Page 4 of The Mrs. Clause
It'd been the last meaningful conversation we'd had. After that we'd been nothing but distant acquaintances, birthday cards and Christmas presents, the occasional phone call at a predetermined time. Nothing meaningful, nothing deep.
And yet my heart still ached after every interaction.
Silly, foolish girl.
I shut the water off, stepping out and wrapping myself in a towel. I wished the memories could be as easily wiped away as the water from my skin.
I dressed, crawling into bed and reaching for my phone. Tonight, it felt like self-flagellation opening the parenting forum and scrolling through the picture feed. I wanted what these families had, a little one to call my own. Someone to love and adore, someone to raise and encourage. I wanted the sticky fingers and sleepless nights. The kisses and tears.
Hell, I'd become a stalker on the forum. A voyeur watching women's pee stick posts, judging the lines and celebrating when they were positive. It sounded weird, but it made complete sense once you became part of the parenthood.
Only, I wasn't. I floated in the fringes, posting congratulatory comments and lifting those who needed the support. But I had yet to share my journey because it hadn't started.
I shut off my phone, returning it to the side table and staring at the ceiling.
Pregnancy didn't just happen. I knew that. I'd been tracking my fertility for months. And there was no guarantee it would take straight away. Life happened. Infertility happened. Struggles happened. But I hadn't even had the opportunity to try.
You, me and a bed.
My boss, Honey, had let me take four weeks off work. I'd planned to fly to London, convince Nick to be a donor, then bring him back to the States just in time for my appointment late next week. I'd already gone through the process of egg retrieval. All I needed was his sperm.
His sperm. How romantic.
I'd have to cancel the appointment. No point if Nick wasn't prepared to donate.
You could just do it without him.
I played the scenario out in my mind. If I did that, he'd have to divorce me, right? The baby wouldn't be his, and there was no way his proper family would ever allow that indiscretion to go unpunished.
I blew out a long, shaky breath.
Face it, Collins. You'd never do that to him.
I tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position. As much as I wanted to be that callous, it just wasn't in my nature. And I would never bring a baby into this world who would one day know they were the reason for so much conflict between our families.
Besides, you’ll need the money for their future.
The reality was my job, while fantastic, paid only an average wage. Sure, the benefits were good, but I wanted better than good for my baby. I wanted the best. I wanted to set my little person up for success. Being a single parent would be hard enough without having my access to Nick's deep pockets cut off. And I'd read every inch of the prenuptial agreement – if I got pregnant without his permission, he'd be well within his rights to end my allowance.
Yep, I had an allowance. It was generous and supplemented my income allowing me to do things like catch a flight to London without having to worry about the financial hit. But I wanted to be a stay at home mom for as long as possible. Every woman was different. Every parent was different. I loved my career. Helping people meant a lot to me. But I wanted to be hand's on – and I had the means to do that… so long as I stayed married to Nick.
Sleep evaded me as I played out every scenario I could think of. As weak dawn slipped through the gap in my curtains, I finally made a decision.
You, me and a bed.
Chapter Three
Nick
I swirled the tumbler of scotch, watching the liquid dance around the glass, absently berating myself.
You're a fool, Nicholas. She's only using you for your sperm. She no longer feels anything for you.
Surprisingly, I didn't have it in me to care.
With some difficulty I'd cleared my schedule for the next three weeks. It may have been wishful thinking on my part, but if Collins gave me a chance, then I wanted all my focus to be on her.
It had been just under twelve months since I'd last seen my wife. She didn't know that, of course. But every year, when she traveled to New York for her annual tax appointment with our joint accountant, I sat in the café in the foyer. Like some desperate fool, I watched with rabid eagerness for that glimpse of her walking across the foyer, pausing at the elevators, sometimes smiling at people, sometimes absently playing on her phone. Always with her riot of curly brunette hair falling about her shoulders.
