process start on its own. Yes, I understand that a C-section might be necessary, that labor induction might be necessary—yes. But … just listen to me! Can you put Dr. Warwick on the phone? I want to talk to Dr. Warwick.”

“Dr. Warwick is out at the moment,” the receptionist said.

“All right. Thank you.” He hung up, then dragged his hands down his face.

Mama Thandiwe patted his shoulder. “This is why I said you must speak up—they will try to do whatever they want anyway.”

“I don’t understand why it’s so difficult,” he muttered. “It took forever for them to diagnose anything, even though I was in so much pain, all the time …” He picked up his phone and texted Morgan. Morgan replied almost instantly.

What’s up

I don’t want a c-section

The phone rang. “The hell do you mean, you don’t want a C-section?” Morgan hissed before he could even greet them.

“I mean I don’t want a C-section,” he said.

“Roo …”

“I don’t want a C-section! I don’t want to be cut open, and I don’t want it at thirty-seven weeks!” he snapped. “I want them to come on their own, when they’re ready.”