Page 7 of Daigo

His hand tightened around her waist. "They could have found a way to keep you. I'm sure they were getting benefits from the government. That would have helped to supplement their income and provide for you."

She shook her head. "I didn't understand at that age. All I could see was my life upending again. I cried buckets and threatened to run away if they sent me away." She trailed her fingers over his narrow face and mused at how much like a poet he looked. Something he wouldn't want to hear. "The husband explained to me that it was not convenient to keep me. Looking back, I could see that he was very sorry for making me leave. For a long time, I didn't have a home."

Leaning over, he kissed her.

"Now you have one. You always will. You never have to question whether or not you belong." His voice had thickened. Her walk down memory lane had triggered the need to protect her and love her until it hurt.

Chapter 3

He almost changed his mind during the discussion. He had promised her to be open-minded, and he was trying to be. Melrose Clinic was said to be the best (he had done his research, of course). It was privately owned and run by a group of doctors and was large enough to accommodate the mother from conception to birth. In fact, that was part of their logo. The place was isolated, affording privacy, and all the staff members were made to sign an NDA. At least that was what the head of the clinic told them, her voice crisp and professional, without being rigid.

He listened to statistics and data and could see success stories posted on the notice boards in the woman's pristine office.

None of that mattered to him. His wife was the main focus, and the risks were worrying him. He was a busy man; the company pulled a hell of a lot out of him. They had businesses all over the world: high-end supermarkets and jewelry stores. He did a lot of traveling and had persuaded Shelby-Anne to accompany him on several of his trips. He knew she had her own business and respected that, but he wanted his wife with him when he had to travel.

It wasn't that he didn't want children; he did, eventually. But he would have preferred it the normal way and further down the road. He was selfish when it came to her. He wanted more time with her. He loved the fact that they were alone at the loft, that he could make love to her on the kitchen counter or on the living room couch.

And pregnancy changed people. He had seen it happen in his circles. Mentally shaking his head, he concentrated on what Dr. Middleton was saying.

He also sensed his wife's nerves. Reaching over, he took her hand and interlaced their fingers. The look she slid him told him he had done the right thing. Her fingers squeezed his in response.

"How soon can we get started?" He spoke for the first time since he came into the room, and his words had the woman turning her gaze toward him. He had done his research and was aware that the clinic was always looking for funding. There was no doubt in his mind that Dr. Middleton was running scenarios inside her head and would do anything to ensure that this went as smoothly as possible.

"We have some tests to do." She bent a reassuring smile on Shelby. "The first step is estrogen to regulate your period. After that, we'll be doing a baseline evaluation, which will include a physical examination, transvaginal ultrasound, blood tests, and infection screening."

Her gaze included the two of them as she listed the steps. "Then comes the ovarian stimulation. Normally a woman produces one egg per cycle. During the procedure, injectable fertility hormones such as FSH and LH are administered for 8-14 days to stimulate multiple eggs to mature simultaneously."

Shelby felt her husband's fingers tensing and knew what had triggered it. Multiples. But she wouldn't mind a set of twins. She was almost thirty years old, and her biological clock was ticking. She wanted to give him children so much, she could taste the need.

"Steps three to seven are clearly explained in the brochure I've included in the package," Dr. Middleton continued. "The trigger injection, egg retrieval, fertilization, embryo culture, and embryo transfer will lead to the final stage of the post-transfer and pregnancy test. Any questions so far?"

"You said multiples." Daigo's voice was terse, and it could not be helped. "How can you ensure that she does not end up with six or more embryos? Bear in mind that my wife is a slender, petite woman and there's only so much her body can carry and no more. I've heard stories of women giving birth to sextuplets--"

"We can assure you that will not happen," Dr. Middleton said earnestly. "Our success rate is over ninety percent. What we do is monitor our patient closely from start to finish. Our fertility doctors are the best in the field. I can give you our sincere promise that your wife will be well taken care of."

He felt the pressure of Shelby's fingers and the power of her stare. He had told her he was on board and meant it at the time. Now he was going to have to try and give her the support she would need. After all, she was the one who would be doing most of the work. He had to put away his own selfish feelings about the entire matter and be there for her.

He took her away from it all. After the added discussion that muddled his brain and the medications and advice, he decided that it was time they slipped away, mentally as well as physically.

He had appointments waiting for him: a meeting with the board to decide on the new floor plan at the Walling Mall, one that would include an entire floor dedicated to their jewelry store and a new supermarket in the heart of Manhattan. They could wait. His very efficient assistant had not blinked her light blue eyes when he FaceTimed her with the information that he was taking some personal time with his wife, and she should reschedule his appointments.

Shelby protested at first, reminding him of a client coming in with some items: clothing mostly, shoes and purses.

"She's getting a divorce and moving to Jamaica." Her quick laughter came and charmed him. "She won't need her jewelry or her sable and designer shoes. She's going to be living as a bohemian or an island girl. She said she bought a cottage by the sea and will be drinking coconuts and surfing."

"Sounds like paradise," he mused, flicking a finger down her pert nose.

"It does." She sighed, settling back in the leather seat of his convertible BMW. He was heading in the opposite direction from her store, and she knew he wasn't going to listen to a word she said about heading back. "I would like to go one day."

He glanced over at her, approving of the fact that she looked relaxed. The meeting at the clinic had disturbed her. He wanted her limber and her usual ebullient self. He was getting there. "We could go this weekend."

"We--" She started laughing but realized that he was dead serious. "Oh, but we can't."

"We can do anything we want." He touched the left turn signal that would take them to a little hole in the wall he had discovered some time ago. "That's the beauty of having the resources and being your own boss. We could take the jet and be there in a matter of hours. Spend a couple of days in the sun and surfing."

He glanced out his window, noticing the angry clouds and the wind whipping through the trees. Fall was approaching rapidly with no apologies. "We've been to Barbados, the Bahamas, and the Virgin Islands. It never dawned on me that we haven't been to Jamaica. It's a charming little island with beautiful white sand and impossibly blue waters."

He turned into the little fishing port and parked beneath a palm tree. The restaurant was little more than a shack, but it was charming and rustic. It also had the water at its back and served the best clam chowder and seafood platter in the county.