Page 57 of The Surrender (Arlington Hall #2)

The physiotherapy is never-ending. Four times a week with a physiotherapist, an hour at a time, and every other day on his own.

Or not on his own. I help. I know he prefers our own private sessions.

Today is with the physio, Eric, who’s become a regular around these parts.

We’re eight months into Jude’s rehab. He’s still suffering, but he plays it down.

He can’t, however, hide his limp. Eric mentioned a few weeks ago that he might not ever lose it.

I saw Jude’s face, his annoyance and frustration.

But it’s only been two months since he stopped using a walking stick.

He must give it time. Time and patience.

I pass through the lobby of Arlington Hall, back from my second walk of the day, a basket of apples hanging from the crook of my arm.

Anouska’s assisting a party of golfers, and I weave through the bags of clubs on my way to the kitchens.

I place the basket down. “Here you go, Chef. Fresh from the orchard.”

“Thanks, Amelia,” he calls in between beating eggs in a bowl.

I head back towards the lobby, dodging the golf bags again, and enter the Library Bar. I smile at Clinton and pick up the two glasses of nonalcoholic Amelias. “Thank you.” I wrap my lips around one of the straws and suck as I head for the spa.

“Amelia.” Anouska spots me and hurries over, flanking me as I walk. “I didn’t want to disturb Jude while he’s in his session.”

“What’s up?”

“The Valentine’s Day menu needs approving.”

“Really? We’ve not even served the Christmas menu.”

“You know Jude’s efficient.”

I laugh. “Yes, I know. So what’s on it?”

Anouska hands me her iPad. “Every aphrodisiac known to man.”

My mouth waters as I scan the set menu. “Sounds delicious.” I smile. “I approve.”

“Perfect. I’ll let Chef know. And while I have you, housekeeping has asked how many guests you have this evening.”

“I need four rooms. Three doubles and a family for Charley, Lloyd, and the kids.”

“You got it.”

“Oh, and Casey and Rhys. They’re coming too.” I see the happiness in Anouska’s eyes. “It’ll be the first time all three of them have been together on the anniversary of Evelyn’s death.”

She nods, not needing to say anything. “And have you thought any more about making your input around here permanent?” Her eyebrows rise, and I smile as I wander off.

Everyone knows I’m not going back to finance.

I’m too content helping around Arlington Hall.

My hands instinctively go to my bump, my inhale deep, my exhale full of peace. I’m never leaving.

Jude’s still in the gym when I get there, and I watch as Eric puts resistance against his shin as he tries to raise his leg, the strain on his face painful to see.

“You’ve got this, baby,” I whisper, mentally encouraging him.

He must feel I’m here, always does, because he turns his attention away from Eric mid-exercise and chat, finding me.

And the session is over. Eric helps him up and slaps his shoulder, throwing a towel into his bare chest.

Jude makes his way to the door, wiping his face. I know he feels the lingering ache in his leg more acutely straight after a session. His limp is particularly obvious today, but I don’t mention it.

As soon as I’m within reach, he scoops me up and carries me across his arms out of the spa. I hold the straw of his drink at his lips as I sip my own and he bobs me up and down, as if gauging my weight. “I’d say another two pounds,” he muses.

“Since yesterday?”

“Yep.”

“Jesus, put me down.”

“This is part of my rehab. Shut up.” He turns and pushes his back into a door, slurping more of his Amelia as he negotiates my body through the opening and heads down the corridor to the studios.

“I approved the Valentine’s Day menu.”

“What’s on it?”

“Sexy food.”

He chuckles. “Did you book us a table?”

“No, because I don’t know if we’ll be able to find a babysitter for the night.”

His smile is blazing as he helps himself to his drink again. “If we can’t, we’ll get room service.” Turning again, he pushes his way into one of the studios.

A smiling Glenda greets us, her hippy-dippy aura drenching the room. “Children,” she sings, opening her arms. “Welcome. Please, please, join the circle.”

There’s a gap on the other side of the room, in between two fellow pregnant women.

Jude walks us round and places me down by the mat laid out, taking the drinks and putting them out of the way.

“Sit,” he says, helping me down to my arse.

I wince and hold my breath as he lowers behind me, not because I’m uncomfortable, but because I know he is.

I’ve given up nagging him. He wants to do this.

In fact, this antenatal class that’s been running weekly at Arlington Hall since he was discharged was entirely his doing.

And, actually, very popular—hence the room’s full.

“I’m fine,” he whispers, cradling me between his thighs.

His hands come under my arms and rest on my huge pregnant belly, his chin on my shoulder.

