Page 81 of Bloom
Sitting there in the light of a crystal lantern on low produced nothing, and the cramps ebbed. They hadn’t felt like trapped air, but maybe that was all it was, and it had shifted when he got up.
He was more awake than he wanted to be when he crawled back into bed and figured it was a fluke. After about ten or so minutes, the cramping returned.
What if it was his uterus? Despite being under the blanket, he went cold at the thought and sat up again. If an abundant male conceived, the cramps always came four weeks later as a sign of pregnancy. The uterus was preparing to grow and house the baby already inside it. After another eight months, the baby would be born.
He’d never felt anything quite like it before.
He slid out of bed and tapped the lantern on his bedside drawer. In his writing desk, he had a little leather booklet with pages for each month inside. The days and dates were listed on them. For the new year, he’d replace them.
He found the one for June and marked the day before counting backward to mid-May. That was when he had the heat fever. They had screwed four weeks ago. His heart pounded as he tried to will away the cramps and the truth along with it.
Jaime had gotten him pregnant.
He flung down the booklet. “Damn it!”
The herb pasties were supposed to be taken before sex, and they lasted for a few hours. One could take them after sexalthough it was better to not forget and wait until afterward. The wise woman said it was something about how they were initially absorbed. Even though he’d fallen asleep right after cumming, exhausted from the heat fever, and that had delayed him, he’d taken two as a precaution! What the fuck? How could two not be enough?
The baby had also managed to stick despite the incident in the woods and being poisoned.
He couldn’t have a baby right now. He wasn’t safe, and he was supposed to bring a kid into the world? Unless he figured out something fast in the next eight months to get rid of Gautier.
What the fuck was he supposed to tell the Father who was currently asleep on the couch in his sitting room? Aleric rubbed his stomach although that did little for the cramps. He’d probably have them for a good twelve hours, or maybe a whole day. It varied.
Out of desperation, he sat on the privy again just in case he did have to go and was worrying over nothing.
After fifteen minutes, he was sitting up in bed and staring at the flowers gleaming in the window from the lantern light. What was he supposed to tell Jaime? He had the cramps, and by the way, it was his baby.
“Congratulations. You're stuck with me now.”
Jaime wasn’t terrible since he’d stuck around, and he’d kept his promise by not grabbing him and saying sexual things. Still, Aleric hadn’t looked at him as marriage and Father material. Then again, he never looked at anyone like that anymore. Not since he was twenty. Jaime was like an employee, and in the future, they were supposed to part.
Except he’d leave a lot sooner. He already knew Jaime wasn’t going to stay and take responsibility for an oopsie baby. Since Aleric would have to tell Father soon, he’d be in a hurry to get out before Lord Monet could make him stay.
Jaime had even said he wasn't in the position to be a Father. While he was okay with helping Aleric with his problem, he saw it as temporary. A baby would make him feel stuck, even though he’d admitted to wanting to fuck Aleric without a heat fever being the reason, that didn’t mean he wanted to stay.
It was better that way. He didn’t need a husband. The baby would be another thing to worry about alone.
At least he was used to being alone.
Chapter Seventeen
“Are you all right?” asked Jaime.
“I’m fine.”
“You seem off.”
“I just said I’m fine,” Aleric snapped in a low voice.
Jaime kept his mouth shut as he continued eating. If he wanted to lie, that was on him. Normally, Aleric didn’t appear as though he’d barely slept. He also didn’t usually avoid looking at Jaime entirely either.
In private, he’d seemed a little more relaxed since Olivier was dead. Maybe he simply hadn’t slept well, and that’s why he was grouchy.
Aleric picked at his breakfast and didn’t seem to be enjoying his pastry while Lord Monet started fussing about someone who hadn’t paid rents and taxes in three quarters.
“The Master Steward goes, and it’s always the wife who answers and sobs about her husband not being able to find work. I told him to go today and see, but I know it’ll be the same answer. I don’t want to put them on the street with the two kids, but this is ridiculous. There are plenty of steady jobs in Côte.”
“He needs to speak to the husband,” said Aleric. “Not the wife.”
