Endless Love by Bianca Borell
Chapter Thirty-Nine
BRIA
Damien caresses my belly, and it is my new favorite way of waking up. He’s propped on his elbow with his eyes shining with love and wonder. I open the nightstand and pick up the first picture of our babies. He takes it, his finger trembling slightly as he studies it and lets an amazed gasp out. I point toward the little black dots.
“Are these two peanuts our babies?”
His voice fills with pride and adoration, and butterflies erupt in my belly.
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
He puts his lips on my stomach and kisses it.
“Damien, I’m ready to fly back home.”
He lets out a relieved breath as he wraps his arms around me.
“Thank you.”
“It’s me who should thank you, baby. Your support these last months . . . I wouldn’t have made it without you.” He takes my hand in his and lifts it to his mouth, kissing the inside of my palm.
“I promised you, I’m right here for now and forever. You’re not alone and never will be again. Whatever you want to be, to achieve, I’m right at your side.”
I tilt my head to him and confess, “I still miss him, but I promised him I’d be strong.”
“Quinn was an incredible man, and my appreciation for him will never fade. It’s perfectly normal to miss him. Plus, you’ll make sure his legacy will continue to flourish.”
“Do you think Alex will be all right?” He shrugs, and I love how he always answers without sugar-coating it.
“I don’t know. He’s a tough guy, though. I’m sure the time you spent together helped him. He knows you’ll be there for him, and he’s family, no matter what. And your little two-person family will have two more members in a few months.”
Three days later, we leave New York, and although it hurts me to be away from Alex, I know I’m doing the right thing.
***
We arrive at Dr. Goldstein’s office, and Damien fidgets in the seat, tapping the floor until I press my hand over his knee to stop.
Her presence demands both respect and attention. She appears to be an ageless, white-blonde beauty. Her frail appearance is in contrast with her strong personality. Her voice is warm, but the way she talks is self-assured. I like her until I realize she formed an alliance with Damien—they’re the health police—and I stop liking her on the spot.
Damien notices the change and a smirk paints his face. He’s lucky that we are in public. I still threaten him with my heated look as he smiles and mouths, “I love you too.”
She informs me that in my situation, a pregnancy should never have happened this soon. I already guessed on my own without a medical degree. The doctor goes through all the things that might go wrong and all the risks, from my heart worsening instead of recovering, to cardiac arrest, to death, and my husband pales a little more every minute. I feel bad for him, but it doesn’t last as I’m reminded we’re going to become parents. It overshadows every potential fear for me.
I’m still alive, your only concern is to keep me alive. The rest I’ll handle by myself.
I assure her I’m well aware and understand all the risks, but it won’t change the fact I’m having these babies. If she says one more time that I should rethink the whole pregnancy, I cannot be held accountable for my actions. I already love these babies, and this is my only chance to become a mother. I know Damien too well.
In the middle of the conversation, her stance changes to acceptance. “Mrs. du Sky, for the next few months, you’re to be on strict bed rest. No stressful situations, and I mean absolutely none. Your heart will have to work double now.” I nod, and before we leave the office, she adds, “I wish you all the best.”
Considering everything we were just told, I feel great, and Damien relaxes, witnessing my constant, cheerful attitude. Our babies are worth the risk.
Damien invites our parents to dinner to give them the big news. I don’t even spare one thought about my still fresh pregnancy. I will make it, and my babies are strong, they have our genes.
A gift box containing a pair of white baby shoes and a note saying Congratulations grandmother/grandfather. We can’t wait to meet you! sits in the center of each place setting. They take their seats, unwrap the gifts, and everything goes silent. Our parents stare from us to the shoes with the note, eyes welling up.
“Honey, why is there a ‘we’ instead of an ‘I’?”
“Because there are two instead of one.”
***
Our babies aren’t even born yet, and they have enough clothes and toys to last until they reach retirement. My mother believes they are girls, while my mother-in-law is sure they are boys. Our penthouse is packed with baby items, and Damien forbids our mothers to bring more stuff.
