The Surrogate

Making His Request

Tuesday September 28th, London.

"Here...." Holly slides a mug of tea across her dining table towards him, "....want some brandy in it?"

He looks up at her from the newspaper he's reading, totally confused, "why would I want brandy in my tea? Who even does that? Is it an English thing?"

She smiles as she sits down opposite him, amused by his response, "it's for your nerves, hopefully it'll stop you biting your nails."

He lets go of the left side of the newspaper and inspects his bitten nails, "I'm not nervous." He is nervous but not because of today's meeting with her and his lawyer, who's going to oversee their surrogacy agreement, but because he's rapidly running out of time to talk to her about his future baby's conception.

"It's ok if you are, it's perfectly fine. Once we get everything on paper then we're good to go, we just have pick a date. This is just the formal stuff."

"I know," he offers her a weak smile. Suddenly he's lost interest in his newspaper because he feels like he's reached that now or never point, that he's got to confess to her how he's not keen on her being artificially inseminated, how he wants to do it naturally. He feels his mouth beginning to go dry and so he reaches out for his mug of tea.

"Don't worry," she continues to reassure him, she thinks that he's worried about how today's meeting will go. Sometimes there are sticking points during this stage where the parents might suggest something she's not entirely happy with but this is Sebastian Vettel she's dealing with, the sweetest, most humble guy she's ever met. She can't see that there'll be any problems with him. "We've got until two o'clock before your lawyer gets here, plenty of time to go over anything that might worry you."

The words on his newspaper are now just a mess of jumbled letters, he knows he's going to risk her calling off the whole thing again but he can't keep quiet, he's got to at least try. He lets go of the paper, letting it fall onto the table, and he looks at her, running his tongue over his teeth because his saliva has literally evaporated in his mouth.

She's alarmed to see him looking so anxious; maybe this isn't about the meeting, maybe he's got cold feet, maybe he's changed his mind and wants to call off the surrogacy. "Seb," she reaches her hand across the table, inviting him to take hold of it, "is something wrong?"

His eyes flicker from her to her hand and then back again, he's trying hard to summon up the courage to ask her.

"If you've got any other concerns or doubts then talk to me, there's nothing that we can't work out between us," she adds, turning her hand over so that it's palm up.

She's going to seriously fucking regret saying that. But he kind of wimps out at the last second and instead he asks, "has anyone ever requested a different sort of conception?"

"You mean like IVF?" she asks back, her curiosity piqued. Then she jokingly adds, "or do you mean a turkey baster at home?" She laughs a little as she says this but he's not laughing with her. He's not laughing at all.

"I mean naturally," he utters the words so quietly, as if he's quite frightened to say them and he braces himself for her reaction.

"You mean sex?" Her smile fades.

He nods, his expression is deadly serious, he hopes that she'll figure out what he's asking without him having to actually say it.

She retracts her hand from the table to give a dismissive wave, "nah, thankfully no one's ever asked, it's not the most reliable form of conception believe it or not. I mean no form is one hundred percent but loads of people get pregnant after multiple tries the natural way, artificially is a lot more successful on the first attempt."