Page 57 of The Baby His Secretary Carries

“It’s going to be fine,” Sasha insisted with a strain in her voice. Her lips were white.

“I have every confidence in these doctors,” Patricia assured her, which bolstered Molly a little.

Libby put on a brave face, smiling through her tears while Rafael was at his most stoic.

So was Gio, until they started to wheel her out.

“Molly!” He lurched into the hall and stopped the gurney to lean over her. His expression was tortured as he cupped her cheek. “Make sure you come back to me.”

It was hardly in her power, but she promised, “I will.”

He pressed one hard kiss on her dry lips, then she was on her way again, heart pounding.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ATTICUSBROOKSZAMOSwas tiny, but utterly perfect. He was in neonatal intensive care, requiring extra oxygen and accepting his nutrition from an IV, but his lungs were working and his heart duct had closed. He needed time and a lot of close watching, but he was as healthy as could be expected for a baby born so early.

When Molly was wheeled down to visit him, and she saw his naked brow bunched with stern determination to stay alive, she knew she would love him for her whole life. She would have kept him as her own in a heartbeat, but as she watched Sasha shakily cradle his achingly small form against her bare chest, crying with love for him while Rafael stood over them like a wolf guarding his mate and cub, she knew she had done the right thing.

Which wasn’t to say the baby blues didn’t hit her like a ton of bricks. She was kept in hospital a few days to ensure she was recovering from the surgery, and she expressed a little colostrum to give Atticus his best start, but she was planning to go home to New Jersey with her mom and Libby, so she only pumped to keep herself comfortable, not to encourage more milk.

That caused a hormone roller coaster that had her unable to stop crying the day she was discharged. It felt wrong to leave Atticus here, but even Sasha couldn’t bring him home yet. He would be in hospital for several weeks, likely until what would have been his due date if he’d gone to term.

“We’ll stay at the apartment. It’s just a few streets over,” her mother said to console her, pacing alongside the wheelchair as Molly was brought to the exit. “We can visit him every day.”

“I thought you were at a hotel?” Molly said with confusion.

“Gio moved us into his penthouse the second day we were here. It’s closer and has a pool. Libby loves it. I thought it was too much of an imposition, but he’s very persuasive,” Patricia said ruefully.

“Oh, you’ve met him,” Molly said, brightening with humor for a moment, then wondered why Gio hadn’t come to fetch her if he was still here. Was he? Or had he left, now that he knew she had safely delivered and was on the mend?

“It’s been nice getting to know him,” her mother said. “And I won’t pry, but...” She swept her hand over Molly’s hair. “I like him. I hope things work out between you.”

A nurse had helped Molly shower this morning. At least her hair was clean, if damp, but between that and the surgery, and the activity after so many days of bed rest, then the shuffle from the car into the apartment building, then into the penthouse, Molly was exhausted by the time she found Libby playing a lively hand of cards with Gio.

“Oh, no,” Libby said with guilty horror when she saw her. “I was supposed to move my stuff into Mom’s room so you could have mine. I’ll do it now.”

“Rest in my room while she does that,” Gio said, rising to help Molly down the long, marble hallway into the sprawling bedroom where wide windows offered a stunning view of the Parthenon. “Can I get you anything?”

“No. I’m f-fine.” She wasn’t, though. Tears started to leak down her cheeks.

“Molly. Do you want me to get your mom?” he asked with concern.

“No,” she sniffed. “I want to lay down.”

He closed the door and came to help her sink onto the bed, then picked up her feet for her. She habitually rolled onto her left side.

“The counselor told me I should expect to be sad, but I don’t want to cry. It hurts my stomach.”

“Ah,cuore mio.” He moved around the bed and lay facing her. “Of course, you’re sad.” Very gently, he drew her closer, arranging her against his warmth in a way that brought fresh tears to her eyes, but of a completely different sort. “I imagine you’ll feel sad for a long time, but I hope you’re proud, too? That was quite a gift you have given them.”

She hitched back her sob, fighting to control herself, and adjusted how her head was pillowed on his shoulder, then relaxed with her arm across his waist.

“Thank you for saying that. I don’t have any regrets about doing it. I really don’t. Except...” She swallowed.

“Hmm?” he prompted, dipping his chin.

“I’m sorry I hurt you.”

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