Chapter 84 #2: You Bought Me An Island
I told David in the kitchen because I couldn’t keep it inside my body for another second.
He was standing by the counter, sleeves rolled up, phone pressed between shoulder and ear, already half in work mode even though it was barely morning. He glanced at me, distracted, mouthing one minute as he finished whatever empire-saving sentence he was delivering to someone who was not important right then.
I interrupted him anyway.
“I’m pregnant.”
He froze.
Not figuratively. He went fully, and completely still. The phone slipped from his shoulder and landed on the counter with a soft clatter, the voice on the other end still talking, unaware that something seismic had just happened in that kitchen.
“What?” he said.
I swallowed. “I’m pregnant.”
His eyes searched my face, scanning for irony, for humour, for the punchline of one of my jokes. He found none of it. I watched the moment it landed, the exact second it became real to him. His breath left him in a rush.
“Nora,” he said, quietly. “Are you serious?”
I nodded. “I took three tests.”
“Three,” he repeated, as if this was a sacred number.
He laughed. Then he didn’t. His hands came up to cradle my face and his forehead pressed against mine.
“We’re having a baby,” he said, voice rough.
“Yes,” I said. “We are.”
He lifted me off the floor before I could protest, spinning me once, twice. I laughed, gripping his shoulders.
“David,” I said, breathless. “Careful.”
He set me down immediately, panic flashing across his face. “Sorry. Sorry. I forgot. I’m sorry.”
I laughed again, this time softer. “It’s okay. I'm excited too.”
He kissed me. Not hurried. Not hungry. Just full, reverent. Like I was something precious he had been trusted with.
“I’m going to give you everything,” he said. “Everything you want. Everything you need. Ask for the entire world and it'll be yours.”
“I already have you,” I said, teasing.
“That part's not negotiable,” he replied. “You're stuck with me."
The next few weeks felt unreal, like we were living inside a secret only we were allowed to know. David insisted on coming to every appointment, rearranging board meetings, cancelling flights, daring anyone to question him.
At the clinic, the technician spread cold gel across my stomach. David held my hand so tightly I felt my bones shift.
“There,” the technician said, pointing at the screen. A small grey shape pulsed in the centre of the black circle. “That’s the heartbeat.”
David made a choked sound. I looked over and saw tears running down his face, but he didn’t even bother to wipe them away.
I squeezed his fingers. “Hey. You okay?”
He laughed once, rough and wet. “I’m better than okay. I’m… Christ, Nora. That’s our kid.”
“Yeah.” My voice cracked. “That’s our kid.”
We left the clinic holding hands. Outside, he stopped us on the sidewalk in the middle of Madison Avenue, pulled me close, and kissed me until a taxi honked because we were blocking the crosswalk.
We went out for breakfast afterward, because he said moments like this should be celebrated properly. He ordered too much food. He kept asking if I felt okay, if I wanted to sit, if I needed anything.
“You’re hovering,” I told him.
“I’m practicing,” he said. “Fatherhood is just hovering with purpose.”
As my body changed, so did he. He read articles. He bought books. He asked the doctor questions that made me laugh.
“Is it normal for her to crave mangoes at midnight?” he asked seriously.
“Yes,” the doctor replied. “Very.”
He looked vindicated. “See? I told you we needed to keep mangoes in the house.”
The months passed quickly.
He carried every grocery bag – even the ones that only had lemons. He learned to make ginger tea because nausea still hit me at strange times. At night he read baby books out loud, his voice low, teasing the ridiculous advice while quietly marking the useful parts.
At the twenty-week scan, the technician asked if we wanted to know the sex.
David looked at me. “Your call.”
I bit my lip. “I want to know.”
The wand moved. The technician smiled. “Congratulations. It’s a boy.”
A boy.
David’s hand found mine again. For a long minute neither of us spoke. We just watched the tiny profile on the screen – the curve of his spine, the flutter of his fingers.
“Lucian,” I said suddenly.
He turned to me. “What?”
“Lucian. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. Lucian Reid.” I paused. “Unless you hate it.”
“I love it.” His voice was thick as he bent to kiss my temple, and then my stomach. “Hello, Lucian. We can’t wait to meet you.”
