"What about—babies?"

And there it went, the bottom of my stomach. Stupidly, I hadn't expected that question. And I had no answer for it.

Those brown eyes bored into the back of my soul. "Will there be babies, Adam?"

Somewhere in the deepest reaches inside of me, someone flipped the switch on a deep freeze. I swallowed again. No. I wanted to say it in the most final of voices. I wanted to put that foot down now. Nothing that threatens your health. Ever. Ever again.

But I said nothing.

She blinked, continuing to stare. And those eyes—those beautiful eyes—welled up with the largest, clearest tears I'd ever seen. "Please, Adam," she whispered hoarsely. "I need an answer."

I shook my head. "I don't know."

Was it my voice that trembled like that?

The tears breached the rims of her eyes, spilling in thin streams down her sculpted cheeks. How could happiness turn to sorrow in the literal blink of an eye?

This fabric we'd woven together, this mesh of us, was made of joy, of pure love, of humor, of shared experiences, pain, sex, arguments, discussions, and practical jokes. But there was that one sharp pinprick of sadness that we always seemed to avoid acknowledging.

That one razor-edged sting that could draw blood with its sharpness.

That loss.

"So it will only ever be the one?" Her voice trembled, and she bit her lip then took a breath to continue. "The one lost baby we can never hold? Never watch grow up?"

Her face, so filled with emotion, highlighted the void inside myself. Like there was a barrier containing my feelings where this issue was concerned. This part of my heart was tucked somewhere far back in a deep, dark corner.

Resolution filled me. I wanted to answer her in definitive terms. But how could I? Given the tears, given how difficult it even was for her to bring it up, I knew this was important to her.

This loss still haunted her. In truth, if I could stand to admit it, it haunted us both, even if for different reasons.

The least I could do was give her hope.

But I wouldn't give her empty promises, no matter how much she needed that hope.

So I needed to decide here and now what I would give her. What I could give her.

"I'm not going to say no," I murmured. No matter how much I want to. The fear, it was rising up again, choking me. Memories of the tears we'd shed during that dark, troubling time. Memories of carrying her, passed out in my arms. Memories of coming that close to losing her. Could I bring myself to face that fear again? I want to say no—but I won't.

She nodded, lifting one hand to swipe across her cheeks. "For now, I only need that. A promise that you'll keep an open mind when the time comes."

An open mind. Something I definitely wasn't known for.

I remembered Jordan's words now, that decision I'd come to the day in my office when we'd talked. I loved that control. I'd mainline it like a drug if I could. Twenty-four-seven. Without hesitation.

I was addicted to control, and I wanted this control over our future. No kids. No pregnancies that might damage her health. Just us. Her and me.

But every addict had to face the challenge of resisting his drug of choice, right? Had to fight against that pull to indulge? An open mind. Despite everything in me crying out against it, I pushed against that barrier. It would be a struggle when the time came. And I knew it. But it wasn't a battle I needed to fight now.

I took a deep breath, mentally fortifying myself. "I can do that."

"You can?"

I nodded. "I promise you an open mind, Emilia."

That smile…the one that pulled at the corners of her mouth and crowned her flushed, tear-stained cheeks. That was worth the promise alone.

Just please, God. How I hoped that promise wouldn't come back to bite me in the ass someday.

 

 

Chapter 16

Mia

Consider this “personal prenup” my Husband’s Manifesto, to use your terminology. Should I start out with a list of all the marital injustices enacted against wives throughout time immemorial, or should I just start with us?

I vote for us. Because that’s the only thing within my power, and though I can’t see the future, I know that—with you by my side—every joy will seem brighter, sharper, more colorful and every disappointment will be duller, more distant.

I’ve made mistakes in the past, and they were painful for both of us, but I’m being philosophical and calling them learning moments instead of mistakes. Because I have learned from them, Emilia. And I promise you…

I promise you I will never take my vows to you lightly.

I promise to be open with you when I feel we might have the slightest hint of trouble

I promise to listen when you come to me with a problem.

I promise to compromise.

I promise to cherish the moments we are together.

 

Downstairs, the front door opened and closed. I tucked the document back into its envelope after having reread it so many times I couldn’t even count. Soon, the print would start fading along the creases from unfolding and refolding it so often.

Hopefully, he had no idea. He’d never let me hear the end of it.

Grabbing my purse, I bounded down the stairs to kiss him goodbye. It was midafternoon, and he’d done another almost-full day at work. Unfortunately, I had to go. Bride business and all that.

“I bought the new Marvel movie and downloaded it to the TV. Don’t you watch it without me,” I ordered as I pulled him into my arms.

He bent down and kissed me. “Nope. But you better not be out all night, or I will.”

“I’ll be back after dinner. It’s just Heath and Kat.”

His brow furrowed. “How’s Heath doing? Better?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I’ve been touching base with him every day and giving Kat pep talks for how to deal with him. Together, we’ll hopefully keep him on track.”

Adam nodded.

“Go take a nap. You look tired.”

“Maybe.”

My brows came up. “What’s this maybe? You want me to rat you out to your doctor?”

His mouth quirked. “You’re tedious.”

I smiled. “It’s Wife Prep 101. Be prepared for me to bring the nag. Go. Nap. When you wake up, I’ll be back to watch the movie with you.”

My meeting with the bride’s dude and his assistant went well. Kat was all kinds of excited to get to St. Lucia. In three short weeks, we’d all be there. December had just started. The days were shorter and chillier—even for California. Though there still wasn’t enough of the much-needed rain.