I find it hilarious when he says, “It will suffocate us.”
“Let them have this, plus we’ll donate most of them.”
With every passing month, he becomes more feverish in our lovemaking, more attentive, and even more caring than he already was. He snaps daily pictures of my growing belly, trailing long kisses on the small bump, talking to them.
Today is momentous. It’s the day we find out about the babies’ sexes, and the day we move into the mansion.
The doctor reveals we’re expecting a boy and a girl, and tears gather in our eyes, our love expanding with every single day. They are healthy, I’m doing fine considering my circumstances. This whole pregnancy is under a special sign.
***
We reach our new home, and I take in everything. An elegant, two-story, white mansion with a blue tile roof and high windows stretching in the middle of the green landscape. Each side is the perfect replica of the other wing. The twins will have their own spaces when they get older with our master bedroom between them.
Out in front is a circular drive, centered by a sumptuous fountain, and oak trees surround the stone-paved driveway. It’s everything I could ever dream of or ask for.
On the inside, dark wood floors, high ceilings, and black and silver details in perfect symmetry add a touch of elegance. The spacious and open living room offers a spectacular, unobstructed view of the lake as sun rays dance around me. The white sofa is the highlight of this room, along with the white fireplace set in a grey stone wall. The vast kitchen is a masterpiece with black floors, white furniture, and a big center island leading to an open dining room where all our family members could sit together.
I don’t want to end my tour because the moment we enter the bedroom, I’ll be back on bed rest. Damien picks me up, so I won’t climb the stairs on my own. The overwhelming feeling of adoration I have for him fills me up.
He opens the door to the nursery, and although I have done no physical work, I handpicked everything in here. White walls and two white baby beds sit between the window, one having pink details and the other blue, along with big twin armchairs. I inhale the new, sweet and calming scent of the room. I stroke my belly in anticipation. I can’t wait to welcome them home. Inside our master bedroom, a king-size bed anchors the space and the view through the tall windows takes my breath away.
“Do you like it?”
He wraps his arms around me while we peer outside, getting lost in the lake view.
“It’s perfect.”
After stepping inside the voluminous dressing room, the bathroom follows. It’s the definition of sophistication with its spa-like setting. Everything in here creates harmony—black and classy double sinks connected by a mirror, an exquisite soaker tub trimmed in marble tile, and a huge glass shower inviting one to relax.
“I love it. I don’t think I could have done better.” He chuckles and rests against the wall.
“You chose them.”
“Yes, but I wasn’t here, so I couldn’t know the result would be this gorgeous.”
“I know what you’re up to, it’s not working. Time for bed.”
“Damien . . .” I plead, and he offers me an apologetic smile.
“Only a few more months, baby.”
“But the doctor said everything looks good.”
“I’m sure it’s because you’ve followed her instructions.”
***
By the end of summer, I can’t see my feet anymore over my round belly. I count every day until I will give birth. My breathing becomes more labored, which skyrockets Damien’s unease. I’m not feeling as well as I did at the beginning of my pregnancy. While I try to hide it, Damien senses it, regardless.
There are days where the pregnancy is a blessing, like when I feel them kick or when we see their tiny faces in 4D ultrasound pictures. But there are also days when I’m afraid because of the uncertainty if my heart can bear the pressure.
Still, I have hope, because my heart didn’t worsen, it just doesn’t recover as quickly as it should.
I pray every day for enough strength to carry on, but there are nights when Damien lies sleepless beside me, and I silently cry because there’s nothing I can do to lessen our fears.
I keep pondering if hope without physical evidence is more a curse or a blessing?
By the middle of October, the doctor examines the babies and me daily. With every passing day, I put my life at risk, but I won’t allow them to perform the C-section until the thirty-sixth week. Not the desperate pleas of Damien nor the warnings of my doctor make me any more rational. In all the uncertainty, I still believe everything will be fine. Is it more a wish than a fact? Most certainly.
