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Time stood still.
“Wha … what …” Tom stuttered.
“A third? Are you freaking kidding me?” I exploded.
“I need to get the doctor in to make sure, but I’ve seen a few triplets before and had one other occasion where the third baby was essentially hidden behind another who was presenting in front, masking the third heartbeat until a much later scan.”
“Three?” I shrieked, breaking out in a sweat, hot and cold at the same time.
“Holy shit, triplets,” Tom whispered, pushing his fingers through his hair. “Just like my champion ewe last year.”
“Are you kidding me right now?” I yelled.
Tom’s face fell. “You’re not like a champion ewe, love. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Fiona backed away to the door. “I’ll be right back, folks. Take your time to talk about the news. I’ll go get our head doc to come and look at the images.”
As the door closed, I burst into tears. “Oh god, Tom. Three of them.”
“In a month, I’ll go from no kids to the most kids out of my brothers and sisters!” Tom punched the air and I let out a wail.
Yeah, all out of my uterus at once!
Tom immediately stroked my hair. “Hey, hey. What’s wrong, love?”
“Three!” I shrieked again. “We’re instantly outnumbered. It’s my first pregnancy, and I’m looking at having three kids relying on me to stay alive in seven weeks.” I sucked in breaths rapidly. “Seven weeks, crap. Holy crap. We don’t have enough baby clothes. We need another crib. We aren’t ready—”
“We’re ready. You’ll be an awesome mother. And I’m right here. Our families are right here.”
“I’m scared. No. I’m petrified, Tom.” I clutched his hand like it was the only tether I had to this world.
The image of their three heartbeats was frozen in time on the screen near us.
Three …
“Deep breaths, Rosie. Deep breaths.”
“I’m … trying …” I threw back my head against the bed. “You and your goddamn super sperm, Tom Turner. You just had to go and do one better than twins and make it three.”
The man just grinned, absolutely thrilled with his stupid swimmers. He didn’t have to carry triplets in his scrotum for eight months.
Oh god, eight months. Seven weeks to the caesarean that her ob-gyn was recommending as the safest way to deliver the babies and for my health.
They will be here in less than two months!
“Marry me.”
Tom had gotten down on one knee beside the bed. I’d been so lost in the panic of twins increasing into triplets that I hadn’t noticed him bend down or produce a ring.
There it was. All sparkly and gold and green. A huge emerald with two diamonds on either side. Richard, all those years ago, had never gotten me a ring. And now here was Tom, waving around gemstones that could take out an eye.
“I can’t wear that with the babies. It would blind them or cut them.”
Tom shook his head, a smirk teasing those full lips of his. “Marry me, Rosie.”
I blinked.
“You said you wouldn’t consider marriage until we’d dated for three years.” He grinned. “Guess what today’s anniversary is, love?”
