Six
Ringo climbed carefully out of bed and stretched, watching Kelsey sleep. There was no sign of movement other than her naked chest rising and falling steadily. He almost regretted what he was about to do. Almost.
Traveling with Kelsey wasn’t bad. She had been brilliant in distracting the guard back at Carrick’s hotel in Vegas, and she hadn’t given much of a protest when he had suggested they extend their honeymoon, see the country, that sort of shit, even though they both knew he was breaking vampire law. She didn’t complain that he had her staying in flea-bag motels to save cash, and she gave amazing head.
It wasn’t exactly total hell being married to her. He had learned how to block her so she couldn’t get inside his head and pick through his thoughts, and she liked live feeding from humans as much as he did.
They were kind of a pair, he had to admit, and it was a damn shame that he couldn’t tell her the truth about why he had married her. But she was fucking clueless, had no idea what he was up to, and it was better that way.
Ringo got dressed in the dark and went out the door, clicking it shut behind him, the last of their cash in his pocket.
Kelsey sat up in bed and pulled on the jeans and sweatshirt she had conveniently set on the chair next to the bed. The motel room had a musty odor and the sheets were damp, so she wouldn’t be sorry to leave it. Gathering her prepacked messenger bag and slipping it over her shoulder, she stepped into her black and red gym shoes and headed toward the door.
Her husband was going to meet Donatelli and she had every intention of being with him when he did.
Brittany walked behind Corbin in the hallway and nearly slammed into him when he came to a screeching halt outside the hospital classroom.
“Maybe zis is not a good idea,” he said, turning around, panic in his green eyes. “They will know I am not a normal father to be.”
She suspected his fear had more to do with changing a diaper than the off-chance that his vampiric status would be revealed. She tried not to smile. “Do you really want to leave? That’s fine. I’ll just drive myself home after my Intro to Childbirth class.”
The panic changed to guilt. He shook his head. “No, no, of course not. It will be fine. I will go to my class, you to yours, and we will leave together as planned. But first I will escort you into your class.”
Like she was that stupid. He was going to walk her in, then ditch out on his class and return only in time to pick her up. It was written all over his face. She could understand his fears—heck, she was freaked out about being able to handle a baby herself, and she wasn’t a two-hundred-year-old vampire. But this had been his idea, and it was a good one. Clearly, he realized he could use a little guidance. They both could, and she wasn’t going to let him chicken out.
“Let’s go and check you into your class first. I want to meet the instructor. Then you can walk me into my class.” She smiled brightly at him. It had been an incredibly awkward week, with neither of them sure how to proceed in their relationship. It didn’t seem natural to leap back into bed again, not when she found herself unsure if she could trust him, doubting that he had meant those wonderful promises he had made when they were naked. She figured an easy seventy-five percent of what a man said needed to be dismissed if his penis was erect at the time of speaking. Hell, she had exaggerated herself when she was in flagrante delicto with a guy or two in the past, saying things like “that’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen” or “no, I never tell people what we do in bed,” both of which were total lies. She’d yet to see one so big it was worth special attention, and she had told her girlfriend Teresa all kinds of juicy details while giggling. But Teresa had moved to Portland and they talked only once a month, and that was then. This was now, and she hadn’t lied about anything with Corbin.
But she didn’t know him well enough to understand why he did the things he did. She just wasn’t sure why he had made love to her so sensually, then not spoken to her for eight weeks. It made it difficult to trust. So while they had spent the week politely circling around each other, she had concentrated on learning about Corbin, trying to gauge his moods and recognize why he acted the way he did and said the things he did. She wanted to get to know him, and they both needed to accept they had done everything ass-backward yet again and try to pick forward delicately.
Corbin hesitated for only a second before his manners kicked in. “Of course, my dear, if that is what you wish.” He held the door open for her.
Brittany walked into the room, noting three other men already sitting in chairs, two looking ill at ease, one looking eager and raring to go. The instructor was pulling a sheaf of papers out of his bag.
“Howdy,” he said as they approached, giving them both a smile. “Are you registered for the class?”
“My… ” Brittany pointed to Corbin. What the hell did she call him? Vampire lover? Sperm donor? Favorite mistake? “He’s taking the class. I’m taking the childbirth class in the room next door, but I just wanted to introduce myself and say thank you in advance. I’m sure it will be very reassuring for Corbin to hear your thoughts and advice.”
