Page 136 of His Atonement
Something that makes my mate giggle.
"If you didn't already share such a strong bond with our son, didn't love him as much as you do already, then you would not give two shits about any of that. You wouldn't think twice about being good enough for Chet, about loving him enough and being everything he deserves. You just wouldn't care and because you care so fucking much, I know without one single shred of doubt you are the best fucking father our babies could have."
I smile and sigh in relief but quickly grow anxious yet again as Frankie suddenly goes pale. "What is it, darling? All of the color just drained from your face. Are you ill? Worried? Oh gods, you're lying to pacify me, aren't you? I can feel the anxiety you now have. What is it? What's wrong?"
"I need to give you my surprise now."
I frown harder and fear another impossible heart attack. "Frankie, my darling, please. Please just tell me what it is that so quickly changed in you? With everything else I am feeling right now, I'm not sure I can—"
"I'm pregnant."
My jaw slams shut, my eyes go wide.
I just blink at her about a million times then open and close my mouth repeatedly like a fucking fish.
She bites her lip and nods, then reaches into the back pocket of her jeans before she holds a small slip of paper between us.
Her fingers tremble as my eyes drop to what I now see to be a sonogram. "You know how you keep saying I'm more sparkly than usual?"
I nod as I stare at the black and white picture in her hand.
"Well, I thought it was just from the increase in my sex drive, the fact that we're literally having sex constantly but then… well, you know how I've been a little more tired, can't stomach the smell of weed—"
"Amongst other things,” I grunt in awe as everything starts to click.
Her sex drive has at least tripled over the last month or so, something I didn't think was actually possible because Frankie can barely keep her hands to herself as it is.
She has been more fatigued.
Cannot handle even the thought of smoking weed, let alone the smell, and grows nauseous over other scents as well; coffee, fabric softener, Milos. I find that last one rather amusing.
There have definitely been subtle changes in my mate though, but nothing that would have screamedpregnant.
"Well, about a week ago when I went to visit Chet, Henrich was in the clinic talking with Milos and when I dry heaved after he hugged me, Henrich insisted on doing an exam."
I scowl. "Something rather unnecessary. You are my mate, you do not get sick or succumb to injury because of it."
“Duh." Frankie rolls her eyes. "That's why he wanted to do the exam. Henrich noticed the way I quit smoking, the way I haven't been able to stomach some of the stuff I used to and started to ask me a bunch of questions, which led to running a pregnancy test."
My eyes return to the sonogram, a very defined little bean-shaped orb floating around in what I'm assuming is my mate’s womb. "You are with child?"
"I am."
"You carry my child?" I lift a finger, and trace the little bean. "Our child, one produced of our love, a miracle created from our bond, grows inside of you?"
"Oh, sweet Jesus, you finally snapped, didn't you?" Frankie tips her head back and plants her hands on her hips. "I shouldn't have told you. Not yet, anyway. I should have just waited until after we brought Chet home, made sure you were good with him, then told you. Nice going, Frankie.” She groans. "Then again, it's not like I'd be able to hide this for long. My fucking jeans are already tight because apparently your sister was right. I'm only seven weeks along and your gigantic ass proved big men make big babies. Let's just pretend this didn't happen, ok? We'll just act like I didn't totally blow your mind and—"
“Frankie," I blurt as I look up. "Kindly shut the fuck up for a minute."
She snaps her mouth closed and glares at me.
"I shall do no such thing, pretending as though you never told me such incredible news. Forgive me for my reaction, darling, but last I knew our chances of conception were slim to none thanks to the unknown surrounding my ability to procreate and your—"
"Zombie status?"
I scowl at her and narrow my eyes because my mate knows how much I hate it when she refers to herself as azombie. Frankie is not the walking dead and I don't care how funny she thinks it is to claim otherwise.
"Yournewfound health statusand whatever changed because of it. I simply did not think we would be able to conceive a young of our own."
