Epilogue (2)

Lisa

Jennie's scream echoes off the walls, the tormented sound flaying me open. I lean against the door frame, shaking from the effort it takes to remain still and not attack the white-coated buzzards hovering over my wife. My shirt is soaked with sweat, and my hands flex convulsively at my sides, the urge to protect Jennie battling with the knowledge that I'd only get in the doctors' way.

The baby is two weeks early, and I've never felt so fucking useless in my life.

"Do you want me to get you anything?" Bambam asks quietly, and I realize he came up from the hallway to stand next to me. "Water, coffee… a shot of vodka?" His expression is uncharacteristically sympathetic.

"I'm fine." My voice is like a rasp of sandpaper over wood, and I clear my throat before continuing. "They said it's not long now. That's why they've tapered off the epidural."

Bambam nods. "Right. I've been reading up on it."

"Oh?" The bizarre statement—and momentary absence of screams from Jennie—awakens a twinge of curiosity. "Are you and Yulia…?"

"No, not yet, but Yulia's been talking about it ever since the wedding." He exhales audibly. "I was thinking it wouldn't be so bad, but now that I've seen this—"

"Lisa!"

Jennie's agonized cry cuts off whatever he was going to say next, and I forget about everything, all but leaping across the room in response to her call.

"Ms. Manoban, please, you have to step back—"

"She needs me," I snarl at the doctor blocking my path. If he wasn't the best obstetrician in the Swiss clinic, he'd already be dead. Shoving the idiot aside, I step forward to grip Jennie's trembling hand. Her palm is slippery with sweat, but her fingers curl around mine with startling strength, her knuckles turning white as her towering belly ripples with another contraction. Her small face is a twisted mask of pain, her eyes scrunched shut, and my chest heaves with helpless fury as another scream rips from her throat. I'd give anything to trade places with her, to take this pain from her, but I can't, and the knowledge shreds me into pieces.

"I'm here, baby." My voice is hoarse, my free hand unsteady as I reach over to brush the sweat-soaked hair off her forehead. "I'm here for you."

Jennie opens her eyes, and my heart clenches as her gaze meets mine and she attempts a reassuring smile. "It's okay," she pants. "It'll be fine. I just need to—" But before she finishes speaking, her face contorts again, and I hear the doctors yelling, telling her to push, to bear down. Jennie's hand tightens around mine with unbelievable force, her delicate fingers almost crushing the bones in my palm, and her whole body seems to go into a massive spasm, her head arching back with a scream that cuts me like a thousand knives. Her agony shatters me, ripping away all pretense at calm and reason. Red mist edges my vision, blood pounding loudly in my temples, and I know I won't be able to bear this much longer.

Holding Jennie's hand, I turn and roar at the doctors, "Fucking help her! Now!"

But none of them are paying attention to me. All three doctors are clustered at the foot of the bed where a sheet is shielding Jennie's lower body from view. I see one of them bending and then…

"There she is!" The doctor who blocked my path earlier straightens, holding something small, wriggling, and bloody. He turns away, working with quick, efficient movements, and in the next instant, an infant's cry pierces the air. It's weak and uncertain at first, but soon, it gains strength. The shock of that high-pitched, demanding sound is like a percussive wave from an explosion, stunning me into paralysis. When I finally manage to turn my head to look at Jennie, I realize that her hand is limp in mine, her features no longer contorted in agony. She's crying instead, and laughing at the same time, and then she pulls her hand away and reaches for the baby the doctor is handing to her—the tiny, wriggling creature whose cries are growing in volume.

"Oh my God, Lisa," she sobs as the doctor places the newborn into her arms and raises the bed to a half-sitting position. "Oh God, just look at her…" She cradles it against her chest, her hospital gown falling open to reveal one pregnancy-swollen breast, and as I gape in mute shock, the little thing begins to root at the breast, its pink mouth opening and closing several times before it latches on to Jennie's nipple.

No, not it. She. Our daughter.

Jennie and I have a daughter. One who's nursing at her breast like a pro.

