Forgotten Honeymoon by Beverly Farr Page A

life
they had created.
    We’re going to be parents, she thought as she
looked at her husband’s handsome face. No matter how different she
and Lars were, the baby would draw them together with shared goals
and dreams.
    Lars insisted on driving her home. “But what
about my car?” she asked.
    “I’ll get someone to drive it home,” he
said.
    Thus spoke the President of Rawlins Lighting.
“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? I need to get back
to the studio.”
    “You should rest,” he said firmly. “You’ve
been doing too much, making your pots and also trying to decorate
the house. It’s not a race. We can have empty rooms for a few more
months.”
    He was right. She had been racing around,
trying to get everything done. Did she think that if she made the
house perfect, he’d want to stay home more? How desperate was she?
“I’ll slow down,” she promised. One afternoon away from the wheel
wouldn’t kill her.
    He nodded. “And we’ll get a cook.”
    It was bad enough that the house was so big
that she had to have a cleaning service and a gardening crew, but
now they needed a cook, too? Lars had insisted on hiring help
because he knew KPots was her full-time job. But she didn’t want to
run into paid employees every time she turned around. It would make
her feel as if she lived in a hotel. “I don’t want a cook.”
    Lars frowned. “Not every day. A few days a
week. Let me do this for you, please?”
    He was concerned about the baby; he was
concerned about her.
    Or maybe he wasn’t thrilled with her cooking.
She was a very indifferent,
throw-the-food-together-and-call-it-dinner kind of cook. And he was
a big man. Hummus and a plate of veggies wasn’t enough to fill him
up.
    “All right,” she said, giving in. “But just
until the baby’s born.”
    “Thank you.” He walked into the kitchen with
her, and stood, holding his keys, anxious to go. “Are you sure
you’re going to be okay?”
    “I’m fine,” she said, holding up the take-out
food he’d bought her for lunch. “Are you sure you don’t want to
join me? Fajitas are your favorite,” she said, shaking the bag to
entice him.
    “I’ve got to get back to work.”
    Of course . She tried not to take his
rejection personally. She knew how important it was to him.
    Her phone played a melody, indicating that
she’d gotten a text. She ignored it.
    “Go ahead,” he said. “Is it your
parents?”
    Her parents didn’t contact her often, but
when they did, Lars always wanted to know. She read the message.
“No, It’s from Andrea. She’s throwing a surprise birthday party for
Julie tomorrow night. She says we’re both invited, if you want to
go.”
    “Tell her we’re not going.”
    Kelly bristled at his tone. As far as she
knew, they didn’t have other plans. “I beg your pardon?”
    “If you want to acknowledge her birthday,
send her a card.”
    “Yes, sir,” she said, standing at attention
and giving him a mock salute.
    He frowned.
    She explained, “I’m not Claire or one of your
corporate minions.”
    “I never said you were.”
    “No, but you’re acting like I’m supposed to
jump to your command.”
    “You need to take care of yourself. Dr.
Armanzo said --”
    “-- to take it easy, not to stop life
completely.”
    He reached out and touched her cheek in a
gentle caress. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Of course you can go, if
you feel up to it.”
    “I don’t need your permission.”
    He let his breath out slowly. “I didn’t mean
it that way. I was frightened when you fainted, I ... I’m afraid
I’m overprotective. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
    Or to the baby?
    Kelly searched his clear blue eyes. She’d
chafed under her father’s loving concern for years; she didn’t like
to see the same tendency in Lars. But it was understandable because
they spent so much time together. They used some of the same
phrases and sometimes sounded alike.
    But she did not want to argue with Lars. He
did