Page 205 of New Storm Rising
Striding out of my cabin, I let my gaze sweep across the deck in search of my wife.
“Bluurgh!”
My wife’s sweet voice alerted me to her location. It might have been even sweeter if she had not been hanging over the ship’s railing, vomiting profusely.
“Oh. Um…I hope you like showers?” she asked the water below.
And she was also talking with fishes, apparently. Maybe I should be concerned?
“Somehow,” I stated, stepping behind her, “I very much doubt that, Mr Linton.”
“You!” She waved me away without even looking up, seemingly too fascinated with the fishes to pay attention to her own husband. “Don’t you even start with me! And what’s with this ‘Mr Linton’? Is that any way to address your dearest, most beloved wife?”
As far as I remember, I have only one wife. Why use all those unnecessary words?
But I did not say that out loud. Years of surviving in the Wild West had granted me excellent survival instincts. Instead, I stepped up beside my spouse and glanced down at her.
“May I remind you,Mr Linton, that it was at your insistence that you embarked upon this journey dressed in your male disguise? If you think you can expect me to publicly address you as ‘Mrs Ambrose’ while wearing trousers and a bowler hat, you are very much mistaken.”
She snorted. “You expect me to go on a month-long ocean marathon in a dress and whalebone corset? I wouldn’t even be able to bend ove-uuurggh!”
Apparently, the fishes would be getting plenty of free food today. Lucky fishes.
“Case…in point,” she rasped, once she finally resurfaced from beyond the railing. “Besides, it was your fault we stepped onto this dratted ship to begin with! If you hadn’t had the bright idea to start our honeymoon on this vessel from hell, I wouldn’t feel like this right now! I…”
Suddenly, she clutched her stomach. Thanks to those previously mentioned survival instincts, I had already moved back to a safe distance.
“I don’t even know what the hell is going on! I’ve been on a ship plenty of times before, and nothing like this has ever happened! And now that I’m on my honeymoon I’m puking my guts out all of a sudden?”
Ah. So she had not noticed yet?
More like she doesn’t quite want to.
Well, if my darling wife did not want to do something, who was I to argue with her?
“Goodness,” I stated. “After your wedding night, you suddenly feel sick and begin regurgitating. I wonder why that is.”
She threw me a suspicious look. “Why the heck are you being as cryptic as a crypt tick? Are you sure you’re the Mr Rikkard Ambrose I married? The silent rock who hates to pry his lips apart unless there’s something serious to talk about? If you have something to say, say it!”
You are going to grow to the size of a balloon, followed by hours of severe pain. By the way, what do you think of giving up your feminist ways and becoming a stay-at-home wife?
As previously mentioned, I had survival instincts. Therefore, any foolishly honest words once again remained tightly locked inside my mind. Instead, I glanced sideways at her belly. “Oh, I think I prefer to simply watch and wait a few months.”
“What…bleearrgh!—what the hell is that supposed to mean?”
This time, I decided simply not to answer. Mostly because it would have been hard to be understood over the sound of continuous vomiting. So I just reached over and gently gathered her hair behind her back. She didn’t even seem to notice. For a moment, I simply stood there, my hand gently resting on her back. My eyes, though, were firmly fixed on her belly. Almost instinctively, my hand shifted towards her—then froze halfway.
Dragging in a harsh breath, I whirled around and stalked away.
Why don’t you just tell her? She’ll know sooner or later.
Yes. And better later than sooner.
What? You, Mr Rikkard Ambrose, want to procrastinate?
I felt a muscle in my cheek twitch. Why did that annoying whisper at the back of my mind sound so much like my wife?
Because she is busy vomiting, so someone has to keep you on your toes.