My vision narrows, the sounds of the hospital fading away. A nuclear bomb could've gone off next to us, and I wouldn't have noticed. All I see, all I'm aware of is my beautiful, precious pet, her tangled hair falling forward in a dark cloud as she leans over the nursing baby. Mesmerized, I step closer, trying to make out all the details, and my pulse takes on a strangely audible beat. It's like I'm listening to someone else's heartbeat through a stethoscope. Thu-thump. A tiny fist kneads the softness of Jennie's plump breast. Thu-thump. The little mouth works industriously, small cheeks hollowing out with every sucking motion. Thu-thump. The hair on the tiny head is dark and downy, as soft-looking as her lightly golden skin.

"What color are her eyes?" I whisper when I can speak, and Jennie lets out a shaky laugh, glancing up at me.

"What color do you think?" Her face is glowing with tenderness. "Just like yours."

Like mine. The words sear through me. I don't really care about the color of her eyes—many babies' eyes change as they get older—but knowing that this tiny being is mine, that she's my daughter, takes my breath away. My hand shakes as I reach forward and gently touch one tiny foot, my fingers shockingly huge next to the baby's minuscule toes. It seems impossible that something so little can exist; she looks like a doll… a living, breathing human doll.

My Jennie in miniature, only infinitely more vulnerable and fragile.

My chest constricts, and I yank my hand away, sudden irrational fear flooding my mind. Is it normal for a newborn to be so little? She is two weeks early. What if I hurt that tiny foot by touching it? Looking up, I pin the doctor with a deadly glare. "Is she—"

"She's healthy," the doctor reassures me with a smile. "A little on the small side at two-point-seven kilograms, but perfectly normal."

"She is perfect," Jennie murmurs, gazing down at the baby with a love so consuming and absolute that my breath leaves my lungs again.

My wife. My child. My family.

My vision blurs for a moment, my eyes stinging, and I have to blink to clear away the watery veil. I haven't cried since I was a small child, but if I'm remembering the sensations correctly, this burning behind my eyes means I'm on the verge.

"Come here," Jennie whispers, glancing up at me again, and I step closer, unable to help myself. Slowly, I lift my hand and stroke the baby's head with one finger, everything inside me going still as the baby releases Jennie's nipple and blinks up at me. Jennie had been right, I register in the split second before her tiny face scrunches up angrily.

Opening her mouth, my daughter lets out a bellow, and Jennie laughs before helping the baby find her nipple again. Instantly, the little creature quiets, sucking industriously, and I lower my hand, staring at the wonder of it all.

"What do you want to call her?" I ask in a hushed tone as the baby continues to feed. Because of Jennie's miscarriage three years ago, we agreed not to name the baby until she was actually here, but I suspect my pet has given it some thought on her own.

Sure enough, Jennie looks up at me and smiles. "How about we call her Liz—or Lizzy. Doesn't she look like a Lizzy?"

"She does." I brush my fingers across the downy head. "She very much does."

Jennie and the baby fall asleep, both worn out by their ordeal, and I step out of the room to grab a bottle of water and stretch my legs. To my surprise, when I get to the end of the hallway, I see two blond heads bent together in the waiting area.

Bambam's wife—the Ukrainian girl who was involved in the crash—is with him.

As I approach, Yulia glances in my direction. Instantly, she leaps to her feet, her pale face turning even whiter. Bambam gets to his feet as well, stepping protectively in front of her.

I let out a sigh. I promised Bambam I won't hurt her, but he still doesn't trust me around her, even though Jennie and I went to their wedding in Cyprus last year. I don't blame him for his overprotectiveness—usually, the mere sight of the former spy makes my blood pressure rise—but today, I'm not in the mood for conflict.

I'm too overjoyed to care about anything but Jennie and our daughter.

Lizzy, I remind myself.

Jennie and Lizzy.

My heart seizes. I have a daughter named Lizzy.

"Congratulations," Yulia says softly, gripping her husband's arm, and I realize she's talking to me. "Bambam and I are very happy for you."

