Page 57 of Brant
His brows lifted. “All right. And you’re in pain.” He should have realized it. “I’ll get some medication-”
“No.” She grabbed his arm before he could move. “I’m not in pain. At least, not like before. I haven’t vomited-” She paused and wondered at that for a second. She had not even thought about it. It hadn’t even entered her mind that she was not experiencing any of the usual symptoms, and that it did not matter. “It was just some minor cramps, and I took something before I left the store.”
“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”
She took a deep breath before responding. “I’m not pregnant.”
He simply stared at her blankly. “Come again?”
Letting her hand drop from his arm, she plucked at the sheets and avoided his eyes. “I’m not pregnant.”
Brant could not believe what he was hearing! “Let me see if I understand what you’re saying. A month ago, you had corrective surgery and now, thank goodness, you’re not on the floor writhing in excruciating pain and puking your stomach lining out, but you’re crying because you’re not pregnant. Is that right?”
When he put it like that, she felt small and foolish, and ungrateful.
“I thought I would be. What if I can’t get pregnant? What if-” her voice petered off when he rose.
“I’m going to take off this suit and the tie that is strangling my neck and then I’m going to take a shower. After that, I’m going downstairs to bring the meal up. It’s a beautiful evening and I was thinking we could eat out on the balcony to enjoy the evidence of spring. When I come back, I want to see you in something comfortable and ready to sit out on the balcony with me, partaking of the meal.” The mild tone disappeared as he speared her with a look, tawny eyes glittering. “It’s only been a month, a goddamned month. I would like you to put it away right now and enjoy the evening with me. If not, I would prefer to dine alone.” With that, he bounded down the steps and headed toward the bathroom.
Huffing out a breath, she glared after him, her tears drying up and her anger surfacing. What would he know? she thought peevishly. He had nothing to worry about. He wasn’t the onewho would not be able to produce a child. He was virile enough to produce ten children.
Then it struck her that he was right. Here she was, crying over something too trivial for words. It was just a month, and there was still plenty of time for her to get pregnant. Sighing softly, she pushed the sheets off her and went into the closet to choose something to put on.
When he came back with the meal, he was relieved to see that she had changed into leggings and an oversized pink-and-white shirt and was setting the table.
“I think the white will go very well with the meal,” she said quietly as soon as he placed the tray in the middle of the table. She walked over and wrapped her hands around his neck.
“I’m an idiot.”
“Not my wife.” Placing his hands around her waist, he nuzzled her lips. “Never my wife.”
“I love you,” she whispered.
“I know it. Let’s eat.”
Chapter 15
The wedding should have been an intimate affair. A small one with just a few friends and family at the quaint little chapel that had been part of Indigo's life in the past. But the media got hold of it and turned it into something big.
After all, it was Brant O'Keefe, former playboy, heir to a fortune. And it was somehow leaked that he had married Indigo, a woman who was as far from being his type as a person could be. A plus-sized African-American woman who had been on her way to being financially ruined. A woman with a not-so-stellar past and a brother who was a former drug addict. It was a delicious and scandalous story.
And wonders! Brant O'Keefe was completely in love with her. This wedding was supposed to be the celebration of their love.
And the bride looked radiant in her ice-blue dress, designed exclusively by the bridal department of Romano's. Reporters were barred from the church, but one innovative and very persistent reporter caught her when she was exiting the town car and entering the chapel. Her bouquet of peonies, red and white roses, as well as daisies, was held in one hand, the other grabbing hold of the sweeping tail of her dress. And she was wearing sapphires around her neck and at her wrist. Her smile was captured in all its glory. She was a very happy bride indeed.
Minutes later, that same reporter, hiding in the flowering bougainvillea bushes, caught the couple as they were coming out of the chapel, a very good picture, with the groom gazing down lovingly at his bride as they made their way to their vehicle.
It was a different car from the one that had transported the bride to the church. This one was a snazzy electric metallic gray sports car, one of the latest models from the O'Keefe line. With the top down and to everyone's delight, the bride tossed the bouquet behind her, only to be caught by her best friend, who was her matron of honor.
The honeymoon was to be a surprise, not only from the public but from the bride as well. The groom had it planned for weeks, ever since he had declared his love for her.
And no amount of persistent questions or pleas from her could get it out of him.
"You have to learn to wait. A surprise means just that. You'll be surprised. Now shut up about it."
He took her to Spain. Wonderful, elegantly beautiful Spain where they stayed at a magical villa in Mallorca where rustic met artistic luxury overlooking the Mediterranean. He had a car reserved and the first night they arrived, he drove them up to the Cap de Formentor for a breathtaking picnic. They wandered thehoney-colored cobblestones of Valldemossa and tried the coco de patatas pastry at Café de Valldemossa.
She could not say what she enjoyed the most: the historic romance of Granada and Andalusia where they explored the stunning courtyards of the Moorish architecture, mountain backdrops and intimate music. He loved her enthusiasm and even though he had been there several times, he was seeing it through her amazed eyes.