I glance around, smiling at the smiles coming back at us. Rachel is dead opposite me, Clark behind her. I wave, and she waves right back.

Placing my hands over Jude’s, I breathe in deep, feeling him doing the same. Glenda’s energy is something else. You can’t help but be serene when you’re around her. “Are you sure I can’t ask her to be our full-time baby coach?” Jude whispers in my ear.

I chuckle. “Are you afraid?”

“No,” he says quickly. “The only thing I’m afraid of since I met you, baby, is your father. Speaking of which, when are they arriving?”

“Teatime.”

“Can’t wait.”

I nudge him as Glenda starts circling her arms up into the air, her eyes closed, her chest expanding.

“Are you ready for your breathing exercises?” Jude asks.

“Always ready.”

“Good. They’ll come in handy when I can bang you again with all hard eight inches of me.”

I chuckle. “Your seven inches did just fine this morning.”

“My eight inches will do just fine again in about an hour’s time, when I get you back upstairs.”

I smile and lean back into him, holding his arms where they lie over my enormous belly.

“Close your eyes,” Glenda says, all soothing and soft.

And I do. Zoning out. Enjoying the quiet. And the feel of Jude blanketing me and our bump.

“Ready?” Jude asks as he wanders out of the dressing room, fastening the buttons on his shirt. He smiles when he finds me standing in front of the floor-length mirror putting my earrings in. “God, you’re fit as fuck.”

I laugh as he crowds me from behind and mauls my neck, his palms stroking over my belly. “Charley, Lloyd, and the kids just arrived, and Abbie’s running a bit late.”

“Uh-huh,” he mumbles on my throat. “Your parents?”

“Working their way through the cocktail menu in the Library Bar with Grandma and Grandpa.”

“They did that the last time they were here. And the time before that. And the time before that.”

“They can only manage four per visit, and even then I have to escort them to their rooms in case they take a drunken tumble.”

“Let me look at you,” he orders, turning me around and taking my hands, standing back so he can drink me in.

I do the same. Beige trousers. White shirt, open at the collar.

His hair a beautiful mess. Gorgeous. “Disgusting,” he murmurs around a smile, his eyes on my enormous belly.

My grin is so wide. “You know”—he pulls some of the stretchy black material of my dress—“I think we should have another.”

“Fucking hell, Jude, do you want to let me squeeze this one out first?”

He beams from ear to ear. “I didn’t think I could fancy you more.” He hunkers down, and I can tell by his poorly hidden wince that it’s uncomfortable. “Turns out I can.”

“Good for you.” I scrunch my nose and rub it with his. “Stop doing things that hurt your leg.”

“My leg’s fine.” Cupping my face, he slams a kiss on my lips. “Let the weekend family shenanigans begin.” Claiming my hand, he leads us out of the bedroom and past the birthing pool that’s been sitting in the middle of the lounge for the past two weeks.

“Are your brothers here?” I ask, sliding a hand under my bump to hold it, the pressure getting to me these past few days. I permanently need to pee.

Jude checks his phone. “Just pulling in. Casey’s got to fly out to Qatar early hours, but Rhys is staying the night. He’s not got a game until next weekend.”

“How’s he been lately?” That sex tape, unbelievably, never showed up. But Rhys hasn’t learned his lesson and is—in Jude’s words—still putting it about. Jude looks back at me with raised brows. That’s my answer. I don’t know how a top athlete does it and still plays so well. “Active, then?” I ask.

“You know Rhys. He could charm the knickers off a nun.”

Laughter erupts out of me. “Shit.”

“What?”

I stop, forcing Jude to a stop too, his face a map of worried lines. “A bit of pee just came out.” I drop his hand and hurry back through the bedroom to the bathroom, groaning when I lower to the seat, just that change of position moving me from not needing a wee at all to being desperate.

“Want one of these?” Jude waves a nappy from the doorway on a grin.

“Stop it,” I grumble.

“Want some clean knickers?”

“Please.”

He disappears and returns moments later with a pair, holding them at his nose. “Smell clean.”

“Sicko,” I tease, taking them and shimmying them on as Jude holds my elbow. “Okay, I’m ready. Don’t make me laugh.”

He chuckles, leading me back out.

This time, we make it down to the Library Bar without any accidents, although when my mother hugs me, I fear the force of it might squeeze some more pee out.

“Look at you,” she gushes, holding tight.

Jude makes his way around everyone saying his hellos, finishing with Grandma. She’s the biggest Jude fan of all. I smile over Mum’s shoulder as she practically yanks him down to the chair next to her and sniffs him.