Marriage by Contract. Sandra Steffen

now, but fear and hope were fighting over the butterflies in her stomach. And fear was winning.

      Tony was wearing his ordinary doctor attire—dress slacks, shirt and tie. There was, however, nothing ordinary about the barely there smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Rather than take the risk of reading too much into his expression, she waited for him to begin.

      Eyeing the lingerie and other gifts lying on a nearby table, he finally said, “Now that I know what goes on at bridal showers, I understand why my sisters like them so much. Add a stripper and a keg of beer, and they’re not much different from bachelor parties, are they?”

      From now on, Beth told herself, she was going to expect him to say the last thing she expected. Shaking her head slightly, she said, “Not all bridal showers are like this one. I had several prior to my first marriage, and believe me, they were all extremely prim and proper.”

      “No wonder the marriage failed.”

      He’d done it again. Surprised every coherent thought right out of her head. Luckily, her answer was automatic. “I think you and I both know why my marriage failed, Tony.”

      She had his undivided attention now. Lowering her voice slightly, she said, “I ran into Barry and his new wife last week. She was very beautiful, and very pregnant.”

      Tony didn’t say anything, and she surged ahead. “Barry couldn’t deal with my endometriosis. He couldn’t even bring himself to say it.”

      Tony’s eyebrows rose slightly at the medical term. As a doctor, he knew it well. In mild to moderate cases, it made menstruation painful and conception difficult. In severe cases it made one excruciating and the other impossible. “What has your doctor done about your condition?” he asked levelly.

      “For now, I’m on medication. Eventually, I’ll need a hysterectomy. It’s pretty much textbook, isn’t it?”

      Outwardly, Tony didn’t move, but inside, his thoughts were surging in every direction. He knew firsthand how devastating a diagnosis of endometriosis can be. He’d broken the news to a number of his patients over the years. Suddenly, he wished he could have been there for her, to hold her hand, or offer her his understanding, because he had a feeling her ex-husband hadn’t been concerned about her needs.

      Beth stared up at Tony. He’d been quiet for a long time, obviously absorbing the information. He brushed a strand of hair off her face, his fingertips moving to her cheekbone as if he’d been wanting to touch her all day. She stared up at him, afraid of what he might do. Afraid of what he might not do.

      Calling on her last vestige of courage, she said, “I’m thirty-five years old. Adopting Christopher could very well be my only chance at motherhood. I don’t blame you for having doubts, but this arrangement doesn’t have to be permanent. I’ll sign a prenuptial agreement, and I’ll give you a divorce anytime you want. Of course, I won’t blame you if you’ve changed your mind completely.”

      Tony let his fingers glide through the wisps of hair in front of Beth’s ear, trail down the smooth column of her neck and brush the delicate ridge of her collarbone. He could hear her breath catch in her throat, could see the slight quiver in her proud chin. He couldn’t name all the emotions crashing through him, but he knew damn well a woman like her shouldn’t have to beg.