On the way home, I watched the city blur past and thought about the future, about small shoes and scraped knees, about bedtime stories and school runs. About a little boy with David’s eyes and my stubbornness.
I had never felt safer.
A month later, he told me to dress comfortably and trust him.
“Is this another surprise?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “And no asking questions.”
We took a helicopter. I had never been in one before. The city shrank beneath us, all glass and steel and ambition, until it became something distant and unreal.
“David,” I said, shouting over the noise. “What is happening?”
He grinned. “You’ll see.”
We landed on a private airstrip upstate, then switched to a boat. He still wouldn’t tell me where we were going.
The island appeared ahead – green hills, white sand beaches, one modern house high on the point overlooking the water.
He helped me out of the boat and steadied me as we walked up the path. On the wide terrace he stopped.
“Our newest piece of real estate,” he said simply, like he was talking about the weather.
I stared at him. “You bought an island?”
He nodded. “For you. The paperwork closed last week.”
“You bought me an island.” I repeated.
He just beamed up at me, all his teeth flashing.
“David...” I began, even though I didn’t know what to say. I mean, what the hell do you say to someone who just bought you a fucking island? Thank you doesn’t quite sound enough.
“It’s not finished yet. Contractors are coming next month to add the nursery, the pool, whatever you want. But the island is ours. Name it whatever you like.”
I turned in a slow circle. The breeze smelled like salt and pine. Our son kicked hard under my ribs and instantly, I knew.
“Lucian,” I said immediately. “I want to name it after the reason we’re standing here.”
He smiled, slow and warm. “Lucian Island it is.”
We spent the afternoon walking the property. He showed me the cove he wanted to turn into a private beach for Lucian, the meadow he thought would be perfect for a swing set, the cliff where the sunsets were supposed to be the best.
I watched him talk, hands moving, eyes bright, and something inside me settled. This was what happiness felt like: a man who bought an entire island so his child could have space to run.
“I know I keep saying it,” he said, turning to me as we stood on the Island’s beach, “but I need you to hear me when I say this. I’m going to give him the world, Nora. And I’m going to give you the world too. Whatever you want.... whatever he wants... It’s yours. You both are my whole entire world and I'd rather die than let either of you go. Ever."
I tilted my head. “Careful. I might hold you to that.”
“Good.” His thumb moved over my knuckles. “I want you to.”
The months passed in a rush of joy. He painted the nursery in our home pale sage green because the decorator said it was calming. I teased him for using a laser level to centre the crib, then cried when I saw how perfectly it was placed.
He came to every appointment. Held my hand during the glucose test. Watched the non-stress tests with total focus.
He massaged my swollen feet every night without me asking.
When he thought I was asleep, he talked to my belly in a low voice about how much he loved him already, how he would teach him to sail, to play basketball, how he would make sure no one ever hurt him.
I pretended to be asleep because I didn’t want him to stop.
At thirty-eight weeks, I was restless, heavy, and impatient. The baby had dropped. Everything hurt – walking, sitting, breathing. But every time Lucian moved, I felt a sharp, possessive joy.
David was in the kitchen making decaf when it finally happened.
I was standing at the island, reaching for the honey on the top shelf, when warm liquid rushed down my legs.
I froze.
The honey jar slipped from my fingers and shattered on the marble.
David appeared instantly beside me. “Nora, are you okay?”
I looked down at the puddle, then up at him.
“My water just broke.”
For one second we stared at each other.
Then he moved.
He grabbed the hospital bag from the hall closet. He called the driver. He called the obstetrician. He wrapped me in his coat even though it was July and eighty degrees. He kept talking, calmly and steady. “It’s okay. We’re ready. We’ve got this.”
I gripped his hand as the first contraction hit, pain ricocheting through my bones. “Fucking hell. David?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Drive fast.”
We were almost at the hospital when I looked over at him. His jaw was tight, his eyes stayed glued to the road, but his free hand rested protectively over my belly.
I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
“Almost there, Lucian,” I whispered. “We’re almost there.”
The car stopped at the emergency entrance. David was already out, shouting for a wheelchair, giving orders like he was in a boardroom.
Nurses surrounded us. Someone helped me into the chair. David never let go of my hand.
We rolled through the doors into the bright light of the maternity ward.
And just like that, everything we had been waiting for began.