Page 66 of The Angel and the Agent

“I could show you some Pilates,” she suggested.

“I think I’d prefer that demo on the hot yoga,” he countered.

“I’d need heat and steam for that,” she said.

“I have a few suggestions about how to make some,” he said, holding the door to their hotel for her.

Later that night they lay in bed, sleepy but not ready for sleep, both cognizant of the fact that this was their last night, that tomorrow they would leave Africa and get back to reality.

“You’re a really good first date,” Amelia said, her finger trailing gently over Ethan’s chest.

“I’ll say I am,” he agreed, and she laughed.

“Tomorrow…”

“Nope. Not going to think or talk about tomorrow,” he said. “We agreed we would enjoy the time we had together. No strings, no talk about the future. Just us, just tonight.”

“That sounds like a reject greeting card that got sent to the discount store because no one bought it,” she said.

“New dream: retire from the agency and work for Hallmark’s rejected card division,” he said.

“Maybe if we don’t fall asleep, tomorrow will never come,” she said.

“Try it,” he said.

“I will,” she agreed and, twenty minutes later, she was asleep.

In the morning,they were both quiet. Ethan watched Amelia in concern as she seemed more subdued than usual.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked.

“I have a bit of a stomach ache. It’s fine,” she assured him, but he wasn’t sure. She barely spoke three words to him as they packed up their meager belongings and took a taxi to the airport. The flight would last nearly twenty-four hours, including layovers. When they arrived at the airport, Amelia disappeared into the bathroom and was gone so long they nearly missed their flight.

“Amelia, seriously, are you okay?” he pressed once they were finally seated and settled.

“I’m fine,” Amelia assured him, though she looked pale.

When they arrived at their first layover, she disappeared into the bathroom again for a long time. After she emerged, she bought a soda.

“Amelia,” Ethan began, but she held up a hand to halt him.

“I’m fine, really, everything is fine. I feel a little yak, but I’m good. Sorry to be a downer on the last leg of our journey,” she said. They sat in front of a television, spouting news in another language. “Which country are we in?”

“Brussels,” he said. “More use for your minor.”

She smiled weakly and rested her head on his shoulder. He took her hand, and she fell back asleep.

On the last leg of their journey, back to DC, he caught her wincing a few times, but every time he called her on it, she insisted everything was fine. Finally he’d had enough and snapped at her.

“Clearly you are not fine. Could you please tell me what’s going on?”

“I feel a little crampy, okay? I’ve sort of lost track of where I’m at in my monthly schedule, and I can’t remember if the timing is right. And it’s making me feel sick to my stomach. Aren’t you glad you asked.” She tore open his pack and searched for the antacid she’d purchased at the last airport.

“Yes, cranky pants, I am. If you’re not doing all right, I want to know about it.”

“Why? Because you’re my husband for,” she checked his watch, “two more hours?”

“One more hour,” he corrected.

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