blinked several times then tipped away. Even laughed a little. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?” She went to object and he held up his hands. “Okay. No more questions. Except one. And I want you to think about it before you answer.”
She searched his eyes and eventually nodded. “All right.”
“At the hospital, you said you thought you were pregnant. It is possible you were mixed up? That maybe …”
Not wanting to say it but needing to, he exhaled and reached for her hand. Gripped it tight.
“That maybe you’d been pregnant before?”
Her expression cracked—half amused, half insulted. As if she’d been burned, she pried her hand away.
“That’s ridiculous. For God’s sake, Bishop, I’d know if I’d been pregnant before.”
So adamant. Too adamant.
He swallowed against the ache blocking his throat. Out of anything he could have asked her—anything that would have set off a battery of alarm bells—that question had to have been it. And yet the only reaction he got was a disgusted look as if he’d called her a name. If he bit the bullet, went further and tried to explain about their discussions two years ago, how she’d been so happy with his decision to try to conceive, then ultimately so crushed …
Her eyes glistened more. A hint of panic hid behind the sheen. But her voice was hauntingly level when she spoke.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
His midsection clenched and his gaze dropped away.
He’d had no illusions, but this was way harder than he’d thought. Near impossible.
He believed he’d asked the right question, but there was another. And now that he’d come this far, he had to ask it, for both their sakes.
After finding her gaze again, he lowered his voice. “Laura, how do you think you’d handle losing a child?”
She let out a breath. And smiled. Hell, she looked relieved.
“Is that what all this is about?” She leaned nearer and braced his thigh. “Nothing bad will happen. We have to believe that. I know everything will be all right. Have faith. Have faith in us.” She squeezed his leg. “I do.”
The emotion clogging his throat drifted higher and stung behind his nose. How could he respond to that? He had nothing. Then a crazy notion hit. So crazy, he wanted to laugh.
Wouldn’t it be something if she fell pregnant again and this time everything worked out? If she didn’t get her memory back, what man would convict him? She’d be happy. His soul would be redeemed. Or, if she fell pregnant before her memory returned, couldn’t they work through to reinvent the happy ending they’d both deserved the first time around? Was that too crazy to hope for? Another chance?
Her hand left his thigh. “You mentioned something about a slow dance on the balcony.”
Before he could respond, she stood and held out her hand. He looked at her for a long, tormented moment. There was no right or wrong. No win or lose. No way to predict how this would end. Or if it would.
His fingers curling around hers, he found his feet and led her out onto the balcony.
A cool harbor breeze filed through their hair as he cradled her close and she rested her cheek against his fast-beating heart. With the distant hum of traffic for music, he began to rock her gently around. After a few moments she murmured, so softly he barely heard.
“I love you, Bishop.”
High in his gut that tight ball contracted more and time wound down to a standstill. The decision was instinctive.
He put aside the man he was now, the man whose heart had been mangled and who had vowed to never marry again. He tamped down the voice that said not to lie. That cried out what he planned was unforgivable. Instead, he assumed the mask of a man just three months married. A man who knew he should let go of the guilt over surviving his brother and forego the fear of “what ifs” in the womb and beyond. A man who wanted their own child as much as Laura did, no matter what.
No matter what.
He brushed the hair from her cheek, whispered her name then, willing himself to believe it, said, “I love you, too.”
Eight
The next morning, in their Darling Harbor penthouse, Laura had trouble getting out of bed.
She wasn’t sick. She’d never felt healthier. Or happier. After the hours she and Bishop had spent writhing in each other’s arms, she only wanted to stay there, close to her incredible husband, soaking up his magnificent heat, reveling in the way he fulfilled her, each and every time. In the broader scheme of things, they hadn’t known each other long, but she couldn’t imagine these intense emotions ever waning. The texture of his hair, the sound of his rich, smooth voice, the intoxicating scent she inhaled whenever her nose brushed his chest.
She only hoped he never tired of her. She might have been dealt a bad card—her heart condition—but that was little or no problem now. And fate had more than compensated by gifting her the love of an extraordinary man like Samuel Bishop.
At around nine, while Bishop made some calls, she slid into the bathroom to shower. As she lathered her hair, she smiled, remembering how he’d mentioned during the night that he had a surprise for her this morning. It couldn’t be jewelry. He’d already given her enough to weigh down a queen. Perhaps after their reminiscing, he was going to book another cruise.
Laura dried off, knowing that whatever he had planned she would love. She wouldn’t let her mind wander so far as to consider he might want to window-shop for baby things. Furniture, pink or blue jumpsuits, high chairs, stencils for a nursery wall. And she wanted to buy one of those faith, hope and love trinkets. She’d adored the idea of those symbols, and their meanings, since knowing a friend in primary school who had worn them around her neck on a thin gold chain. If she and Bishop had a girl, the heart, anchor and cross would go onto a bracelet; if a boy, she’d attach them to the cot.
Laura stopped to gaze at her pensive reflection in the fogged up mirror.
With so much to organize, perhaps they should start looking now.
But as she slipped the light butter-colored dress over her head, Laura berated herself. They hadn’t agreed to fall pregnant. Not yet. It was an important and delicate matter, one they both felt strongly about. Still, perhaps she ought to bring it up again sometime today. Logically, she knew they had oodles of time to start a family; she was young and, at thirty, so was he. But that didn’t quell the awareness she felt building every day. More and more she noticed mothers with prams, baby commercials on TV, schools and parks with swings and kids laughing and chasing each other around like mad things.
After applying a lick of mascara and lip gloss, she set a brush to her towel-dried hair. Her thoughts wandered more, to places they’d never traveled before, and the brush strokes petered out.
Frowning at her reflection, she shook her head. No. She would never do it. Even if there were