“Well, I’m glad your husband could make the class, and I’ll try not to scare him too bad.” The instructor winked at her. He stuck his hand out to Corbin. “Sam Adams. Like the beer.”
“This is Corbin Atelier,” Brittany said, suddenly nervous about leaving Corbin alone with modern American men. Mortal men. “And I’m Brittany.”
Sam’s eyebrow went up at her as Corbin shook his hand. “Nice to meet you both. Enjoy your childbirth class, Brittany,” Sam said rather pointedly.
“Thanks.” She hovered for a second until Corbin said something to her in French. She smiled, pretending she had a clue what he was saying. “Okay, sweetie.” Her feet weren’t moving.
“Okay,” she said again, putting her purse strap back up on her shoulder, but still rooted to the floor. Corbin stared at her. “Well, I guess I’d better go.”
“I will see you in two hours,” Corbin said. “Unless you’d like me to walk you to your class.”
“No, no, that’s okay.” Now that she had him in the room, she didn’t want him out until the class had concluded. “Okay, then. Bye.” She gave a little wave and forced herself to leave.
She had a bad feeling about this.
Corbin watched Brittany pause yet again in the doorway and wave at him. He raised his hand back and gave a sigh.
“Driving you nuts?” Sam asked. “Women react differently to pregnancy. It’s normal for her to be a little clingy.”
There was nothing normal about their relationship, and clingy didn’t even begin to cover the problem. “It is just I do not have any experience with children, so she is worried. And this pregnancy, it arrived sooner than we expected.” Like sooner than never.
“Ahhh.” Sam nodded in understanding. He clapped Corbin on the shoulder. “But no worries. You’ll learn your way around a baby soon enough. And this class will jump-start what you need to know.”
“Excellent.”
“Come meet the other guys.” Sam moved to the front of the room. “Alright, get in closer here so I don’t have to shout. I want to hear your name, what you do for a living, and the ETD. Estimated time of delivery.” He grinned.
Corbin chose a seat to the left, not wanting to be front and center. A young man with multiple tattoos and a rather painful-looking lip piercing sat next to him.
“’Sup?” he said, giving Corbin a nod.
It appeared the evening was going to tax his English skills. Corbin nodded back. “Hello.”
Sam pointed to the man in a blue button-up shirt. “Name, occupation, ETD.”
“Dave Robinson. I’m a loan officer. My wife is due January seventeenth and it’s a boy.”
“Congrats,” Sam said.
“Thanks.” Dave beamed.
Sam pointed to the next guy.
“I’m Jason Sikorski. I’m a cop. And my wife is due February thirteenth. She’s hoping for a Valentine’s baby. We don’t know the sex.”
“Hey, surprises are good.” Sam moved on to the tattoo man.
“Travis Short. I’m in landscaping. Due date December twenty-eighth.” He grinned. “The wife is ready to pop.”
Sam then looked at Corbin expectantly so he cleared his throat. “I am Corbin Atelier and I am a research scientist. I am not exactly sure when Brittany is due. Sometime in April. I think.”
Every face turned to him, clearly appalled.
“Dude,” Travis said, shaking his head.
Sam’s finger came out. “First things first. It’s time to get yourself informed. A hundred bucks says your wife and every female relative you both have all know exactly when the baby is due. You need to share the load with her, man, show her you’re in this together.”
“Well, zis was a surprise,” he said, feeling the need to defend himself.
“Even more reason to get on board. She’s probably worried you don’t really want this baby. You been to the doctor with her yet?”
“No.” He wasn’t even sure if she had been to the doctor. He must have asked at one point. He was almost sure he had. She had said everything was fine, he remembered that, so he must have asked her something. Crossing his arms over his chest, he added, “I work nights. It makes scheduling difficult.”
Four pairs of reproachful eyes stared at him. Corbin felt the juvenile urge to flash his fangs and scare the daylights out of them. Who were they to judge him? They did not know his situation, they did not know what he and Brittany were dealing with.
“Well, you’re here. That’s a start,” Sam said. “I’m sure your wife will appreciate it if you pay attention. And if language is a barrier, we’ve got handouts. Your wife can translate it for you.”
