“Good, then you’ll tell Mum when we can expect you,” James returned.
Belle stared at him a moment before asking, “Are you mad?”
“No, not in the slightest. You’re carrying my child. That means something to me. I’ve missed three months of its development. I don’t intend to miss any more.” He stopped speaking. His eyes changed to something she’d never seen on him before. Something frightening and not very nice. Something that made her even more nervous than normal and more than a little bit scared before he spoke, saying words that explained his look. “And you won’t keep it from me.”
“It’s a child in a womb,” Mom spoke up.
“It’s my child in a womb,” James retorted.
“You can’t see anything or feel anything or –” Mom kept at it.
“It’ll grow. It’ll kick. It’ll move. There are theories that a developing child hears voices, music, even understands and connects with the beings around it as it grows. Belle doesn’t get to keep that to herself. She’ll share it, with me,” James stated implacably.
“I can’t live with you,” Belle spoke on a horrified whisper.
“You can,” James returned.
“James, you know I can’t,” Belle said softly but she’d made a mistake.
She’d called him James.
If the look on his face just moments before was frightening and not very nice, this one was downright terrifying and filled with borderline loathing.
“I’m not giving you a choice,” he said low, his voice full of the dangerous menace apparent in his eyes.
“And what will you do if she refuses?” Gram asked.
“I’ll fight Belle for full custody once the baby is born,” James answered coldly and this announcement was met with all around shocked gasps.
Except Joy, who exclaimed. “Jack!”
And Belle, who could no longer fight back the nausea.
It was coming, no amount of swallowing was going to stop it and if she didn’t find a bathroom and soon, it would be all over the dainty coffee table.
So she shot up from the couch and ran from the room, heading from memory to the bathroom Yasmin took her to when she was at the party.
She barely made it. Falling to her knees on a sliding skid and putting her face in the toilet, she gave up the small lunch of tuna salad sandwich her mother made her eat.
Tuna, she realised too late, was no fun re-experiencing.
When she was done, she rested her hot forehead against the toilet seat, wrapping her arms around the back of her head.
Belle really hated vomiting.
She’d avoided doing it for years and was glad she’d never have another child because, after this, she was hoping she’d avoid it for many years to come.
Her eyes opened and she looked at her belly. “You’re already causing trouble you know,” she told her belly softly. “I’m kind of not enjoying this throwing up business. So, if you could tone it down, I’d appreciate it.” Her still (almost) flat stomach didn’t reply so she went on, “Or, at least wait until I’ve had a hot fudge sundae and wouldn’t mind a second taste.”
At her final word, she felt a hot hand on her back.
She’d know the feel of that hand anywhere, anytime. If she had to walk blindfolded through a million hands, she could source it and if she lived to be a hundred years old, she’d remember it.
Her head shot up and to the side and she saw James crouched close beside her.
He wasn’t looking at her, though his hand was still on her back. He was reaching out and flushing the toilet.
Okay, so, she’d been pretty humiliated by this man but this was the icing on the cake.