Silence No More

05. And his name is...

I felt something pierce the back of my neck. Hm...had a mosquito just bitten me? Or was it perhaps Mr Rikkard Ambrose's icy gaze boring holes into my very soul?

"You..." A low growl erupted from dear husband's throat. "I will get you for this!"

"Get me?" I batted my eyelashes up at him. "We're married. You've already got me."

"Don't remind me!"

"I love you, too."

Ah, the art of old-married-couple-bickering...wasn't it amazing that we had already mastered it this early? I nodded happily. This definitely boded well for our marriage.

The murderously threatening glare my husband was currently directing at my friends and little sister, however, was not quite as promising. I had a feeling murder of in-laws would make for awkward conversations during Christmas dinners.

"Hm...names...'ow about ye name 'im Dick?" Amy suggested brightly. "After 'is father and 'is most important part?"

Seems like Amy had a really great desire for dinner conversations about homicide. Though, judging by the look in Mr Ambrose's eyes, I wasn't sure she would be alive to hear them.

"Are you crazy? Absolutely not!" Elbowing the other girl in the ribs, Patsy shook her head. "Lilly, don't listen to her! You can't give him a name like that!"

"Agreed!" Mr Ambrose nodded firmly, flashing her a rare appreciative glance. "We could never name our son after something like that!"

"Right." Patsy pulled a face. "I mean, just imagine it...naming him after his father? Who would want to be named after such a chauvinist son of a bachelor?"

Suddenly, Mr Rikkard Ambrose didn't look so appreciative anymore.

"No, I have a much better idea for a name!" she continued without seeming to notice. "In fact, the perfect name!"

"Perfect?"

"Oh yes." Patsy smiled innocently. Far too innocently. "How about Ferdinand Ernest Marcus Ignatius Nathaniel Isaac Sebastian Tristan Ambrose?"

Hm...the name wasn't bad, actually. A bit too long, maybe. Why would she—

Wait a minute! My eyes narrowed, and the gears in my mind started to work. F...E...M...I...N...I...

"Oh." I cleared my throat. "I must say...not a bad name. Not bad at all. But maybe fewer given names?"

"I concur." Mr Ambrose chimed in, his voice as chilly as the winter wind. It was clear that his mind had worked through the initials quite a bit faster than mine.

"Oh." Patsy's shoulders slumped—then abruptly rose again. "How about Samuel Ulysses Fabian Franklin Ronald Anthony Gilbert Ivor—"

"No." I had to admire Patsy's fortitude. Mr Ambrose's gaze could have killed a bear at a hundred paces, and she didn't even twitch. "Absolutely not."

"How about Florent?" Flora suggested hopefully. "Or Florian?"

"No."

I couldn't help but see a mental image of a tiny five-year-old mini-Ambrose with a daisy stuck into his buttonhole and a rose behind his ear. Slamming a hand over my mouth, I did my very best to disguise my laughter as a cough. Judging by the arctic look Mr Ambrose sent my way, I was not entirely successful.

"I think," he stated, coolly letting his gaze sweep over the assembled females in a don't-you-dare-disagree-with-me manner, "that this is a private matter for me and my wife to discuss, don't you agree?"