Queen Move

I fill the glasses and take one of the couches, sinking into the soft cushions. She grabs blankets from the nearby hutch and settles in front of me, her back pressed to my chest, and pulls the blankets over us.

“You cold?” I kiss the curls she’s left loose and free tonight, handing her a glass of the honey-colored liquid.

She wiggles against me and drops her head into the curve of my neck and shoulder. “I’m fine for now.”

“How do you think dinner went?” I ask, linking our fingers and resting them on her stomach.

“As well as can be expected with all we had going on

.” Her shoulders shake against me. “Your ex and her boyfriend were there with the children you had together. Our mothers were in the same room for the first time in twenty-five years since they broke off their affair. And your stepfather is here. It’s just…all so weird. I thought Aiko getting pregnant was some Jerry Springer shit.”

The richness of our laughter floats over the fire, out to the stars.

“Mona would have loved this,” I tell her. “She would have been shaking her head and making fun of us all night.”

“I hope she’s having a good time. Meeting your boyfriend’s family, it’s a lot.”

“She and Jamal have been dating for so long. It’s about time she met his family.”

“They’ve been dating off and on,” Kimba corrects, “not exclusively for that long. I don’t blame Mona for being cautious. She’s been hurt before. She needed to know Jamal was serious.”

“I’m happy for her.” I hold up her left hand, study the square diamond I put there nearly a year ago. “I’m happy for us.”

There was no long engagement. Why would there be? We were both sure. We married on Valentine’s Day, barely a month past Governor Ruiz’s inaugural ball, and started trying for a baby immediately. Actually before immediately.

“When should we tell them?” Kimba asks, pressing our hands to her flat stomach.

“I’d like to wait as long as we can.”

“Why?” She tilts her head, catching my gaze over her shoulder. Her dark eyes, fringed with a thick veil of lashes, make me lose my train of thought. Make me lose my mind. They always have.

“Why do you want to wait?” she asks again, nudging her elbow into my ribs.

“It’s our secret. I want to keep it just ours as long as we can. It’s been a lot of work and some disappointment. I just want to savor it for a bit.”

She swallows hard, disrupting the smooth line of her throat, and tears swim in her eyes. This isn’t our first pregnancy. We lost one, so early we barely had time to celebrate, but it still hurt. Trying to have a baby when your body is hormonally resisting it in every way is difficult. Kimba manages the hot flashes and other symptoms of perimenopause with homeopathic remedies and yoga as much as she can, but there’s no denying her body is marching in that direction. And we’re fighting to get our babies before it’s too late. We wanted to try naturally first, even though we have eggs frozen and waiting. The doctor was surprised that, considering the perimenopause, we were able to conceive not once, but twice.

“Let’s tell our family in a few weeks,” I propose. “And after the first trimester for everyone else.”

She clears her throat, blinks to clear her eyes of lingering tears. “That sounds good. I’ll tell Lennix and President Cade, of course.”

I frown. Kimba is a political superstar. Race after race, she proves that, and the phones at Allen & Associates never stop ringing. I don’t interfere, but I’ll protect her from the candidates who would put their interests above hers, their campaigns over her health.

I’ll protect her from herself.

“We need very clear instructions from the doctor, Tru,” I say, tucking a curl behind her ear, kissing the curve of her neck. “I know you want to re-elect the president—”

“There is nothing I want more than this baby, Ez.” She looks up at me, her eyes sober and settled. “Nothing. If I need to curtail my involvement in the campaign, I will. I promise I’ll do everything the doctor tells me to.”

I cup her breast, even fuller now that she’s pregnant, brush my thumb over her nipple, and wait for the inevitable catch of her breath. “And what about what I tell you to do?”

She turns so her knees rest on either side of my legs, so she’s straddling me. “Are you really trying to fuck your wife out in the open on this roof?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” I laugh, grabbing a fistful of curls and bringing her lips to mine in a fierce, tongue-tangling kiss. When the kiss slows, I roll my palms over the taut muscles of her back, over the swell of her ass, the supple line of her thighs. I would know her anywhere. The shape of her, the smell, the taste. Through the years, those things will change, but this living thread that has connected us since birth, it’s inviolable.

“After this baby, you want another?” I ask. “We have eggs.”

She laughs, a throaty, happy sound that wraps around me more warmly than this cashmere blanket. “We have eggs, Dr. Stern. After this one, let’s see what my body has left. I’m down to try again.”