I plant my foot on his shoulder, because now I'm really suspicious. "Did he tell you that I'm dying?" Hot panic rushes through me. Is that why Straik is being so doting and determined not to leave my side? Do clones fall apart after a few years like a cheap toy? "Is that what's wrong? I'm dying?"
"No," Straik says, holding my leg. "You're pregnant."
"Oh thank god," I breathe, relaxing again. Then I frown as the news sinks in. "Wait, what?"
"Pregnant," my husband says, watching my face. "Sakkar was worried about giving you too much bad news in one day so he told me. It showed up in your medical scans."
I blink, trying to absorb this information. It certainly explains why I puke the moment something upsets me, which I've never done before…I don't think. Actually given that my brain is a mishmash of OG Ruth's memories combined with my own, maybe I've always been a stress-vomiter. Who knows? "Is he sure? I don't feel pregnant?"
"How is pregnant supposed to feel?"
That's a good question, and I don't know that, either. I touch my stomach, frowning to myself. "How far along?"
"Two months?" He pauses, thinking. "I didn't ask him if it was Homeworld standard months or your months. Should I go ask?" He jumps to his feet.
I immediately grab his hand. "No! Stay here with me." I pull him down toward me, and he sits next to me on the bed. His expression is hard to read, but he's been nervous and kinda clingy all day. "Are you…happy about this? Or pissed?"
Straik looks genuinely confused for a moment. "Why would I be pissed?"
"Because we didn't use birth control?" I adjust the front of his tunic, my hands feeling the need to do something. Anything. For some reason, this makes me more anxious than finding out I'm a clone. I had reassurances that nothing would change if I ended up being a clone, but we haven't discussed babies at all. "I didn't think we needed it considering you're blue and I'm not, but I guess I was wrong? So I think I'd understand it if you were upset but I think we need to talk—"
"Ruth." He clasps my hands in his, probably so I don't dither his tunic into wrinkles. Straik hates wrinkles. "My only thought is your happiness. I never thought I'd have a mate, much less be a father. But I'll understand if you're not ready and want to wait—"
"Wait? Wait for what?" Maybe I'm a little panicky but I'm not following exactly.
He picks his words carefully. "If you want to wait to have a baby. If you'd rather not be pregnant."
His gaze is locked on mine the entire time, and he's careful to not show his feelings. He's letting this be my decision. Which is great and all, but I'd love to know what he's thinking. I don't think I can be happy about a baby if he's not happy about a baby. "What do you think?"
"I think I want what you want."
I growl at him, frustrated. "Why can't you just fucking tell me if you're happy or not?"
Straik lifts one of my hands to his lips and kisses the palm. "I am happy. Being with you has made me happier than I've ever imagined. A baby can only add to that joy, but if it doesn't bring you happiness, then I don't want it. Does that make sense?"
Tears fill my eyes. God, he's sweet. I'm so lucky. "I would love to have your baby, Straik."
His expression grows alarmed as I cry. Immediately, he scoops me into his arms.
I sputter, clutching at his neck. "Where are we going?"
"Every time you cry lately, you vomit," he says. "So I am taking you to the lavatory so I can hold your hair back for you."
I giggle tearfully at that, and when my mouth fills with saliva, I hate that he's right.
89
STRAIK
I stare out at the Risda III port and shipyard as Jerzec carefully maneuvers the Darkened Eye into the bay earmarked for our ship. Even though we have been reassured that my uncle is expecting us and one of his personal ships is guiding us in as an escort, I don't like it. I'm on edge about everything. I scan each ship in port, but none scream “bounty hunter.” Most bounty-seeking vessels tend to be junk ships, patched with dozens of low-cost repairs. The ships here are unassuming and outwardly safe. That one is a stock transport, this one a supply ship. Port authorities swarm the docks, waving us forward. Traffic is light, which is a good sign.
A busy port is one that provides too many distractions.
Ruth presses her chin against my arm, distracting me. "You're glaring at every ship out there. Does it look like a trick?"
"No. I'm just…waiting for the trap." I uncross my arms and force myself to stop scowling. Instead, I turn to my mate and study her. "How is your stomach? Settled? Can I get you anything? A drink of water?"