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Now it was too late for second thoughts. The babies were a reality.
Stumbling to her bathroom, she washed her face and sprawled on the bed. She was hungry again, but it was a weird hunger. Beneath the pangs of an empty stomach rolled a sensation of nausea in the offing.
Finally, at midnight, she dragged herself out of bed and went to the kitchen in search of a snack. Milk seemed like a bad idea. Ditto for cheese or yogurt. Craving something salty, she found half a bag of stale, plain potato chips. She gobbled two handfuls and washed them down with ginger ale.
Her hunger appeased, she went back to bed only to jump up twenty minutes later and rush for the bathroom. She threw up violently, so hard that her ribs ached. Even rinsing out her mouth made her stomach heave.
Groaning, she found a damp cloth and pressed it to her forehead. The notion that she might have to endure weeks of this misery pointed out once again how foolish she had been. I’m sorry, she said silently to the three lives she carried.
No matter what sacrifices it demanded, she would make sure this was a healthy pregnancy.
The following morning was no better. Dry cereal and water came right back up as soon as they went down. Her hands began to cramp, signaling possible dehydration. Doggedly, she sipped from a water bottle and forced herself to put on the same dress pants from the day before but with a different top. She couldn’t simply stay home because she felt bad. She had a business to run...a business that would soon support three tiny infants.
Driving was doable, but only because she never pushed the speedometer over thirty miles an hour. When she reached her office, the receptionist, Candace, gave her a wide-eyed stare. Simone didn’t engage. She made a beeline for her private suite, closed the door and put her head on the desk. The sharp corner of a business card poked her stomach through her pocket.
She pulled the rectangle out and laid it on the desk. Hutch. Dr. Hutch. Saint Hutch. It would be a cold day in hell before she called him for anything.
With nothing more than dogged determination and the inherent stubbornness that got her into trouble more often than not, she made it through an entire workday. The campaign for Luna Fine Furnishings, a subsidiary of Cecelia’s company, To the Moon, was coming along nicely. Phase one had already been rolled out. In two weeks, an intensive social media blitz would back up the initial print ads and billboards.
The noon lunch hour came and went. Simone didn’t even attempt to eat. At five o’clock, she closed her laptop, packed up her things and took a deep breath before heading out to her car. Once there, she had to spend another chunk of time convincing herself she could make the drive home. She was shaky, light-headed and so very sick.
She must have dozed when she got home, because suddenly it was seven o’clock. Naomi would bring her food if she called, but then Simone would have to explain what was going on. Even if it was time to share her secret with her friends, she’d rather do it with both women present.
Carryout pizza sounded revolting. Canvassing the pantry in her kitchen was an exercise in futility. She knew how to cook but seldom spared the time. Most days she had lunch with clients and grabbed a salad for dinner.
In the end, the only available choice was peanut butter. That was protein—right? Even her crackers were stale. But smeared with peanut butter, they were edible. At first, Simone thought she had landed on a miracle. The peanut butter was comfort food, its smell and taste appealing.
Sadly, no matter the enjoyment going down, everything she consumed came back up in a matter of minutes.
The night passed slowly. She alternated between lying on top of the covers covered in a cold sweat and hunching over the toilet. No matter how slowly she sipped water, it wouldn’t stay down. Nor would anything else.
Once she almost fell, so dizzy the room spun around her. Finally, at 4:00 a.m., she collapsed into an exhausted slumber.
When her alarm went off, she muttered an incredulous protest. How did working mothers do this?
Dragging herself into the shower, she held on to the towel bar as she washed her hair. Blow-drying it took everything she had. At last she was dressed and ready to go. By now the thought of trying to eat was beyond her. Maybe she’d be able to attempt some lunch.
The ride to work was a blur. This time she barely noticed the receptionist’s look of consternation. Simone’s mouth was dry and fuzzy. How could she risk taking a drink when she might have to rush for the bathroom? No one in Royal knew she was pregnant. Well, aside from Hutch and Dr. Fetter. It was far too early to let that cat out of the bag.
As she sat in a stupor at her desk, the buzzer on her phone sounded. “Line two, Ms. Parker. It’s your accountant.”
Later, Simone couldn’t remember the exact details of that conversation. For all she knew, she might have agreed to transfer her personal and business funds to illegal offshore accounts.
Thankfully, her two full-time employees—including her exceptional right hand, Tess—were out of town at a conference. The receptionist was fairly new and wouldn’t have the temerity to invade her office uninvited.
