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“I was so scared today,” she whispers. “I don’t want to be scared anymore.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Do you know what a motte-and-bailey is?”
“Um, you mean like a castle?”
“Yeah. In medieval times they’d build a stone tower or keep high on a mound or motte. Then around that they’d erect a walled courtyard or bailey, and around that a palisade or another defensive wall, and then at least one ditch. Layer upon layer of fortifications to make it as difficult as they could for enemies to get in.”
“I think I did something about them at school years ago.”
“Yeah, Kip and I built one for a school project out of LEGO. Well, anyway, that’s what you are now. The princess in the tower. Protected by me—I’m your personal bodyguard. And then you’ve got the castle guard—Kip and Damon. Mum and Dad. And Kennedy and Jackson. And you’ll meet Ken’s parents, Brandon and Jenny. And Richard at work, and Joop, and Marion, and all the others. Mathew Clinton and Angela, and other doctors. And my friends in Auckland that you’ll meet over the next few weeks and months—Titus and Huxley and Mack and their partners. There are so many people who are going to take care of you and protect you and the babies.”
She sniffs. “I don’t deserve you.”
“You deserve a lot better than me, but I’m going to beat any other guys off with a stick, so you’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.”
“Bummer,” she says, and I chuckle.
“You want me to put the onesies on the bedside table?” I ask.
She pulls them tighter to her chest. “No thanks.” She looks up. “You’re not going?”
I smile and nestle down into the pillows. “No, I’ll stay here for a while.”
“Good.” She curls up. Within two minutes, she’s asleep.
I should get up and go into one of the other bedrooms. But I don’t. I pull some of the duvet back over my legs, and hold her tightly. I’ll just cuddle her for a bit, then I’ll leave.
*
I only realize I dozed off when I rouse at one point in the night, while it’s still dark, feeling Catie jerk in my arms.
“You okay?” I murmur.
“Yes. Sorry. I had a bad dream. And a bit of heartburn.”
“Do you want me to get you something for it?”
“No, it usually settles down.” She turns over.
The things women have to go through, and it wasn’t even her choice. I rub her arm to say sorry, and she moves so her back is against my chest. I rest my hand on her waist, feeling the swell of her bump. To my surprise, she takes my hand and pulls it around her, so our hands are clasped, and my arm sits above her bump, and I feel her kiss my fingers.
I can’t move away now. Instead, I get comfortable, enjoying her warmth in the darkness.
We sleep like that for the rest of the night.
*
When I wake again, the sun is streaming through a gap in the curtains, falling across the bed like a strip of gold leaf.
Catie is still asleep.
Carefully, so as not to wake her, I retrieve my arm, check the time—07:14 a.m.—then get up. I look back at her. She’s facing away, but her red hair is lit by the sun, which shows that it has gold highlights. With her bump facing away, she looks slender and fragile, the duvet sitting in the dip of her waist. She’s breathing deeply and evenly, and her cheeks have a slight flush.
I’m oh-so-tempted to go back to bed, slide under the covers with her, and press myself up against her. To kiss that flushed cheek and nuzzle her neck until she turns over. Then to kiss her until we’re both desperate for more. I want to do it more than anything in the world.
Gritting my teeth, I go into the bathroom, take a shower as cold as I can bear it, then go back into the bedroom and retrieve some clean clothing. I doubt it’ll be long before she wakes, so I think it’s time to get some breakfast on the go.
I pull up a playlist on my phone and set it going, and sing along to Post Malone’sCircleswhile I start frying bacon and eggs for a sandwich for us both. I’m halfway through the chorus when I turn to put the box of eggs back in the fridge and see Catie leaning against the door jamb watching me with a smile. She’s wearing the tee and track pants again, and the blue sweater she obviously likes.