“I am paying attention and I do not need a translator. My English is sufficient.” Corbin was completely offended. He had spent half of his childhood in England. He did not need a translator. Not to mention as far as he knew Brittany did not know a single word in French except for oui . And that he only knew because when he had whispered a very sexual suggestion to her in bed, she had responded with a resounding oui .
“So you guys know all about the birth process, all about the physical stuff.”
Not really.
“So that’s not what we’re here to talk about. We’re here to talk about what happens after that baby comes home from the hospital. Your wife is going to be exhausted and emotional. Excited but unsure of herself. You need to be there for her, with all kinds of reassurance regarding both her mothering skills and her appearance. She’s going to leave that hospital still wearing her maternity clothes and feeling pretty lousy about that. Make sure you’re considerate of how she might be feeling.”
Corbin shifted uncomfortably. The problem when you had the type of relationship he and Brittany did was that you could not follow the standard rules. He wasn’t sure it was his place to be telling Brittany she still looked attractive after giving birth, or if she would take that the wrong way.
This was why they needed to get married. He did not appreciate all these complications and uncertainties.
“Your other main jobs are going to be shielding her from overenthusiastic friends and family, and helping her with breast-feeding.”
“Um,” Travis said. “How do we help with breastfeeding? I mean, she’s got to do it, man, she’s the one with the goods.”
Exactly what Corbin had been thinking. He could not fathom how he could assist in that endeavor.
“A lot of new moms struggle to find the right position for the baby, and if she’s had a C-section, she’s going to have discomfort at the incision. You can help by getting the baby and giving him to her, and helping the baby latch on.”
Corbin crossed and uncrossed his leg. Was this man serious? He cleared his throat, multiple questions rolling through his head. Wasn’t it instinctive for infants to feed? Didn’t they just know what to do? And how did one encourage a baby to latch on, exactly? It wasn’t like you could instruct an infant via a directional pamphlet.
Dave was bold enough to ask. “What do you mean, latch on?”
Sam launched into an explanation that involved repeated use of the words nipple, areola , and lactate . Corbin wished the floor would open up and swallow him. Never, ever, since he had been in the presence of a cheap nineteenth-century prostitute had he heard the word nipple used so many times and with such complete nonchalance.
Then Sam’s wife entered the room with their six-month-old son. To Corbin’s complete and utter horror, she sat on the edge of the desk, lifted her shirt, popped out a breast, and demonstrated exactly how little Austin ate his dinner.
Corbin wanted, quite simply, to die.
He had wished for death many times over his long lifespan, but never as fervently as he did while Beth Adams rattled off breastfeeding statistics, her baby sucking industriously, mouth fully around the entire areola, as Sam was quick to point out, finger outlining the area in question. Corbin was speechless.
Determined not to see any more of her naked flesh, Corbin glanced around for a means of escape, or perhaps a way to decapitate himself. Not finding any, he studied the pale blue carpet aggressively. How in the hell had he gotten himself into this situation?
“Sex,” Sam said.
Corbin jerked upright. Yes, that was quite true. Sex was responsible. But how in the hell could he get himself back out? He was now not having sex and that wasn’t fixing anything.
“We’re going to talk about changes in your relationship, especially sex, after we take a break.” He grinned. “And after Beth leaves.”
Beth didn’t comment, and Corbin didn’t check to see what expression might be on her face. He was still investigating the carpet and wondering if he dashed out of the room, vampire speed, if Brittany would be angry with him. Maybe not angry, but definitely disappointed. Her fat bottom lip would stick out and her big brown eyes would go wide with hurt. He sighed, resigned, though he really had no interest in discussing post-partum sex with strangers. He wasn’t even having prepartum sex. He wasn’t holding out much hope for after the birth either, and at any rate, he found discussing sex in public somewhat offensive. Especially since it had been eight weeks since he’d had any.
Legs appeared in front of him. He glanced up, hoping it was nothing more than Sam with a handout. Instead it was Beth, smiling, Austin still latched on. She sat in the chair next to Corbin, astounding him with her mobility while breastfeeding. This was a woman who knew how to solicit latching on correctly. With a finger, she broke her son’s grip on her, and Corbin’s heightened sense of sound allowed him to hear quite clearly the lip-smacking pop sound the detachment made. He winced.
