Page 77 of Glitterati Omega

Fourteen

Isent my mothers home” was the firstthing Winston said when Rupert got out of surgery on Wednesday. He’d been somewhat sedated, though he’d still felt the prick of the needle and a few other vaguely remembered sensations, and he was still a little woozy.

“Lovely to see you, too,” he mumbled. He nodded off again, then lifted his head. “Any word about embryos?”

Winston sighed. “Morgan said they want you back Friday for the transfer.”

“But are they okay?”

Winston sighed, then squeezed his hand. “We don’t know yet, love.” He glanced down at his watch. “Chances are they aren’t even together yet.”

“Oh,” Rupert said. He took a deep breath. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Nurse!” Winston hollered, and Rupert grabbed for a bag or container to puke in.

They made him spend an extra twenty minutes on the gurney after that. He still didn’t feelwellwhen they sent him home, but he supposed that was to be expected.

He felt off, so he had soup for dinner and lounged on the sofa while Winston told him, briefly, about how he’d sent his mothers packing. He was still very upset that they’d tried to contract a marriage for him, and they were very upset about …

It sounded like cows, but Rupert wasn’t entirely sure. He was still fairly high from the procedure.

He slept soundly, felt better Thursday, then puked his guts up before he reported back to the office on Friday morning. The procedure went well, although it was uncomfortable. They went for breakfast after, because Winston had actually taken the day off.

“We should go for a hike sometime,” Winston mused.

“I wish you’d returned to that pastime before,” Rupert grumbled, because he’d been told he should rest and not exert himself much, on account of his medical history. They wanted this to take.

“Mm, yes,” the alpha agreed, “probably would have been a good idea.”

They chatted, idly, about upcoming events, and then the talk turned to the Warwick-Cohen wedding in October, which Rupert wanted nothing to do with. The doctors had emphasizedno stress, and he found Percival Warwick very stressful.

Winston, of course, wanted him to go. The alpha didn’t like the idea of going solo, although he’d been single when he’d agreed, so Rupert didn’t see the issue.

There were other small matters they’d need to attend to—the house in Pretoria was a priority—and Winston felt strongly they should do any traveling they needed to do earlier rather than later, but Rupert was nervous about the implications. Flying transatlantic may have been no big deal for anyone else, but for him, it might have been the difference between a successful pregnancy and miscarrying yet again.

He was so nervous, he could hardly eat; he picked at eggs and toast, then declared he was full. Winston gave him a curious look, but said nothing more.

The next week slipped by in a haze. Rupert tried, mostly, to sleep and eat but found both tasks increasingly difficult. He could hardly stand the smell of food, let alone the sight of it, and he thought the nausea might have been more intense than during his cancer treatment. He tried to reason that he was anxious, but he was hardly keeping down water by the fifth day. Charli watched him impassively while he lost his lunch, and then she calmly called Moose to take him to the hospital to get fluids. Moose hadn’t said anything to him about the night he’d sent him away, and he still said nothing. He just waited with Rupert, held his hand.

“Well,” Morgan said when they arrived after being called by the doctor on duty in theer, tapping at his sheet, “I guess it worked.”

“Hurrah,” Rupert managed, then clapped a hand over his mouth and dry-heaved a couple of times.

“Any other symptoms?”

He shook his head. Then he tilted it to the side and murmured, “Anxiety. Insomnia. Incredibly tired.”

Morgan bobbed their head. “Sounds about right. Get more sleep, eat some crackers, come back for more fluids if ya need ’em.”

“Is that really all you can do?” he asked. “When I was in treatment, they had some stuff for the nausea, it worked like a charm—”

“Can’t have it,” Morgan said. “Hurts fetal development.”

“Oh,” Rupert said, feeling rather wretched as he realized he’d simply have to soldier through.

Morgan clapped his shoulder. “So—sleep, eat, come back if you need fluids. Hang in there, champ.”

Then they wandered off.