chapter 127
Sebastian's POV:
"No!" She replied immediately. "I didn't, Sebastian, that's not what I think at all!"
The words tumbled over each other in her rush to correct my assumption, her cheeks flushing pink. "I just wasn't sure how much... I mean, I didn't want to assume you could... Oh God, I'm making this worse, aren't I?"
Elena flushed with embarrassment, her hands still suspended awkwardly in mid-air as if she'd been preparing to catch someone who might stumble at any moment.
The gesture was both endearing and maddening—this woman who'd once feared my strength now treating me like spun glass.
"Come here," I said, patting the space beside me on the mattress.
She moved toward me with that particular grace unique to late pregnancy, one hand unconsciously supporting her rounded belly, the other reaching for the bedpost as she lowered herself onto the edge.
The mattress dipped under her weight, creating a gentle slope that drew her closer to me, and I found myself mesmerized by the golden lamplight catching in her hair, transforming the pale strands into threads of burnished silk.
Unable to resist, I reached out and ran my fingers through those luminous locks, the texture even softer than I remembered.
"Your husband isn't quite that fragile, darling," I murmured, continuing to stroke her hair in slow, soothing motions.
Instead of answering, she simply leaned into me, burying her face against my chest in a gesture of quiet need. Her swollen belly pressed gently between us, and I could feel the subtle tremor in her shoulders as she breathed.
"Sebastian," she began, turning to face me with those impossibly blue eyes that had haunted my recovery, "tomorrow afternoon, when you do your physical therapy... could I be there with you?"
The request hung between us, and I wasn't prepared to address. My rehabilitation sessions were exercises in controlled humiliation—every stumble, every grimace of pain, every moment where my body betrayed the commands of my will laid bare.
The thought of her witnessing that degradation made something cold and sharp twist in my chest.
I captured her hand in mine, marveling at how small and soft it felt against my calloused palm.
Her fingers were slightly swollen from the pregnancy, the wedding band I'd placed there sitting more snugly than before. "Physical therapy is tedious beyond belief, darling. All parallel bars and counting repetitions. Weren't you working on something in your studio?"
"I am," she admitted, her thumb tracing absent circles against my knuckle. "But that isn't more important than you."
The words struck with unexpected force, flooding my chest with a warmth.
Christ, this woman would be the death of me.
Unable to resist, I drew her down until our foreheads touched, breathing in the faint scent of lavender from her shampoo mixed with something uniquely her.
"Darling, have you been eating too many sweets?" I murmured against her skin, unable to suppress the smile tugging at my lips, "Even your words have turned sugary."
Before she could answer, I captured her mouth with mine, a gentle exploration that quickly deepened as she yielded against me. She tasted of summer fruit and promises, and when I finally released her, I couldn't resist adding, "Sweeter than strawberries."
Her cheeks flushed that delicious pink that never failed to captivate me, and she pressed her palms against my chest in mock protest. "You can't just say things like that!"
"Have you gained weight lately?" I asked, shifting the conversation before I lost what remained of my self-control.
She worried her lower lip between her teeth, a gesture that sent heat pooling low in my abdomen despite my best efforts to remain clinical. "I have gained weight. My belly's gotten much bigger."
"May I?" I asked, my hand hovering near her midsection. At her nod, I placed my palm against the firm swell, marveling at the life beneath my palms. As if on cue, I felt a distinct flutter—then another, stronger this time.
The sensation was so extraordinary that I couldn't contain the ridiculous grin spreading across my face.
"Perfect," I breathed, my voice rough with emotion. "You're perfect exactly as you are, Elena. I don't care if you gain fifty pounds or a hundred—as long as you and our babies are healthy, that's all that matters to me."
"The same goes for you," she said softly, her hand coming up to cup my cheek. "As long as you're healthy, that's all I need."
The simple words hit me with unexpected force, and I felt a suspicious burning behind my eyes that I ruthlessly suppressed. When had I become so pathetically emotional? I pulled her closer, burying my face in her hair to hide whatever vulnerability might be showing on my face.
"Let's sleep," I murmured against her temple. "Those dark circles under your eyes suggest you haven't been resting properly while I was gone."
She sighed, settling more firmly against me.
"The manor is wonderful—I eat well, the bed is comfortable, your grandmother makes sure I have everything I need. But..." She paused, and I felt her fingers curl into my shirt. "I got used to having you beside me. Without you there, I can't seem to sleep soundly."
My gaze drifted to the nightstand, where I spotted one of my white dress shirts lying slightly rumpled and creased, as if someone had been clutching it while sleeping.
The realization that she'd been clinging to my shirt in my absence, just as I'd been breathing in her pillow at the hospital, filled me with a satisfaction so profound it bordered on pain.
"I'm here now," I whispered, nuzzling against her hair, letting my voice drop to that low rumble I knew soothed her. "I'm right here, darling. Sleep."
She made a small, contented sound and burrowed deeper into my embrace, her breathing already beginning to slow.
---
The next morning brought a renewed assault on my defenses.
Over breakfast, between bites of perfectly poached eggs, Elena tried again. "I could just sit quietly in the corner. You won't even know I'm there."
"No."
During our mid-morning tea, she attempted a different angle. "What if I brought my sketchbook? I could work while you—"
"Absolutely not."
As Alfred wheeled me toward the rehabilitation room after lunch, she made one final attempt, actually following us down the hallway. "Sebastian, please."
I caught her hand, bringing it to my lips in what I hoped was a sufficiently distracting gesture. "There are some things, darling, that a husband should spare his pregnant wife from witnessing. My fumbling attempts to relearn basic mobility definitely qualify."