“Will you burp him for me?” Beth said.
Corbin glanced over at her in surprise. She couldn’t possibly be speaking to him, the two-hundred-year-old French vampire whose experience with children was limited to walking past issues of Parents on the magazine rack. Yet she was. She was smiling, her round cheeks pink, her hair back in a ponytail, the soft pale flesh of her breast still partially exposed. The baby was bobbing in an upright position and she was holding him out toward Corbin.
“I do not think zat is a good idea,” he said, shaking his head. “I know nothing about babies.”
One-handed, she held her child, and dexterously tucked her breast away with the other, for which he was exceedingly grateful. “This is your chance to practice.”
“Perhaps one of the others,” he said, sitting up straight in alarm when she shoved the baby at him. “No, no, I don’t think… ”
Left with no choice but to take the baby or leave little Austin dangling in midair, Corbin settled his hands around the baby’s waist and swallowed vast quantities of saliva. “What do I do?” he asked in total panic, gingerly resting the baby’s flopping feet onto his knee. The infant felt warm and soft, a bubble forming on his pink lips. His chubby legs couldn’t hold him, though, and essentially collapsed, tangling the infant all up in his own appendages. Appalled, Corbin quickly used a free hand to move both limbs to either side of his own leg so the baby was sitting down on his pant leg like he was astride a horse.
They looked at each other.
The baby swung his plump arms up and down rapidly and made a humming sound, the bubble on his lip oozing down his chin, followed by a trail of milky saliva. The sour smell made Corbin’s stomach flip, but it was encouraging to see Austin wasn’t afraid of him. He was bouncing and smiling, showing off his slippery gums and two bottom teeth, rising up through the drool.
“So to burp him, you just need to pat him on the upper back firmly. You can do it the way he is, but it would be easier if you rested him against your chest and shoulder.” Beth demonstrated with her empty hands.
Corbin gingerly lifted Austin and rested him against his shirt, grateful he’d worn a casual cotton three-button shirt, navy blue besides. He had a feeling bad things could be about to happen when he encouraged air to evacuate Austin’s stomach. The baby felt intriguing, heavy and soft, fragile, yet strong enough to keep catapulting himself backward. His wispy hair smelled like shampoo, and Corbin rather liked the constant random sounds that came out of his mouth.
“You’ve never held a baby before?”
“No.” Corbin paused and amended his answer. “Except for my little brother, who was born when I was an adolescent. But I was away at school most of the time.” And Edgar had died of consumption before he had reached his tenth birthday, sending his mother into a fatal decline.
He patted cautiously on Austin’s back.
“Harder,” Beth said. “He won’t break. You need a firm pat so he can get that air up and out.”
Corbin cleared his throat and gave it a little more effort, but still exercising extreme caution. He had vampire strength and he didn’t want to collapse the child’s lungs or anything.
“Firm. Matter of fact. Close to him,” Beth ordered, putting her hand on Austin’s arm and demonstrating, tucking a cloth of some kind onto Corbin’s shoulder.
Sucking in a deep breath, Corbin copied her movement, a firm but gentle pat, and was rewarded with a loud, lengthy, wet belch that came from the depths of Austin’s baby belly and rattled past Corbin’s ear. A little shocked, he pulled the baby back and checked him for any injuries an eruption of that magnitude might have produced. Austin just smiled at him.
“Good, yes?” Corbin asked him, charmed by that smile. Austin gave a squeal.
“Now that he’s fed, I’m going to scoot on out of here,” Beth said. “Let you men talk about manly things and practice diapering Austin. You did great,” she told him with a smile.
“You’re taking him back, yes?” Corbin asked, panicked all over again, lifting the baby toward her.
“No, no, you keep him. Sam is going to help you change his diaper.”
With that she turned to go speak to her husband and Corbin was left holding the bag. Baby.
He looked around for assistance, resting the infant back on his shoulder. Travis was still next to him. “Would you like to hold him?” Corbin asked. “Since your wife is due first.”
Travis shook his head, lip curling back. “No way. He’s spewing.”
“What?” Corbin twisted his head to try and see Austin. “What do you mean?” he asked with a sense of dread. But truthfully he already knew what Travis meant. His shoulder felt wet. Warm. Austin had missed most of the cloth.