So the hours passed.
At one, Simone knew she had to eat something. Her headache had reached monumental proportions. Maybe she would send Candace out to get chicken noodle soup. Not only would that guarantee Simone a few minutes of privacy to test her stomach with a sip of water, but the soup might actually be good for her.
She stood up on trembling legs. Rarely did she ask an employee to carry out a personal errand, but she was literally incapable of walking down the block. Carefully, she opened her door. “Candace, can you come in here?”
Candace looked up and blanched. Apparently Simone looked even worse than she felt. Her receptionist rushed into the office. “Can I help you, Ms. Parker?” she asked.
Simone nodded, wincing when the motion sent shock waves through her skull. “Would you mind grabbing me some chicken soup from the diner?”
“I’d be happy to,” Candace said.
“Let me get my billfold.”
“No worries. We can settle up later. Do you want something to drink? Lemonade? Iced tea?”
Oh, wow. Tea sounded wonderful. “Tea would be great.” Her mouth was so dry. “Hurry, Candace. I don’t think I can—” She stopped dead, nausea rising in her throat. “Oh, damn. I’m going to—”
* * *
It might have been hours or days later when she woke up completely. She had vague memories of an ambulance and several people in white coats. Now she was in her own bed.
When she shifted on the mattress, Hutch’s voice sounded nearby. “Take it easy, Simone. You’re going to be okay.”
“My head hurts,” she groaned, trying to recreate her spotty memory.
“No wonder.” Hutch crouched beside her bed, his smile quizzical. “You whacked it pretty hard on the edge of your desk when you fainted. The ER doc put in three stitches, but there’s no concussion.”
Panicked, she tried to sit up. “The babies?”
“Steady, woman. They’re fine.”
“What happened to me?”
“Hyperemesis gravidarum.”
“Oh, God. Is that as bad as it sounds?”
“Yes and no. You were badly dehydrated, Simone, and disoriented. One of the unlucky women who suffer from severe nausea and vomiting when pregnant. Women with multiples are more prone to it.”
“Well, that’s just peachy,” she muttered.
“Dr. Fetter wanted to admit you, but you pitched a fit and demanded to go home. She only agreed because I promised to stay with you.”
For the first time, Simone realized she was hooked up to an IV. “You did this?”
He looked at her strangely. “Yes. But if you’ve changed your mind, I’ll take you back to the hospital.”
Now that her head was clearer, she did remember most of what he was saying. It didn’t paint her in a good light.
“How did you hear I had passed out? Why were you there with the EMTs? Candace doesn’t even know you.”
“She was trying to call 911 and saw my card on your desk.”
“I knew I should have thrown that away.”
Hutch had the audacity to laugh. When he did, she caught a glimpse of the carefree young doctor she had fallen in love with so many years ago. Heaven help her. With the shadows gone from his eyes—chased away by genuine humor—he was irresistible.
He fiddled with a setting on the monitor. “It will take at least twenty-four hours to get your electrolyte levels balanced again. After that, we’ll have to see if you are able eat or drink at all. Otherwise, you’ll have to get nutrition intravenously.”
“How long will this last?”
“Well...” It was clear he didn’t want to upset her.
“Go ahead, Hutch. I can handle it.”
“Days. Weeks.” He grimaced. “For some it’s all the way till the end. But you’re in the earliest moments of this pregnancy. Your body is adapting to the flood of hormones. With any luck, things will settle down soon.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” she said drily. She watched as he moved around the bedroom. “You can’t stay here. You have a job.”
“I was going to talk to you about that. I have a friend, a nurse, who does in-home care. She’s expensive, but it’s cheaper than being hospitalized and a lot more comfortable.”
“She would stay overnight?”
Hutch rubbed two fingers in the center of his forehead. “No. I would be here when I get off work in the evenings.”
Simone closed her eyes and told herself not to get upset. That wouldn’t be good for the babies. “You know that’s impossible,” she whispered.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand, the one with the needle taped into it. “My job is to protect high-risk infants. What happened to you is serious, but there’s no reason to take up a hospital bed.”
“What about staying away from each other?”
“You’re all hooked up. How bad could we be?”
The droll comment startled a laugh from her when she could have sworn she didn’t have it in her. “I have friends,” she said. “And parents.”
