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Verity

The first timeI came into this room, it was with my heart in my throat and a pit of dread in my stomach.

Obviously, it’s different now.

The glare of the bright overhead lamp, the sharp scent of disinfectant, the tray of shiny instruments, and the small sonogram machine rolled up next to the exam table. I used to find these things cold and sterile, full of only malicious potential. Now, it’s a strange comfort to watch my Prince curl a familiar hand around the edge of the stool, rolling it closer to the exam table. The knowledge that the instruments are for his hands alone settles any unease. The smell of disinfectant is evidence of his diligence and meticulous care. The lamp is bright so he can see every part of me, always watching, analyzing. Even the snap of latex as he pulls on a glove is absent the nervousness I felt during my hospital stay—the nerves a result of all those strangers rallying to put their hands on me.

When Lex’s fingers press into my abdomen, it elicits a different sort of shiver.

“Cold?” he asks in a smooth voice that I know all too well. His unbuttoned sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing his strong, wiry forearms as he pushes each side of my belly. It’s not the first time I’m struck by the fluid competence in his movements, nor the resonance of his quiet voice.

Outside of this room, we’re the Prince and Princess—Lagan and Verity, expectant father and mother—but inside, he keeps the line drawn between doctor and patient.

Even now.

I shake my head.

He continues his exploration of my swollen stomach, tone clinically pensive. “Any pain in the pelvis?”

“No.”

Another push, this time higher. “Belly?”

“No.”

His fingertips drag against my skin as they skate toward each of my hips. “Lower back?”

“Lex…” I sigh, fighting the urge to squirm. “You know the answer to all of these.”

“If you think I’m taking shortcuts with your recovery, then you got hit harder on the head than I realized.” He stands over me, hands firm as he measures my belly, a lock of auburn hair falling by the side of his face. I reach up and push it back, revealing the scowl. “Any fluid discharge?”

“Just the ones that happen when you keep touching me like that,” I complain, shifting uncomfortably.

Bed rest doesn’t mean justresting. It includes all kinds of things I never realized I took for granted, like climbing the stairs of the palace. Lifting my books or gardening tools. Walking across the palace grounds. All of that’s off-limits. My meals are brought to my room. Lex might allow me time in the garden, but only because the sunlight is good for me and the baby, and even that’s supervised by Rory Livingston, a gun strapped to hisside. The solarium is also off- limits until Lex confirms all of the bodies have been uncovered. But as much as those things suck, none are the biggest hardship that’s befallen me for the past two weeks. That’s been the other rule.

No sex.

The scowl shifts, his amber eyes growing heavy and knowing as he continues, examining my exposed body. “You’re at twenty-two weeks. That’s the halfway point. He should be about one pound. His senses are developing.” His hands coast over the swell of my belly up to my breasts. Without missing a beat, he cups them in his large palms, a fat thumb rolling over each nipple. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as they peak. “His eyelids are closed, so he can’t see, but he can discern light from dark.”

I swallow, throat clicking. “He’s moving around a lot.”

“A good sign,” he says, lips curving into a slow grin. “He’s strong. I know it.”

The barely-hidden softness in his eyes is too much to bear, and I find myself reaching for that lock of hair again, rubbing it between my fingers.

It’s stupid to miss someone I live with. Someone who’s barely been nice to me until recently. Someone I can hardly get off my back now that he occasionallyisnice to me.

But I do miss him.

He doesn’t sleep in my bed anymore.

Neither does Pace—usually.

Lex’s hands leave my body, and I feel the loss of them so acutely that I arch into the air. These exams are the only time I can get him to touch me until I’m cleared for physical activity, which depending on how paranoid he is, could be after the baby is here. Which means if I’m going to get some freaking relief, it may be now or never.

“Lex,” I say, watching as he rolls the latex gloves off of his hands. “I do have one concern.”