All the Time in the World
Satine awoke disoriented, distantly aware of the sound of someone's erratic breathing, and warm fingers clutching her hand. She returned the clasping with a gentle squeeze, then shifted to see Christian kneeling down at her side, his forehead pressed against their clasped hands. As she stirred, he looked up at her with wide eyes, and she realized he was crying.
Turning onto her side, she reached out with her free hand to brush the tears away, and he rose to sit on the bed at her side, his eyes searching her face in frantic concern—and not a small bit of relief.
"Satine?"
"Christian—" she started, and began to rise, but he pushed her back down gently.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"I must have had a fainting spell," she replied, settling back into the pillows again.
Any further questions were spared, however, as Dr. Morrow entered the bedroom and immediately crossed over to the bed, waving Christian aside. It took him a good few moments to get the younger man to actually leave the room, and more than one assurance that he would let him back in as soon as he was finished.
Once the writer had been ousted from the room, Dr. Morrow set about his work of examining Satine, keeping a professional demeanor throughout. In all truths, it had troubled him to hear of her collapse, as it was all too common for consumptives to pass out due to lack of oxygen, but he was relieved to find that she seemed to be breathing perfectly fine, and no symptoms of her existing illness had reappeared.
Satine, for her part, answered questions when she was asked, and followed directions as instructed, but otherwise made no conversation, nor did the doctor offer any. When he finished, she sat oddly calm on the side of the bed, wrapped in her dressing gown, waiting for Dr. Morrow to tell her whatever it was he had concluded.
"Congratulations, Satine," he said, for the first time addressing her without formality, "you are going to be a mother."
In return, she offered an owlish blink.
"You are not very far along," he continued, and turned to the task of putting his instruments back in their bag. "I expect the baby to be due in November."
Satine blinked again, still somewhat unable to comprehend the news—she was with child? She had mused over the idea, but not with true consideration . . . herself, raising a child, was something she'd rarely entertained as a serious thought, and she had always been lucky in avoiding becoming pregnant, while some of the other girls weren't granted the same good fortune. Perhaps somewhere in the back of her mind, she had decided herself incapable of having children.
Love truly did do amazing things.
"Now," Dr. Morrow stated, his tone going stern, "I expect you to get plenty of rest, and don't over exert yourself."
"What about—" Satine bit down on her lower lip, a hand moving to cover her abdomen.
"Your existing illness—what is left of it, but you have made quite a remarkable recovery—should not have a great affect on your pregnancy," he responded knowingly. "However, I do expect you to be careful . . . this is a very delicate time."
She nodded slightly in return, thoughts wandering between worry and bliss.
A baby . . . hers and Christian's . . . they had created a life together.
Your children won't be able to look you in the face without seeing what their mother was . . .
The words of Alexander Castleton echoed through her mind, but she banished them from her thoughts, focusing instead on the good in the situation. She cast her gaze back upward to the doctor, and gave a tentative smile.
"I'd assume you want to tell Christian," he said.
Satine nodded again, her smile becoming broader. "Thank you, Doctor."
"It was my pleasure. Now, you may expect to be seeing more of me," he continued, fastening his bag shut and moving toward the door. "I'll stop in tomorrow to see how you're getting along. Don't worry about the dizziness—it should get better eventually."
Then Dr. Morrow stepped from the room—and was immediately faced by an anxious-looking Christian.
"Is Satine all right?"
"She'll be just fine—better than fine, actually," the older man responded cryptically, a smile on his face. "Why don't you go see for yourself?"
Without another word, Christian accepted this signal that he could go in to see her, and he disappeared through the bedroom door, leaving both Dr. Morrow and Alexander to let themselves out of the apartment.
Satine idly fingered the sash that served as a belt for her robe, looking up as Christian came to enter the room. She waited until he had come over to sit beside her, then she turned and took his hands in her own, drawing in a breath.
"Christian—I'm . . ." Trailing off, she lingered for a moment in consideration, then simply steeled herself and had out with it. "I'm going to have a baby."