“Sick,” Travis said. “That smells curdled, man.”
Corbin suddenly felt much closer to Austin and Beth Adams than he ever cared to be. “Take him from me.”
“No way.” Travis scooted his chair back.
Grabbing at his shoulder, Corbin took the partially damp cloth and wiped at Austin’s dribbly mouth, holding him precariously with his free hand. “Is he ill?” He studied Austin and saw no evidence of fever.
“Nah, I think babies just do that. Spew. When they eat.”
“Wonderful.” Corbin swiped at his own shoulder.
“I’ll take him,” Dave said, holding his hands out with a rapt expression on his face.
Corbin turned him over gratefully. “I’ll go try and wash my shirt off.”
“Hurry up.” Dave lifted Austin up and down, making the baby laugh. “We’re talking about sex next and you don’t want to miss the bad news.”
“Can’t wait,” Corbin said under his breath, pushed his chair back, and got the hell out of there.
Brittany was concentrating on the video showing a woman giving birth. Was it really necessary for the woman to be naked? She was no prude, but come on. A robe or gown would be nice. But this woman just had all her stuff flopping around as she grunted and heaved and shook her hair like a horse after a hard run. It wasn’t a pretty picture.
It was giving Brittany rather uncomfortable feelings about the birth and her ability to push a baby out of her body while Corbin Atelier and a team of hospital staff stared at her crotch. What if it altered Corbin’s perception of her permanently? They had enough to sort out without him seeing her looking so mammalian.
They were supposed to be taking notes, but Brittany didn’t know what to write beyond HELP, so she just sat with her pen lying on her notepad.
“I think someone is trying to get your attention,” the woman next to her said, pointing to the door.
Brittany turned and saw Corbin peering through the glass in the doorway, looking pained. He held up his watch and pointed to it. She shrugged. The class had just started.
She turned back around, but sighed when she heard the door open. Resolutely, she kept facing the front and the video, trying not to wince as the on-camera mother to be gave another guttural groan.
Corbin squatted down between her chair and the woman’s next to her. “Please forgive ze intrusion,” he said to the other woman, accent turned up high, charm dripping off him. “I just need a moment.”
Brittany rolled her eyes when the woman smiled and said, “Sure, no problem.”
“What’s the matter?” Brittany asked in a whisper.
But Corbin had caught sight of the video and was staring, a look of horror on his face. “Mon Dieu … ”
“Don’t look!” she hissed, grabbing his chin and turning his head toward her. This was not the image she wanted him taking into the labor and delivery room. “This video is dated, very eighties, totally earth mother weird.” She hoped. “Now what did you need?”
He shook his head and refocused on her. “The baby vomited on me. I’m going home to change and I’ll be back to pick you up.”
“They have a baby in there?”
“Yes, the instructor’s child. And he… ” Corbin gestured to his shoulder, which had a baseball-size damp spot on it.
“Just dry it off with the hand dryer in the restroom.” If he left, he’d never go back, she was sure of it. She wanted him comfortable with the idea of a baby, not fleeing in terror at the first opportunity.
“Brittany.” He gave her a look of total exasperation. “I smell.”
Her lip twitched. “That has nothing to do with the baby, honey.”
It took him a second. “Very amusing. Can you not see me laughing?” he asked, face deadpan.
She giggled and gave him a reassuring pat. “No one cares. I can’t smell anything. Just go back and enjoy the rest of the class.”
“But—”
“Go!” She lost her patience and pointed to the door. “It won’t kill you, you know.” How true was that?
He shot her a dark look, the masculine equivalent of a pout. “Fine.”
“Fine.” She smiled at him. “See you in an hour or so.”
Muttering in French, he slipped back out of the room.
“Sorry,” Brittany whispered to the woman next to her, who had turned to watch Corbin’s retreat.
“What was wrong?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing major.” Brittany waved her hand in the air. “But he’s French,” she added, like that explained everything.
“Oh. Right.” The woman nodded in understanding. Then she turned back to the video and made a face. “Oh, yikes, the baby is crowning.”
Indeed it was. Brittany suddenly knew how Corbin felt. She wanted to go home and pretend their child could hatch, already ten years old.