To my surprise, I feel a weary smile tugging at my lips. "Thanks," I say, and mean it. I'll never forgive the girl for nearly killing me and endangering Jennie as a result, but over the years, my fury at her has cooled to a tepid simmer. She makes Bambam happy, and Bambam makes me a lot of money on the new ventures, so I no longer fantasize about skinning her alive.

"How is Jennie?" Bambam asks, sliding his arm around Yulia's slender waist and pulling her toward him. "She must be exhausted."

"She is. She fell asleep right after her video calls with her parents, Rosé, and Ana. They were all upset that they couldn't make it here in time, but they understood that the baby had her own timeline." Exhaling, I run a hand through my hair. "Jennie is sleeping now, and so is Lizzy."

"Lizzy?" Yulia says, and I see her pretty face soften. "That's a beautiful name."

"Thanks. We like it." I love it, actually, but I'm not about to bond with Bambam's wife over baby names. Tolerance—as in, not killing her on the spot—is as far as I'm willing to go.

Turning my attention to Bambam, I say, "Thanks for flying out on such short notice and pulling the men off that Syria project. Things have been pretty quiet lately, but extra security never hurts." Especially where my wife and daughter are concerned. I picture Lizzy in danger, and my insides turn to dry ice.

I'm going to get the trackers on her as soon as the doctors allow it, and hire an extra dozen bodyguards to watch her at all times. If she so much as pricks her little finger, her security team will answer to me.

"No problem," Bambam says. "We were on our way to London anyway, for the opening of Yulia's new restaurant. David is already waiting for us there."

Ah, so that's why Yulia is here. I was wondering why Bambam brought her. If I recall correctly, this will be the fourth restaurant that Bambam's wife lends her brand and recipes to—an interesting business for a former spy.

"Anyways," Yulia says, giving me a wary look, "we didn't mean to hold you up. You probably have to return to Jennie and the baby."

"I do," I say, not bothering to deny it. I'm still in a good mood, however, so I add, "If I don't see you again, good luck on your opening."

And without waiting for a reply, I continue heading down the hallway.

I'm giving Jennie a foot rub—the only physical contact allowed for now—when the nurses bring the baby back for a feeding. Lizzy is screaming like a banshee, but the moment she's placed in Jennie's arms, she goes quiet and begins to root for a nipple. I watch, mesmerized, as her tiny mouth finds its target, and she begins to suck. Jennie croons to her, stroking her softly, and I just stare, unable to look away. My beautiful pet is a mother—the mother of my baby. I didn't think it was possible for me to feel more possessive of Jennie, but I do. She belongs to me on a whole different level now, and seeing her like this brings out emotions I never thought myself capable of feeling. It's as if my whole life has been leading up to this—to my wife and child, to this terrifyingly incandescent joy.

"Do you want to hold her?" Jennie murmurs when the baby releases her nipple, and I freeze, all my muscles locking tight. I've faced terrorists and drug lords, dealt with generals and heads of state, and I've never been this intimidated.

"Are you sure?" My voice comes out strained. "You don't think I might hurt her?"

"No." Jennie's soft lips curve in a smile. "Here you go." Carefully, she hands me the baby, and I do my best to hold her the way Jennie did, settling her in the crook of my arm while supporting her little head with my hand. Lizzy is unbelievably light, a tiny, warm bundle of sweet-smelling baby, and as I watch, she blinks at me again and closes her eyes.

"She's sleeping," I whisper in amazement. "Jennie, she's sleeping in my arms."

"I know," Jennie whispers, and I look up to see her smiling even as tears roll down her cheeks. "The two of you… God, I could've never imagined this."

"Me neither." Careful not to jostle Lizzy, I clasp Jennie's delicate fingers in my free hand and bring them to my lips. Kissing her knuckles, I murmur, "I love you, baby, so much."

Jennie's lips quiver in a smile. "And I love you, Lisa."

We sit and watch our daughter sleeping, and I know it's just the beginning.

Our real story is about to unfold.

The End.