“Don’t be coy, Simone. I happen to know that Cecelia is newly engaged and pregnant and Naomi flits all over the country. Your parents wouldn’t begin to know how to be nurturing. I’ve met them, remember? I’m your best shot if you want to stay out of the hospital.”
Well, damn. The idea of checking into a hospital for something like this gave her the hives. “You could teach me about the IV,” she said, giving him a hopeful glance.
“Nice try, kiddo. Even Kate Middleton had to stay in the hospital a few nights when she struggled with this condition. Despite the fact that she had castles and servants at her disposal. Count yourself lucky that Dr. Fetter trusts me.”
“She should. You’re her boss.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m sorry Candace dragged you into this.”
He leaned over and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “I’m not. You gave everyone a real scare. I’d just as soon be the one keeping an eye on you.”
Four (#u423052c9-dc69-5a61-b438-242e9f64750d)
Hutch kept his easy smile with effort. Never had he imagined seeing Simone in the state she’d been in when she collapsed. Severe dehydration could even affect the heart. When he’d first seen her, he had actually feared for her pregnancy.
Not only that, he had flashed back to losing Beth. Even though he didn’t want a romantic relationship with Simone again, there was no way in hell he was going to let anything happen to her on his watch.
The stubborn woman had to have been in misery. Yet she’d been determined to power through on her own. She looked a little better now, but not much. He estimated that she had already lost six or seven pounds. Her cheekbones stood out sharply, as did her collarbone.
He touched the spot beneath her ear. “They put motion-sickness patches on you in the hospital. I’ll change those out as necessary.”
“Is it safe?” Her fingers moved restlessly, pleating the sheet.
He frowned. “A hell of a lot safer than collapsing from dehydration. You were in a bad way, Simone.”
“I thought I could handle it.”
“You hate depending on other people for help, don’t you?”
“I don’t like to take help from you.” Tears welled in her beautiful eyes, making them sparkle.
He sat down again, telling himself he had to be the professional in this situation. “I owe you this much, don’t you think?”
“For what?” She couldn’t quite meet his eyes.
“For taking your advice and going to Africa.” He couldn’t help the fact that the words sounded accusatory. When it had become clear that he and Simone were crazy about each other, he had offered to linger in Royal for a few years until she got her ad agency off the ground. He’d assumed she would jump at the offer. Instead, she had broken up with him. She’d insisted she didn’t want to stand in the way of his doing something so important.
Bitter and disillusioned, he had realized that Simone didn’t love him the way he loved her. While he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her behind, she had cut him loose and bid him a cheerful farewell.
“I did the right thing,” she said stubbornly. “You had a mission to fulfill.”
“And what did you have, Simone?” Suddenly, he felt like a beast for harassing her. She looked fragile enough to shatter. “Forget I said that,” he muttered. “I’m sorry. It’s not important.”
Without warning, a noise from the front of the house had his head jerking up. Surely no one would barge in uninvited. But he had forgotten about Naomi. The style guru/TV star was as much a force of nature as Simone, though in a different package.
Naomi burst into the bedroom, wild-eyed. She barely glanced at Hutch. “Good lord, Simone. What the heck is going on? I just saw you a few days ago. What happened?”
Hutch moved toward the door. “I’ll leave you two ladies alone.”
Simone held up the hand that wasn’t tethered to an IV. “No. Don’t go, Hutch. You might as well both hear this at once.”
Naomi turned to frown at him. “I didn’t know you were back in town. Made yourself at home, didn’t you? I fail to see why you’re in this house. You hurt her enough the first time around. I’m here now. You can leave.”
Simone tried to sit up. “Hush, Naomi. You don’t know what you’re talking about. Ignore her, Hutch. You know how dramatic she can be.”
Naomi’s teeth-clenched smile promised retribution. She sat down on the side of the bed, careful not to jostle Simone. “Fine. What don’t I know?”
Hutch positioned himself at Simone’s elbow. “You don’t have to do this now, Simone. You’re weak and sick.” He worried about her state of mind.
She shot him a look that held a soupçon of her usual fire. “I’m not an invalid.” Reaching for Naomi’s hand, she twined their fingers. “Don’t be mad. I didn’t want to steal Cecelia’s thunder the other night. I’m pregnant, too. And apparently not handling it nearly as well as our newly engaged friend.”
The self-derision on her face hurt Hutch. “It’s not a contest,” he said.
Naomi gaped. “You’re pregnant?” She glared at Hutch.
