Calamity Rayne Knocked Up (Calamity Rayne #4)

13. Priceless Art

Priceless Art

T he nausea slowed down around my fourteenth week, and my appetite returned. Good thing, too, because my doctor remarked about my weight. I was pregnant and growing a human, but down two pounds. I never could have predicted that in a hundred years.

She also emphasized how important it was that I ate enough protein and fiber and all of my fruits and vegetables. Oddly, the bakery sold none of those things.

“ Madam Davenport!” Chef Dubois greeted me affectionately, pulling me into a carbohydrate-scented hug.

It was customary for people to hug their bakers, right ?

He glanced down at me as he held my shoulders. “It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you. I was getting worried.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”

“You look pale. I have just the thing to restore your pluck. Take a look.”

I wandered over to the display and admired the variety of confections. The air in this place smelled like heaven on earth. “Ooh, you have éclairs!”

He moved behind the counter, opening a large box. “How many?”

“Two, please. No, four. I might want some tomorrow.” I gasped. “And what’s that?”

“That’s tarte tatin, an upside-down caramelized apple tart with a buttery pastry dough, baked then flipped over so the caramelized topping drizzles all the way through.”

Was it possible to get aroused by pastries? “Yeah, I’ll take three of them.”

When Chef Dubois rang up my order, four boxes were filled with sugary treasures. “I think you missed me, Madam Davenport,” he teased.

“Well, I always miss you. ”

“I can tell.” He slid the boxes forward. “You’re my best customer.”

“Well, I’m not alone. I’m actually ordering for two, now.”

He glanced up from the antique register, his dark eyes widening under his bushy, white brows. “ Enceinte? A baby?”

I smiled and nodded. Chef Dubois rushed out from behind the counter and hugged me.

“Congratulation! Merveilleuse! ”

We danced about the bakery in an affectionate hug I was certain other customers didn’t come close to experiencing with their baker. Yeah, I was definitely his favorite.

Chef Dubois helped me carry my boxes to the car and insisted I not wait so long between visits. He also told me to call him with any craving, and he would make it happen. It was like having secret access to James Bond, but better. On the drive home, I was strongly considering him for the godfather of my unborn child.

By my sixteenth week, I noticed some physical changes in my waistline—partially due to nature and partially due to my close ties to the baker. Jeans were a thing of the past. That was decided long before pregnancy because zippers and buttons were just a lot of drama. Leggings and underwear had always been my go-to, but even they felt tight now.

I bought some high-waisted granny panties and sized up so there was room to grow. My wardrobe was narrowing to loose-fitting sundresses and my coziest cardigans. With my puffy ankles, it wasn’t very sexy, but it was comfy. And comfy was my jam.

Thanksgiving was around the corner and we were celebrating at the New England Riverton Estate. Marta was cooking at Remington’s house and Odette was staying with him. We would crash at Hale’s section of the estate with our mothers. Seraphina was staying at her portion and Barret was staying at his—with a girl.

“Who is she?” I asked Hale as he drove us to the ultrasound appointment.

“All I know is that he met her in New York, and her name is McKinsley.”

“Wait, what? McKinsley? What the fuck kind of name is that? Is there a little C in there?”

“I didn’t ask for her documentation, Rayne.”

“Is she a model?”

“I don’t know. ”

“Is she pretty?”

“I’d suspect yes.”

“Is she fun? She’s probably boring. She better not be one of those girls who eats half a crouton for dinner.”

“I’ve never met her.”

“Why don’t you get more information when you talk to your brother?”

“Because he’s my brother, not a covert op in espionage.” He pulled into a parking lot. “We’re here.”

I wiped the sweat off my palms, not understanding why I was nervous. It was just an ultrasound, and we’d had them before. Maybe I was excited.

Nope, it was nerves. I could tell because as soon as I got out of the car and looked up at the office building, I had the urge to poop. Or puke. Or maybe I was just hungry. “I should have eaten that soft pretzel.”

Hale took my arm and led me inside. Once we signed in, he and I waited on a set of blue chairs.

“You okay?” He took my sweaty hand and patted it in that soothing way that usually calmed me down.

“What if I can’t see it? There was an episode of Friends when Rachel couldn’t see the baby. What if I’m like that?” I was the mommy. I should be able to differentiate my unborn child from other ultrasonic goo. There was no doubt in my mind that Hale would recognize the baby right away, but what if I wasn’t so lucky. Should I lie if I can’t find it? What if I never found it until it came shooting out of me like a log on a flume? I needed to stop dramatizing the birth in my head. Everything was going to be fine. We were rich. Rich people had nice calm births with doulas and meditational playlists. What the hell was my Spotify password.

My foot kicked incessantly. “What about the sex?”

“Our sex? I guess I could take the rest of the afternoon off?—”

I shoved him. “No, Hale. The baby’s sex. Do we want to know the gender or not?”

“I would think yes.”

“Really?” I wasn’t so sure. I liked the idea of being prepared, but wasn’t the surprise part of the fun. “No. I think definitely no.”

