stiffen. “Don’t start, Warwick. Please, not tonight.”
His hands roam over my body, paying extra attention to my swollen breasts. Never taking his eyes from mine, he moves closer for a kiss, silencing my protests. “You know I find you sexy at any size, darling. These are particularly delicious.” He gently squeezes each breast in turn and I bite my lip to keep from screaming. “But if you’re not going to breastfeed, perhaps we should talk about how you’re going to shed these last few pounds. How can I help?”
At his offer of help, my anger fades. The truth is, I can barely stand to look at myself these days. This sad, frumpy woman with the dark circles under her eyes—she isn’t me. I’d love to wear some of the gorgeous things in my closet again instead of these shapeless sack dresses.
“If you took Elliot for an hour in the afternoon, I could go for a walk along the beach. Maybe even swim a bit once I’ve regained my strength.” I adore my son with an intensity I’d never thought possible, but the idea of an hour of freedom makes my head spin.
He coaxes my sundress aside to kiss my shoulder. “Done.”
My joy is short-lived as he begins to work on the buttons, trailing kisses down my neck. I try to pull away, but he presses himself against me. His erection prods my thigh. “Warwick...don’t.”
The kisses stop. My husband gazes down at me, looking wounded.
“But it’s been three months. I need you. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not ready.” The reality is worse—I’m terrified. Elliot’s birth was incredibly painful. What if my son ruined me? I can’t bear to find out. But, like any man, my husband has needs. If I can’t satisfy him, he’ll search for someone who can. With Warwick’s looks, the search won’t take long.
“The doctor said it’s fine. You’re just scared, which is understandable.” His face brightens. “Wait here. I’ve bought you a present.”
Before I can tell him that yet another gift isn’t necessary, my husband disappears into the closet, returning with a large gold box.
My heart sinks. The box is distinctive, unmistakable. There’s no doubt where it came from.
This isn’t a gift for me at all.
Doing my best to seem thankful, I open it to find a red velvet corset, complete with garters and stockings. I’m so exhausted I can hardly hold my head up. The skintight costume presents a challenge that makes me long to curl into a ball and sleep.
A dimple appears in Warwick’s cheek as he watches me open his present. At times like this, he resembles an imp. A kinky, twisted imp. “Maybe this will get you in the mood.”
Doubtful. Still, what choice do I have? I don’t want my husband to be miserable. And it has been three months. He’s waited long enough. “Give me a minute.” I do my best sashay to the dressing room, hoping it’s sexier than my usual waddle. Sure I’m tired but children are tiring—everyone says so. It’s not like taking care of Elliot will get easier as he gets older. If we’re going to get our romantic life back on track, there’s no better time to start.
I try to convince myself of this as I wriggle into the corset. It’s every bit as uncomfortable as it looked, and it’s doing not-so-nice things to my new figure. My breasts protrude until I feel like an overstuffed sausage. Sexy is not the word I’d use to describe it.
Releasing my long hair from its clasp, I fluff it around my shoulders and endeavor to act more confident than I feel. When I open the door, I’m relieved to see my husband has dimmed the lights. This will help with the illusion.
Warwick waits for me on the bed, his toned body gleaming. He licks his lips when he sees me, and reaches for my hand. “Darling, you are good enough to eat. Come here.”
I feel a moment of panic. I can’t do this. It’s too soon.
His expression is so eager, so hopeful. He’ll never understand how I feel. My husband has counted the days until we can be together again. I should be grateful he still finds me this attractive when I gave birth a few short months ago.
Seeing my hesitation, his smile falters, and I do the only thing I can to keep him happy. I go to him, summoning the memory that has always kept me safe.
When Warwick touches me, I am transported to another place.
I’m a little girl again, wearing a patterned sundress instead of a corset. I sit cross-legged in a field of daisies, watching while my father shows me how to make a chain of the blossoms, his dark head bent over the project. Once the crown of flowers is finished, I will wear it in my hair and spin in the sunlight, proclaiming myself Queen of the Meadow.
My mother smiles when she sees what we’re doing, and says she’d like to have one once we’re finished with mine. She spreads a blue blanket on the ground and unpacks our picnic basket as Maisey crawls nearby, cooing and pulling up fistfuls of grass.
As my beautiful husband invades my body, my mind drifts further and further away.
“Say ‘Ah,’” I said, pulling my mouth into an exaggerated O and crossing my eyes in an attempt to relax my young patient. It worked. It gave me a slight headache, but it worked. The little boy sitting on the examination table giggled, and his mother smiled briefly. She held the boy’s baby brother, and for a moment I was distracted. The skinny legs pumping in his mother’s arms reminded me of another baby, another time. I shook my head, surprised by the unexpected memory. I returned my focus to my young patient. Arinya, the Thai nurse I’m training, smiled. She was tiny, slender and so stunning, with dark brown eyes and long dark locks that should have looked sweaty and lank and tangled in this heat, but didn’t. Not for the first time I envied not only the length of her glossy hair, but her built-in air-conditioning that didn’t allow her to wilt in the humidity.
I grinned, then winked. “Ahhh.” I tried again, crossing my eyes harder (cue stronger headache), and the little boy obediently opened his mouth, his shoulders shaking in mirth as he tried to copy me. I used the tongue depressor to quickly scan his throat and tonsils, and nodded as I disposed of the thin wooden stick, not for the first time thinking I should have bought shares in that tongue depressor factory—we went through so damn many of them.
“His throat looks good and healthy, no spots, no redness,” I told Arinya, who quickly noted the details on the boy’s medical chart.
I winked at the boy again. “Good job, dude.” I reached for him, tickling his ears as I gently felt around his throat, easily locating his lymph nodes. I chuckled as the kid squirmed. “Hey, you have to sit still,” I told him, tickling him some more, and his mother laughed as he let loose with a peal of giggles.
“Glands are fine,” I said to Arinya. I conducted the rest of the examination as quickly as I could, trying to make the boy laugh at every opportunity. This was his first-ever visit to a health clinic, such as it was, and I wanted to make the experience a positive one. We wanted this new program to work. That meant people needed to come back. I decided I’d hold off on breaking out the syringes for his inoculations until his next visit. No sense traumatizing the poor kid—or his mother, not on the first visit. No, that stuff was best introduced
