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“I got an all-clear from my doctor yesterday.”
“Everything sounds great then.” She finishes her entries and turns her stool toward us. “I’ll give you some prenatal vitamins before you go. It’s important to take them. Any questions?”
“Yes.” I voice my worst fear. “What are the chances of me having another miscarriage?”
Mick’s grip on my hand tightens.
“There is always some risk in any pregnancy. Your previous miscarriage and the scarring tissue can be factors. But you conceived against the odds. Let’s not borrow concern when everything with your pregnancy looks good so far. Naturally, it’s advisable to keep your stress low. I realize your situation in the media might make that hard. I can’t even imagine,” she adds. “But try your best.”
Mick’s shoulders stiffen. My poor husband, who likes to be in control, has none over the whims of the press.
“Any other questions?”
“I’d like to go back to the office next week,” I tell her. “Would that be alright?”
“You can return whenever you’re ready.”
“And working out…is that okay too?” I pursue, afraid of doing anything wrong.
“Physical fitness is good for you,” she says patiently. “You are a healthy woman, Dee. Keep up your normal activities and listen to your body. Balance is key. Don’t overdo it but don’t stop living, either.”
“Does that mean sex is okay?” My cheeks warm and I don’t dare look at Mick. “We haven’t since I got out of the hospital. But we used to have it quite often and um…energetically.”
“Excellent. When you feel up to it, you can have it quite often and with as much enthusiasm again. In fact, some women experience a heightened sexual drive during pregnancy and crave it with greater frequency.”
“In that case,” Mick says with an ardent smile, “You better give me some of those vitamins too.”
We leave the appointment oncloud nine. Dr. Tia had allayed a good deal of our worries. I’ll be careful, cautious—of course—but we’re not going to dwell on what could go wrong and miss out on embracing our second chance.
I’m soaking up the happy vibe when we pull up to our house and all the warmth and excited relief leaves my husband. The press is still camped out at the end of the driveway and on the sidewalk. Mick takes my elbow as we exit the backseat of the Range Rover.
By rote, we put our heads down and ignore the bark of questions and hail of camera flashes as the paparazzi try to get clear shots of us. Impossible to do through the security cover of three mountainous men—Max, Hilton, and the temporary addition of Grayson.
Stiles, in a cast, has been relegated to desk duty, which Mick said he’s been grouching about. The bullet went through his shoulder, fracturing three bones. Thankfully, he’s expected to make a full recovery and that the police concluded his role in the shooting was clean and in self-defense.
I’d sent him a card. Not that there are any words that could adequately express the depth of my gratitude for saving our lives. Mick had been more practical in his sentiment. He’d wanted to give a hefty bonus, but Stiles, being Stiles, refused. For him, that was the job. I can well imagine he finds the termheroembarrassing, but that’s the label the media has bestowed on him. And the one that I think he rightfully deserves.
Mick closes the front door against the chaos, enveloping us in peace and quiet.
“Well, that was fun.” I slip off my flats and attempt to lighten the mood.
He sends me an unamused look. “I don’t like you having to deal with that.”
“It won’t be forever, Mick.”
“It’ll be long enough. I want to show you something.” He guides me to the office, and taking a seat in front of his computer, pulls me onto his lap.
I push my hand into the fullness and length of his wavy hair. “Going to keep it this long?”
“You seem to like it,” he says, waking his laptop.
“I loved it short too. But this gives me something more to hold on to.”
“I noticed.” He winks in sexual reference, his playful mood returning.
“Well, I may have horny hormones now so…”
“I’m at your service, ma’am.”
