"Come on, Ella, ten more," Damon's tight, bossy voice snapped in Mariella's ears.
He grabbed her, forcing her to continue the grueling exercises. "I'll help you. Lean on me."
Side lunges followed, stretching and prepping her, as Damon intended. Her belly was massive, although not as large as Mimi's had been. Mariella had seen the pictures Mimi had sent to Damon, and in Mimi's slight frame, it was unbelievable.
Mariella, however, felt stiff, sore, clumsy, and heavy. These stretches and exercises only worsened her discomfort. Nevertheless, she obeyed. She still wore a monitoring band and spent most of her time in bed rest. At least she could do something, even if it excluded sex and anything too exciting, as her blood pressure tended to climb too high. Damon was incredibly strict about it.
The babies, in the last sonogram, were at least five pounds each, and she felt it. They were so active, with constant energy shots. Damon had reminded her that a normal baby could weigh up to seven pounds, so a few more pounds wouldn't hurt. It was always easier for them if the babies weren't too small, and her internal anatomy was built for childbirth. Unless the babies grew to be ten pounds or heavier, vaginal birth was best for both her and the babies. Despite being fed like a rabbit, she wasn't skinny.
She could feel it: her thighs were thick, her arms heavy, and her breasts felt like they were a damn G-cup. No milk yet, but the time would come. It was almost as if Damon's plan was to irritate her.
A lactation instructor had visited, checked her breasts, and assured her that she would make milk in time. She was still early, and although the babies would be ready, her body might lag a bit. The woman instructed her to let the babies suckle, even if there wasn't much milk; her body would get the message soon enough.
Mariella sighed inwardly. Surely she had lactated for Damon in the past, and surely his efforts would help. There was no need for this damn matron to preach at her. Every other sentence seemed to be "breast is best," as the lactation specialist spoke about formulas as if they were trash, emphasizing the superiority of breastfeeding for up to two years.
Mariella had simply listened, keeping her cool, but by God, she was fuming inside. She controlled herself, though, determined not to let her blood pressure shoot up. Not yet. But after the babies were born, she might have a few choice sentences for Damon, and those wouldn't be confessions of love, at least not at first.
Mariella grabbed Damon's shoulders, struggling to maintain her balance as Number Two pulled her leg further, intensifying the stretch. Number One, meanwhile, coaxed her to lean to the opposite side. Her hip felt as though it were dislocating, the pain almost unbearable.
But Number One murmured soothingly, "That's it, darlin'. See? You're reaching about 20 percent further. As we've done this daily, see, this helps. Next is the time for your special massage after these exercises."
Mariella rolled her eyes. A "special massage," she thought, if one could call peritoneal massage special.
She felt alienated, detached, like her husbands now viewed her solely as a breeding vessel, not a person. She was forced to perform according to their demands. It was truly the end of her days as a princess, demanding everything be easy and effortless. Most of this felt humiliating, yet she knew this was how humans gave birth: messy, time-consuming, and requiring effort.
Unlike the pampered past, where painlessness and no humiliation were ensured, and she was the center of attention. Now, she felt like a vessel, but also, in a strange way, more real. She would have to endure this, to go through this. And some part of her knew or realized it would ultimately feel good. She would have made a great effort to bring new life into the world, and who knew, it might change her permanently.
Perhaps she'd even regain some respect from Mimi, so she would no longer feel like a loser every time Mimi looked at her. She would feel like she had actually accomplished something real, a tangible effort she could feel in her body. A lesson, for sure, but a necessary one.
Gritting her teeth and grunting, she was ready to tackle it. No more whimpering like a princess when something pinched her the wrong way. She would show Damon how this was done, and done properly.
Mariella focused, pushed herself, and decided she could do this. Despite the pain, the weight, and her clumsiness, she was about to be a mother, and nothing could change that. This was real, and perhaps it would unlock her maternal instincts, allowing her to be as good a mother as Mimi.
A competitive drive towards Mimi fueled her, giving her a boost. She was ready, and nothing would stop her—at least in this moment. She couldn't swear she'd be perfect, but she hoped with all her heart she would be.
Damon was patient, though his nerves were tested. He knew this lesson was sinking in, and he had no regrets. He wasn't doing this solely out of love, though he did love her; he wanted her to grow, to change, as he had. He knew how rewarding it was to shed old habits and attitudes, to discover life held more than just sex and lust.
He wanted that for Mariella, and he was pushing her through this transformation. He was no longer just nudging her but giving her a real shove, forcing her out of her comfort zone. It was enlightening for Damon as well. He saw Mariella's resilience, how much she could endure when challenged, and he was the one challenging her.
It was time to be parents, real parents, for the long haul. This meant a commitment unlike any other. This time, retreating to the bedroom for a few weeks while others handled the babies wasn't an option. They could, of course, but they knew it would be wrong. This pack, this family, felt more familiar every day.
Despite being in the hospital, with Mariella's girls acting as power batteries and helpers, Mimi and her girls, and the rest of the pack back home, distance meant little when they had their mental hive. It was a hive, though not one ruled by a single person—well, maybe a bit. And that ruler wasn't Damon, Adam, or Charles, but Mimi. Her mind seemed to connect them all on some level he couldn't understand, not yet. But maybe, in time, he would.
Exhausted after her daily exercises, Mariella realized she had lost track of the days and weeks of her pregnancy. The energy shots had accelerated her pregnancy, and her body felt primed for labor. She'd just finished her meal of rabbit food, and the men had left the hospital to eat out.