“You don’t want to know if we’re having a girl or a boy?”

Human error was a real risk in these situations. I was afraid they’d assign the gender wrong, and we’d spend a fortune on stereotypical baby merch only to have to return everything after the refund period expired.

“I think I want to do things the old-fashioned way.” I wanted to be an intuitive who had a natural connection to her child. Whenever I thought about the little bean, I felt a yellowy-orange glow.

Oh, I could go for some cheese fries. I dug through my purse for some snacks but just found a bag of dust that used to be a granola bar. I stashed it back in my bag for emergencies.

“Mrs. Davenport?”

“That’s me.” I stood, doing that dramatic pregnancy rise that mothers do while supporting my back and poking out my stomach. I wasn’t showing much, but my back ached and for some reason, walking like an old man helped minimize the pain.

Hale and I followed the nurse to the ultrasound room. “You can have a seat on the table, and Dr. Levy will be right with you.”

“Oh, uh, do I need to change?”

“Not for today’s appointment.”

She left us in the dim room, and Hale helped me onto the exam table. “ I’m nervous.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just want everything to go well.”

He kissed my temple and gave my shoulder a supportive squeeze. “It will.”

“Do you think we can get cheese fries when we’re done here?”

“Sure. But I thought you wanted a soft pretzel.”

“Can’t we get both?”

He smiled. “Sure.”

The door opened, and Dr. Levy entered. She was my favorite doctor so far. She was in her mid-forties and always smelled like fabric softener. She also had a tattoo of a moon on her wrist, which gave the impression that she was down to earth.

“Rayne, how are you feeling?”

“I’m good. A little nervous.”

“Oh, there’s no need to be nervous. Today’s easy. You must be Dad.”

“Hale. Nice to meet you.” He shook the doctor’s hand.

“Make yourself comfortable, Rayne.”

I leaned back and blew out a breath. Hale took my hand and sat on the other side of the exam table, facing the machine so he could also see the screen.

“We’ll start with a little warm gel on your stomach. Can you lift your dress and lower your undergarments so nothing’s covering the belly?”

I did as she instructed. Dr. Levy tucked some paper towels into the folded waistline of my undies and drizzled gel on my stomach.

Warmed my ass. That shit was ice-cold.

“Doing okay?”

“Mm-hm.” I disguised my ongoing nervousness and nodded as she pressed the little scantron joystick thing over the blob of gel, smearing it around my slightly swollen stomach. My full bladder immediately registered the pressure, and I had to pee.

There was a soft swishing sound and then the steady beat of something more defined. “There’s your baby’s heartbeat.”

I breathed in, my eyes focused on the black and grey screen as the sound intensified. Hale’s hand squeezed tighter. “Look at that.”

Panicked, I watched them both stare and smile. “Where?”

“Right here.” The doctor clicked the mouse, and a small cross-hair cursor measured the screen. “Here’s the baby’s head. And you can see its profile there.”

My heart stuttered. I hadn’t expected the picture to be so defined and precise. There was a real person inside of me with an actual face. I could see its little nose and what looked like a mouth.

“He or she has a strong, steady heartbeat.”

Beaming like a proud momma, my vision blurred, and I wiped my eyes, not wanting to miss a single detail.

“There’s its arm, and you can see the fingers are starting to form. Oops.” The image shifted.

My smile fell. “What happened?”

“They just moved a little. It’s completely normal and healthy for them to be active at this stage. Have you felt any kicks yet?”

I shook my head. “Nothing yet.”

“Well, you can expect them soon.”

“Can you tell if it’s a girl or boy?” Hale asked.

“It’s still a little too early to determine. Did you want to know the gender?”

“We’re not sure.”

“Well, there’s time to make up your mind.”

It was over all too soon. She cleaned off my stomach and froze the screen on Little Bean’s precious head. Or was that his butt? No, it was definitely his head. Or hers.

When we left, she gave us several printed pictures from the ultrasound and told us we could review the rest on the patient portal when we got home. I couldn’t wait that long, so I signed into the portal on my phone as soon as we were in the car. I could stare at those pictures forever.

I breathed a sigh of relief. My baby was developing properly, and everything was great. I was a happy camper.

Hale and I stopped at a little pizzeria on the way home to get cheddar cheese fries, but as we were leaving with our order, he veered into a small boutique in the shopping strip.

“Hale, my fries. They’ll get cold.”

“I’ll only be a minute. I need to grab something.” He walked over to the display of picture frames and selected a ten-by-ten-inch square silver frame with white velvet matting. As he took his time paying, I snuck a few fries.

“Ready?”

“Mm-hm,” I said around a mouthful of cheese and potato.

When we got home, he went to the dining room with his bag from the boutique. He stared at the vacant place his fifty-thousand-dollar work of ruined art used to hang and lifted the ten-by-ten frame.

My lips parted when I saw what he’d done. There, in the center of that little silver frame, was our baby.

“Priceless,” he said, hanging it on the small hook in the wall.

I smiled and agreed, “Priceless.”