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The furniture was all light wood, bamboo, and whicker. Fans spun lazily on the ceilings. A modern, top-notch kitchen with all high-end appliances greeted her—the kind of kitchen that made you want to cook, even if you were bad at it.
“It’s…incredible,” she said, stepping out onto the porch. She could hear the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore. It was a lovely, soothing sound. Anne took a deep breath, savoring the clean air and scent of roses.
“It’s good to have a place no one knows about,” he said. “It’s the only place where I can truly be alone and get away.”
“Which reminds me,” Anne said, “how’d you ditch the Secret Service to come here?”
“Accepting security is at my discretion. I declined it for our honeymoon.” He grinned, taking her into his arms, back to his front. His arms wrapped around her waist. “I didn’t think you’d mind,” he whispered in her ear. A chill ran through her at the brush of his lips.
“What do you say, my bride?” He pressed a kiss to her neck. Anne tilted her head, her eyes sliding closed. “Shall we make it official?”
“If this baby in my belly doesn’t make it official, I don’t know what would,” she answered with a laugh.
Blane swept her up in his arms making her squeal. “I just have one request.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Leave the shoes on.”
Chapter Twenty
They were six months into the pregnancy and six months until Election Day when they found out.
“Oh my,” the doctor said, concern evident in his voice.”
Both Anne and Blane looked at him with alarm. The doctor was looking at the sonogram monitor.
“What is it?” Anne sounded frantic. “What’s wrong?” Blane took her hand.
“Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine,” he said quickly. “It’s just…well.” He moved the sonogram to the left side of Anne’s stomach. “Here’s your baby.” He moved it to the other side of her stomach. “And here’s yourotherbaby.”
Anne’s mouth dropped open. Blane’s heart skipped a beat.
“Twins?” Anne squeaked.
The doctor nodded. “Twins.”
“Oh, God.” Anne closed her eyes, leaned back against the pillow, and rested her hand on her forehead.
“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Blane watched her anxiously.
“I just…need a minute.”
Blane grimaced. He’d expected a lot from Anne these past few months. She was having his baby—now babies, plural. They’d married. She’d campaigned with him. Survived a plane crash. Been shot at. Kidnapped. Chances were likely she’d be First Lady if the polls were anything to go by. The paparazzi relentlessly dogged them since they were currently the favorite subjects for everything from Vanity Fair to Vogue to the supermarket tabloids.
No wonder she needed a minute. She probably needed therapy.
However, he was overjoyed.Twobabies! He’d have to get another crib. And car seat. And car. They’d need a minivan. No, Anne would never go for that. A big SUV. A Hummer. A tank on wheels. They’d been interviewing nannies. They’d have to make sure the nanny was young and energetic enough to handle two babies. Or should they just get two nannies…
“I want you to take it easy,” the doctor cautioned, breaking into Blane’s thoughts. “I’m not prescribing bed rest, but no more galivanting around the country willy nilly. You need to eat healthy food and plenty of it, and the most I want you moving is a walk or two around the block. Understand?”
Both Blane and Anne said “Yes” at the same time.
The doctor looked back at the monitor. “Would you like to know the sex?”
They looked at each other.
“I want to,” Anne admitted.
