“I’m thinking about going in at the start of next week,” I say, noticing the displeasure on his face.
“She’s given you time off, Darcy. Take it.”
“I’m not pregnant anymore, Benjamin. Work will be good for me.”
I’m surprised he doesn’t fight me on it. I wince for him when he stands, imagining the pain. He presses his hand over the wound as he exits the bathroom.
I’m running a brush through my hair when he opens the bedroom door, dressed in jeans and a loose shirt. “She’s on her way up.”
I set down the brush and run my hand down his back as we make our way out into the living room.
With a ding, the metal doors open, revealing his gorgeous sister.
My heart drops. I force a smile, although I feel as though someone’s punched my gut. Her stomach is extended in pregnancy, her maternity dress hugging her body snugly. Her smile is kind when she embraces me tightly. Tears form, and I force myself to look up at the ceiling, praying I can stop.
Dear God, stop, Darcy.
“Thank God you both are okay. I can’t believe you didn’t call me!”
She hugs Benjamin next, too hard judging by his grunt.
“Did I hurt you?”
He shakes his head, lying. “No, no. I’m just a bit sore.”
“You hurt your arm.”
“It’ll heal in no time.”
“Other than that, you are okay? Mom hardly gave me any details.”
Of course she didn’t. She doesn’t know.
“I’ve have a couple stitches on my stomach, but that’s it.”
I shake my head as he gestures her toward the kitchen.
A couple of stitches!
I follow them, glad she’s chatty, telling us of her latest trip to Florence as Benjamin reaches into the fridge, pulling out water bottles. He offers me one, but I decline. As much as I want to hide away in the room, I force myself to participate, nodding when needed. As happy as I am to see her again, I can’t look at her. I tear my gaze from her stomach and surge out of my chair abruptly, opening the cupboard. I pull out dry pasta, the first thing I see.
“Are you cooking something?” Benjamin is looking at me curiously.
“Yeah, I figured she has to be hungry from the flight over.”
“Oh, no. Please, don’t wait on me. You’re recovering! I’m totally fine.”
“I want to. Is fettuccini okay with you?”
“If you’re sure…that would be lovely.”
I start prepping, aware of Benjamin’s strong gaze on my back. I become consumed in what I’m doing, listening into their conversation every so often. She asks me questions now and then, but for the most part, they leave me be, which I’m grateful for.
My heart pumping irregularly, I set the creamy pasta onto plates. Now I have no excuse to move around. When I set the dishes down in front of them, Benjamin’s hand is warm on my back, rubbing.
“Thank you, baby. Sit down. I’ll get your drink. What will you have?”
“No. You’ll hurt yourself,” I argue. I pour iced tea into a glass and take a seat next to him.
