Page 18 of Hap

“Good, because she needs to take it easy. I will get her to call you in the next day or so once she’s settled,” I state. I hold the phone out to Alina, who is glaring daggers at me. “You can say goodbye,” I add.

She snatches her phone from my hand. “Oh, can I? How fucking kind of you,” she says sarcastically, and I laugh. “Becky, yeah I’m here,” she mutters. “No, he doesn’t sound hot!” she hisses down the phone. That just makes my grin deepen. “I will call you soon,” she says before disconnecting.

“She seems nice,” I comment.

“Piss off,” she mutters before she turns her back to me and looks out the passenger window.

The drive takes us around an hour, and it was around twenty minutes ago when I noticed that Alina had drifted off to sleep. I pressed the button for the gate to open and I reached over, gently stroking the back of my fingers down her face.

“Baby, wake up,” I coax softly. She lets out a soft moan, and as her eyes blink open, she sits up straighter.

“Where are we?” she asks.

“Home,” I answer as I drive through the open gate and up the drive to the house. Her eyes are wide as she takes in the house. “This is your house?” she asks in disbelief.

I know it’s a big looking house, I know exactly how much this cost me, and by the look on Alina’s face, she has a pretty good idea of how much a place like this costs too. I put the truck in park and jump out, quickly walking around to her side and open her door. She just sits there with her mouth open.

I smirk. “You going to get out of the truck, or are you going to come inside?” I ask. She rapidly blinks and closes her mouth before she removes her seatbelt and jumps down from the truck. I slam the door shut and take her hand in mine, leading her up the steps to the front door. After I unlock the door, I keep her hand firmly in mine as I lead her inside. Her steps falter as she looks around, and when she spots the playpen I had set up in the lounge already filled with toys, a bouncer, and teddies, she looks surprised.

“Come on, let me show you the kitchen,” I say, tugging on her hand. I walk her into the kitchen, pointing at the high chair sat at the dining table. “There is also a bottle warmer, and I have a steriliser in the cupboards,” I add. Leading her upstairs, I open the door to the nursery. “Everything the baby will need is in here,” I state as she slowly wanders into the room. “The only thing I haven’t bought yet is the pram and clothes, as I figured you’d want to choose those.” I sigh, shoving my hands in mypockets as I watch her trail her fingers along the white crib. “Do you like it?” I ask.

She turns her attention to me, and I swear it feels like a kick in the gut seeing her face so soft and full of emotion, her eyes brimming with tears.

“It’s perfect,” she sobs.

I walk towards her and pull her into my arms, holding her tight as I kiss the top of her head. She wraps her arms around me in return. “Shit, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” I say into her hair.

She sniffs. “I know, it’s just my hormones, and this is just so sweet.”

I smile, relieved that she likes it. “Come on, let me show you your room,” I state as I lead her out of the room, walking her to the room next door. “I’ve given you the master bedroom, and it’s got its own bathroom,” I say, pointing to the bathroom.

“My room?” she asks, confusion in her voice.

“Yeah, I figured you would want your own space,” I say with a shrug.

She nods slowly, nibbling on her bottom lip. “Thank you,” she says, giving me a small grin. I frown confused, thinking she would be more enthusiastic about it.

“My room is down the hall if you need me,” I tell her. She nods, avoiding eye contact with me. She stands there for a moment, nibbling on her bottom lip. “What is it?” I ask her.

Her eyes come to mine, but she shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m just...” She pauses. “Overwhelmed, I think,” she says, giving me a small smile.

“You want to go for a lie down?” I ask her. She nods and walks further into her room. I walk to the window and close the blinds as she climbs into bed. She curls into herself, and as she pulls the covers up and over her shoulder, I lean over and place a kiss on the side of her temple. “Rest for an hour. I will comeand wake you when dinner is ready,” I state. She keeps her eyes closed, not responding to me, so I turn and leave, pulling the door shut behind me.

I walk out to the truck to unload her stuff. Pausing, I pull out my phone and hit call. “Hey, sweetheart,” Queenie answers on the second ring.

“What’s the best thing to cook for dinner for a pregnant woman that has bad sickness?” I ask.

“Well, I mean, it depends from woman to woman.” She pauses. “Hold on,” she adds.

I sigh and rub my face. “Hey, Daddy,” Star coos down the phone.

“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter. “This is why I didn’t want to ring Queenie,” I tut.

“Why? Because we are family and we love you, and we will try and help you any way we can,” Star argues.

“It’s just, I’m trying to make her feel settled, and she’s been really fucking sick. She looks pale and weak, and fuck, I got all the stuff. I bought all the damn baby stuff the woman at the store said I would need. But how the fuck do I take care of her?” I rant, overloading the worry that I had locked down from seeing her so ill. “Fuck, I found her on the bathroom floor. I thought she was fucking dead. I thought the hard part was looking after the baby,” I add.

“Oh, hell no. The baby part is easy in comparison. They eat, shit, and sleep. If they are crying, it’s either because they are hungry, need burping, or need changing. With pregnant women, sometimes they don’t even know what’s wrong with them. Hormones are crazy. One minute you’re laughing, the next minute you’re crying, or so angry you chase the delivery guy with a frying pan for knocking while you are trying to have a nap.” She sighs. “Anyway, you want to just leave her be. Make her feel safe, ask her how she is, but not too much that it becomes annoying,and whatever you do, do not tell her how big she’s gotten or use words like blooming or glowing. That shit is just a nice way of saying you don’t look so bad being fat. When the truth is, you’re tired, your ankles are ballooning, you are scared to laugh in case you piss yourself, and you miss seeing your cooch.” She pauses, taking a breath.

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