FicWad

CopyRight(C) 2008

Spencer jolted awake beside me; I’d been lying awake all day…when I was supposed to be sleeping. I looked at his soft face; he had closed his eyes again. He pulled himself to my side taking a deep breath.

“You should sleep,” he mumbled.

“It’s almost 7,” replied softly, stroking his face, “It’s practically time to wake up.”

“I won’t have my wife not sleeping,” Spencer smiled, opening his eyes.

He grinned up at my glowing face, as pale as it was. I simply laughed.

“I’m not your wife.”

“I know,” he pulled himself up to sitting, “I was hoping you’d read between the lines.”

Spencer reached over the side of our bed; he slowly rummaged around in a bag of supplies he’d bought.

“Have you got a ring?”

“Somewhere,” he jetted, “I had left it with a friend for safe keeping,” he retrieved a small emerald velvet box, “she lives her in Vancouver.”

“She?” I masked my slight jealously with hard question.

“A somewhat of a sister,” Spencer remarked, “She took care of me after I’d left Wentz’s ward.”

“Oh…,” I stumbled back on my tongue.

Spencer helped me to a sitting position and then placed the box on my raised knee. He sat engagingly, eager and almost nervous of a rejection. I grasped the box and pulled the band from it; it carried a sapphire on its gold body.

“Was this your mothers’?”

“No, it was a many greats of a grandmother, the first woman to take the name of smith and call her first born boy, Spencer James.”

“And it was past down?”

“It’s was the 19th century, a rare commodity.”

I placed the band on my ring finger, there wasn’t any hesitation. I supposed the ring was an alluring ring, which fit almost any hand; either that or I was the norm. We sat in a silent agreement; it wasn’t like I even needed to accept…he knew.

“So when do I meet your mother again?” Spencer asked quietly.

“After I see my agent and publishers, it’s going to be hell, but I figure I’ve already lived one hell before.”

We laughed softly and began to pull ourselves from the bed.

*

“No, absolutely not.”

“Why,” I asked.

Mr. Worthing went red, as did my editor Mr. Andrews. My agent, Heather sat in silence taking notes and glaring at the men.

“You cannot seriously be asking for more time off,” Mr. Andrews flustered, “What about the zombie series?”

Spencer grasped his chair to hold him back, this was hard but he had to do it.
“You seriously can’t be asking why I need time off,” I made a gesture to my belly, I lowered my voice, “I’m fucking pregnant.”

Heather sighed in anger but neither Mr. Worthing nor Mr. Andrews were interested. Mr. Worthing shrilled up for another go.

“You talk about doing some vampire book, and then you’re missing for 6 months. We had plans to put your next book out in Christmas! A few weeks away mind you,” He pointed to a poster of my first book, “That is was gave you a comfortable sum, if we give more time off you can kiss that goodbye.”

“My husband,” I stumbled slightly on the words, “He has money, and I have money I think we will be fine.”

“Emma, you can have a year,” Heather said, “Your books are selling. I think time away from the scene will only make you more desirable.”

“No.”

“Oh for fuck sake Jack,” Heather hissed at Worthing, “We’re not losing any money.”

The office grew still; we all sat in the haze. For the first time since being a Vampire, I had not missed being human.