Several seconds stretched out between them in breathless silence, during which Satine's heart caught in her throat, almost worrying that Christian's reaction would be an adverse one. Really, why should she expect him to be happy over the news? A wife and a child, they were a lot of responsibility, and Christian—well, he was still young, and—
"A baby?" he repeated, his eyes wide and face full of wonder.
She nodded silently.
"Oh, Satine . . ." He drew her into his arms and embraced her tightly—only to, a moment later, release her hastily and with a look of concern written on his face, as if afraid she might break. After a lingering moment, however, he shook his head, breaking out into a smile.
"I'm going to be a father! You're going to be a mother—we—we're going to be parents!" He paused, laughing softly at the notion.
At this reaction, Satine dissolved into tears, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face against his shoulder, her worry melting away—how could she have thought he wouldn't be happy?
Unfortunately, Christian mistook this for the fact Satine wasn't happy over the situation, and he awkwardly rubbed her back as her shoulders shook with little sobs, his brow knitting in confusion. "Satine? Do you—I mean, are you—don't you—"
"Oh," she said softly, her words muffled against the material of his shirt. "I was so afraid you wouldn't be happy, and I—I just—I'm so happy."
In the shared joy of what their love had created, the two had settled into bed in a spooning position, Christian's arm over Satine's waist so that he could rest his hand on her stomach, and her hands covering his. He leaned over to press his lips to her cheek, then settled back again, a contented sigh escaping his lips.
"A baby . . ." Christian had always been good with children; he had practically helped raise his sister Margaret in the absence of their mother, had sung her songs and told her stories. He could hardly believe now that he and Satine would have a child of their own, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her and their baby in his arms.
"How long will it be?"
"Dr. Morrow said November. That means, before we left Paris . . ." Satine mused, trailing off and allowing him to fill in the blanks, which he did, the memory bringing a smile to his face.
"November—I don't think I can wait that long!" he complained after a moment, his eagerness lending an impatience to his tone that was almost childlike in itself.
But Christian's mind was prone to straying from subject to subject, particularly when he was excited, and before Satine could respond, his train of thought had changed tracks again.
"Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?"
"It's a boy," she replied knowingly, gaze drifting lazily to the wall, where the afternoon sun played a show of dancing light and shadow. How she knew it was a boy, one couldn't be certain—call it motherly intuition, but she simply . . . knew.
"With your dark hair and beautiful blue eyes," she went on in a dreamy tone. "He'll be a famous writer just like his father, and sing songs that make people believe in true love, and—"
"You're making me blush, darling," Christian interrupted, a grin quirking at the corners of his lips. "Besides, how do you know he'll look like me? He might have red hair, and . . . and he might even be a she!"
"No, it's a boy," Satine said firmly. As far as she was concerned, there were no doubts about it.
Deciding to concede the point at that, as really the only point behind his argument was to get the subject off himself, Christian fell silent again, before finding another question.
"What shall we name him?"
"Oh, Christian . . . we have months to decide."
"You're right," he agreed, then propped himself up on his elbow and gazed down at her lovingly.
Satine turned to look up at him, and smiled as he began to sing.
"We have all the time in the world,
Time enough for life to unfold
All the precious things love has in store.
We have all the love in the world,
If that's all we have, you will find
We need nothing more . . .
Every step of the way will find us
With the cares of the world far behind us . . .
We have all the time in the world,
Just for love,
Nothing more, nothing less,
Only love."
Author's Note: Lyrics are "We Have All the Time in the World," by Louis Armstrong, from On Her Majesty's Secret Service. I know the voices differ considerably, but use some imagination and it works. Thank you to all reviewers . . . and to Megan McGory, thank you for the note about Egyptians speaking both languages, though I mostly decided to have them speak English because Satine's the only one of them right now who's French. Big thanks to Moonlit Aria for beta reading this chapter, which was a bit difficult to get out, and actually crying over it, which boosted my esteem quite a bit.
Also, if anyone would like to be notified via e-mail when this story is updated (until I finally get around to buying myself a paid account for the benefit of author alerts), please leave a note in your review, or e-mail me at aiiesdelamour@aol.com and let me know.