Focusing back on Declan, he’s running a bath, and when he turns to me, he stands in the middle of the room.
“Take off your clothes, Nina.”
“A bath?” I question.
He reaches over his head, pulls off his shirt, and tosses it aside, saying, “Yeah, a bath,” as he walks over to me and grabs the hem of my top. “Lift your arms.”
He removes my shirt and then slips my pants down my legs. I hold on to his shoulder as I step out, and with him knelt before me, I look at him as he slowly drags my panties down. When he has them off of me, he runs his hands up my legs to the center of my tiny V. With one hand sliding up between my legs, he splays it over my pussy and lower belly, holding it in place as he looks into my eyes. “So beautiful.”
His accent fucks those two words. No one has ever looked at me the way he does, and it spurs an awkwardness inside of me because if he only knew what this body has been through, he’d be repulsed by the sight.
After we take off the rest of our clothes, he holds my hand as I step down into the tub filled with hot water. When Declan gets in, I situate myself between his legs, resting my back against his chest as I lie back into him. His arms wrap and cross around my breasts as he holds me close, and the warmth of both him and the water take me over. Releasing a heavy sigh, I close my eyes, and sink further into his hold as my body relaxes.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he murmurs from behind me.
“Mmm.”
His chest vibrates in silent laughter before saying, “That’s all I get? Mmm?”
“I’m relaxing.”
He drags my hair off my one shoulder and starts kissing my damp neck, pressing his lips into my sensitive skin, causing me to shiver with goosebumps, which I know appeases him when he quietly chuckles.
We remain like this for a while, just taking in the warmth of the bath, nearly melting into each other.
“Should I be worried?” Declan says, breaking the long span of silence.
“About what?” I ask, my eyes still closed as I rest the side of my face against his chest.
“That I’ve been fucking you without a condom.”
“I told you before, I can’t get pregnant,” I remind him.
He remains silent for a moment before responding, “Tell me why.”
Taking in a deep breath, I shift up and slightly turn to the side so I can look at him when I say, “I have stage three endometriosis.”
“I don’t . . .” he begins with confusion written all over his face, so I explain, “It’s basically where you have abnormal cell growth outside of the uterus. So the chances of me getting pregnant are pretty much non-existent.”
“Baby, I’m . . .” he starts, shaking his head, and he’s clearly more uncomfortable about it than I am. “When did you find this out?”
“In my early twenties,” I tell him. “I started having painful periods around that time. They became worse and worse until the pain got so bad that I was taken to the hospital because I didn’t know what else to do. They started running a bunch of tests and after a few months they finally figured out what was wrong.”
“Is there anything they can do?”
“No. When you have it, you have it. There’s no cure or anything.”
“And the pain?” he questions with apparent concern.
“I’ve experimented with a few hormone treatments for pain, but the side effects were pretty bad, so I had to stop. I only take prescription pain pills, but it doesn’t help that much.”
He runs his fingers through my hair and then cradles his other hand to my face when he says, “God, baby, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s fine,” I try assuring him. “This isn’t anything new to me. I’ve known this for years. It’s okay.”
“Do you want children?”
Shrugging my shoulders, I respond, “Does it even matter what I want? I mean, it’s not like life is giving me a choice here.”
“Of course it matters.”
“I won’t ever be a mom, so there’s no point in tossing dead wishes into the air.” I’ve done enough of that. I can remember Pike sitting next to me when the doctor told me that I wouldn’t be able to have children. It was never anything I had even thought about until he told me that I couldn’t. I cried for days while Pike held me. As if I was mourning the death of something that never was mine to lose. But that was over six years ago, and I’ve come to the realization that I’d probably be a shitty mom anyway. What would I be able to give a child? Before marrying Bennett, Pike and I survived by dealing drugs and barely scraping by. It’s not a life I want, so why the hell would I want it for my kid?
“You can still be a mum, you know?” Declan says, his words coming out gently.
Not wanting to be rude and completely shut him out, I give him a weak grin and softly request, “Can we talk about something else please?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It’s just not something I talk about often, so . . .”
“You don’t have to say anything else,” he assures before giving me a kiss and wrapping me back up in his arms.
I ENDED UP leaving Declan the other night after our bath. Bennett was returning from Miami the following day and I wanted to be home in case he arrived early. I’ve been careful about my communication with Declan while my husband is home. We talk mostly through email because those are easily deleted unlike phone records that are logged and recorded. I would prefer to not even send emails, but Declan insists on talking to me throughout the day.
While Bennett is in the shower, I sit in the study to find that I already have an email waiting for me.
FROM: D. McKinnon
TO: Nina Vanderwal
SENT: Jan. 10, 1:23pm
SUBJECT: Want You
When does he leave? I want to see you.
-D
I quickly reply while I still hear the water running from Bennett’s shower.
FROM: Nina Vanderwal
TO: D. McKinnon
SENT: Jan. 10, 1:58pm
SUBJECT: Re: Want You
Some people find it polite to start with a greeting, even if it’s as small as a simple ‘Hello.’ But to answer your question, he leaves around 3:30pm.
-Nina
His response is almost immediate.
FROM: D. McKinnon
TO: Nina Vanderwal
SENT: Jan. 10, 2:00pm
SUBJECT: Greeting as suggested- HELLO.
Meet me at the hotel?