Thinking she could use a distraction, Mariella decided to call Mimi, assuming she'd be home around six in the evening. Reaching for her phone, Mariella, still seated, felt a familiar surge of movement in her belly as the babies woke up after eating. She retrieved the phone, settled back into bed, and dialed Mimi's number, waiting for her to answer.
"Yeah, this is Mimi, what's up, Mariella?" Mimi's voice came through after a few rings.
"Not much, just me, being ultra pregnant, tired, and cranky," Mariella confessed. "I just finished my rabbit food, and the men went out to eat with the girls. God, I'm tired and sore, and I need to complain to someone. Are you willing to listen to me whine and bitch?"
Mimi's voice was calm, but tinged with sarcasm as she replied, "Fine, but I might bitch a bit too. By God, time really flew by last week."
Mariella asked, "I know. I have no idea what day it is, how far along I am, or even what day of the week it is. Are you recovered from those thugs? I know Damon was quite nervous, but it was a few days ago, right?"
Mimi's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Try for over a week. I mean, you wanted to whine, but fine, I'll start. I spent most of last week out cold, blood-drunk, hooked on a monitor, blissfully unaware of the concept of time. I was fed intravenously and kept asleep most of the time. I only woke up on Monday morning when Adam and the boys went back to work. So yeah, that was my week. By the way, it's already Thursday, so I've been busy working with the girls. The doctor did a home visit last week, and my next one is Monday, so time flies. I'm now on my 29th week, and the date is April 2nd. So now you're aware of the day and date and so on."
Mariella raised her eyebrows, surprised. The attack on Mimi had shaken everyone, and it might have been Wulfe's attempt to keep Mimi resting, but she was still working, which was almost amazingly stupid.
"I'm so incredibly full," Mariella whined, "Every time they hoist me up and move me, which is hard enough, it feels like the babies are about to fall out. I tense my pelvic floor instantly, and then Damon, again, reminds me not to. He says it needs to stretch, that the babies need to come low. The first one needs to drop really deep in my pelvis, and of course it feels like it's coming right out, but it's not. Damon just tells me how it will get my body into labor. He's so damn clinical with me, supportive, of course, but you know."
Mimi replied, "Well, it's new to you, but it's a little hard for me when a whole damn herd of men are making all of the decisions for me. Wulfe lives in my mind even though he is currently at work. Right now, I have May, Lily, and Emmylee in the flower shop with me. I'm trying to make these pieces for the wedding, but I need to pee like every ten minutes, and moving isn't easy. I mean, it feels like once I'm done and I finally waddle back to sit, I'm ready to pee again. Should I put on damn diapers or what?"
Mariella said, "Oh, please, I know. Being in diapers isn't fun, and especially not when your husband is a doctor who weighs your diapers just to see if it's all just pee and not your water breaking. So damn clinical."
Mimi chuckled and said, "Well, the Salvatores are clinical, but when Herr Hauptman once again found he had a pair, I had no excuse for what he would accept when I tried to stay awake and not let Wulfe drink me into a stupor all of the time. The men are working, but they're not happy; however, the money is needed. By the way, I also got you some baby packages, as I received so many from Finland. I've washed the clothes, so they're good to go."
Mariella sighed, and of course, she asked, "Could you maybe wash a few more loads of my baby clothes? I have no idea if the Salvatores have washed them or not, probably not. They're in my wardrobe, in my nursery, which I robbed from you, sorry, I was a bitch."
Mimi's voice was sarcastic. "Yeah, you were, but then again, you are a creature of lust, and let's face it, that room was so well fucked, it must have called you like honey to bees."
Mariella laughed, but there was a ring of truth to it. Maybe, just maybe, it had been one reason why she had wanted that room. But as many experts had come in and offered her advice and given her books, she understood that the room wasn't the perfect nursery, and it was now too late to change it. Another lesson learned.
Mariella leaned back on her bed, sighing, "I'm so tired of pretending to be patient. If my blood pressure goes up any higher than my husband's orders, I'm taking a nap. But I'm also so tired of napping. I mean, once I get these brats out of me, I might not sleep for weeks."
Mimi's response was dry and humorous. "Most likely, yeah. Babies feed every few hours, and you'll have three. Meaning there's probably always one hungry. And if they don't go right to sleep afterward, you'll need to shush and rock them, so you might not sleep at all. Me? I have to learn how to take care of damn shrimps."
Mariella chuckled. "What do you mean by that? They're just preemies, right?"
Mimi's voice was patient. "They'll be small, red, and immortal. According to the doctor, it'll only take a day or two for them to get their immortality. Then they can go home. The last estimated weight was just over a pound and a half. So if they decide to come out soon, I might have five under two-pounders to care for."
Mariella said reassuringly, "Oh, well, you'll get help, and they'll grow, and it will be just fine."
Mimi replied, "Sure, it will be, but it will be busy. They'll feed even more frequently and are susceptible to infections, as well as yours will be too. Cleanliness will be important, and I'm not sure if we'll need to keep some form of isolation. I mean, we might need a Team Mimi and a Team Mariella for the babies."
Mariella was silent, then said, "You've read a lot."
Mimi replied, "I have. I can send you a few books via Hive Knowledge, so you can make your own decisions. After all, I'm still the pack leader."
Mariella didn't answer right away. She knew it was one thing that still bugged Damon. Charles had been adamant about letting Mimi be the leader, but if baby care was so demanding, then Damon might have a shot at reclaiming his power, maybe. But Mariella wasn't sure if she wanted that.
Mimi was a good leader; she truly was, and maybe the pack could do better if she and Charles continued to lead. Mariella smiled to herself. Surely her little frustration bled through, but still, no one could see the future, meaning it was truly full of surprises.