I mean, I’m not hating the pampering and the foot rubs. I just feel a little bad that Nassakth is so amped up over things. I have months and months to be pregnant, and the guy has absolutely lost his chill. It’s cute, but I also worry he’s going to stress himself out.
“I’m fine,” I tell him for at least the fourth time in the last few minutes. “It’s just a little sickness. Human women get it all the time when they’re pregnant.”
“I do not care.” He perches on the edge of the couch—or tries to, except he’s such a big, bulky presence that he’s shoving me over to the side—and brushes his hand over my cheek. “Those are other human women. This is different because you are my mate.”
He sounds so offended that I can’t help but smile. “You’re very sweet.”
“I do not like this,” Nassakth grumbles. “Your face is the same color mine is after I eat your cooking.”
I push his hand away, trying not to giggle. “Did I say you were sweet? Obviously I must be sick.” It’s been months and I swear Nassakth is the pickiest eater ever. He hates all human foods unless it’s just a slab of meat fresh off the animal. As a result, I’m happy to let him do all the cooking, and he’s also happy to do it because the man loves his food.
His smile is a little easier at my teasing, but I can tell he’s still on edge. He needs something to do to occupy him.
You’d think a guy had never knocked up his wife before. It was cute at first, but now I just worry about him. I know some of it comes from his years in slavery—he’s afraid of being too happy out of fear that it’ll all disappear. But he has to realize I’m not going anywhere…especially not with my stomach lurching like it does.
So I give him busywork to take his mind off of things until the physician gets here. “Could you get me a few crackers after all? The triangular ones, not the circles. And my datapad?”
He kisses my nose and leaps to his feet. No sooner does he return with the objects than the perimeter alarm chirps. “Air-sled incoming,” it says in a cheerful voice. “Visitor is…” It continues on, warbling and honking merrily in an attempt at the doctor’s name. It’s a word I can’t pronounce…the doctor is a race called the Mazu who have two chambers in their heads for making sounds as well as vocal chords. It means he can speak passable English but there’s absolutely no way I can repeat his name. I call him Doctor Roo, since “Roo” is the closest I can get to the first sound in his name. He’s nice, though, for an alien that looks a lot like a big, fat, walking aardvark with a domed skull.
“That’s for me,” I say, sitting up and pulling the wet cloth off my brow.
“Do you want company?” Nassakth asks.
“Nope.” I take the hand he offers me and get to my feet. It’s not that I don’t want my mate at my doctor visits. It’s that he asks so many questions and scowls so fiercely at the doctor that he makes the poor man unsettled. After the first few appointments with Doctor Roo, I’ve asked Nassakth to stay out of things. It just makes it easier, and the last thing I want is an unsettled alien doctor with his hands in unfamiliar places.
Nassakth kisses my brow and smooths my hair back. “You’ll tell me everything the moment you’re done? And you’ll ask him about the sickness?”
“Yes. And yes.” I give him a bright look. “Why don’t you do your workout and after dinner we’ll play more cards? You need more practice with Texas hold ’em.”
“That is because that game is nonsense.” He hesitates for a moment, and then grunts. “Very well. I will get in my exercise and spend the rest of the night devoted to entertaining you.”
As if a girl could complain about that?
The visit takes longer than anticipated, and by the time Doctor Roo is gone, I’m surprised that Nassakth hasn’t charged in to the med center established in the basement. I thank the doctor and send him on his way, then go hunting for my husband. My hands rest on the small swell of my belly. It feels hard and now that I know what it contains, I’m a little concerned. Elated, of course,