Page 12 of Claiming His Baby At The Altar

So she’d prepared herself to go through the birth alone just as she’d had to swallow her fears and prepare herself for raising her child alone too. She’d truly thought she was mentally ready for it but, now that the moment was here, terror at what lay ahead struck and as soon as Ramos was back by her side she removed the tube from her mouth and grabbed his hand.

‘Don’t leave me,’ she begged. ‘Please, don’t leave me.’

A furrow formed in his brow. ‘You want me to come to the hospital?’

Another contraction gripped her and she shoved the tube into her mouth and breathed in and out with it, squeezing Ramos’s hand so tightly in the process he winced at the strength of it.

‘Please,’ she panted when the worst of it was over, uncaring that tears were rolling down her face. ‘I don’t want to do this alone. Please, Alejandro, don’t make me do this alone. Please.’

He studied her intently a moment longer before his features softened. Smoothing her hair off her forehead with the hand not being squeezed to death, he placed a kiss to it. ‘I won’t leave your side. I promise.’

And just like that, the fear that had snuck up on her and come close to smothering her lessened and she flopped her head back.

‘Thank you,’ she breathed with relief.

‘Shoot me,’ Flora begged Ramos in the birthing room when the latest contraction subsided enough for her to speak. ‘Please. Get a gun and shoot me.’

The midwife smiled sympathetically. She’d heard it all before.

Ramos kissed the fingers gripping his hand so tightly. His other hand was rubbing her lower back. ‘I know it hurts,querida. You hold onto me, okay? You can do this.’

‘Ican’t.’

He kissed her fingers again. ‘You can. I have every faith in you. You’re beautiful and brave and strong, just hold on a little longer. You’re almost there.’

Two hours later, Ramos gently placed their son back to her breast and pulled the visitor’s chair as close to her bed in the private room she’d been moved to as he could get. His eyes were shining with wonder and pride. ‘He’s perfect.’

High on the precious little bundle whose precious little face was nuzzling into her skin and high on the release of hormones flooding her system, Flora felt her chest swell with so much love she thought it might burst out of her.

She gazed at Ramos and took in his stubbly jaw, creased shirt and dishevelled hair. She’d never seen him anything but immaculately groomed before and the sight of him like this and the knowledge ofwhyhe was like this filled her chest even more.

He was all dishevelled because he’d spent six hours right by her side, four of those being used as her human form of pain relief.

The pain was already a distant memory.

‘He looks like you,’ she said dreamily.

He traced his fingers lightly over their son’s head. ‘Do you think?’

She nodded and smothered a yawn. ‘Just like you.’

His broad shoulders rose and he gazed into her eyes with the same sense of wonder he kept staring at their son with. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

Feeling a blush form on her cheeks, she tried to make light of it. ‘Aw, shucks, it was nothing.’

He snickered but then the amusement faded and the wonder in his stare returned. ‘Thank you for letting me share that.’

‘Thank you for being there.’ He’d been wonderful. It was an unselfish, giving, empathetic side to him that she’d forgotten existed, but she had seen that side of him before, in the months leading to her mother’s death. Ramos’s regular visits had never failed to bring a smile to her mum’s face.

‘Sorry about your fingers,’ she added sleepily.

The grin returned. ‘My own birthing war wound.’

Another yawn crept up on her before she could cover it, a wave of exhaustion hitting her like a sledgehammer.

Ramos noticed. Lifting their son from her arms, he gently said, ‘Sleep,querida. I will wake you when he’s ready for another feed.’

Her ‘thank you’ had barely left her lips before sleep claimed her.

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