by KD Robichaux
“I hope you’re okay with my decision about the doc—”
“I’ve been begging you to move in with me for almost as long as we’ve been together, sugar,” he interrupts.
I raise my brows. “I mean, there’ve been a ton of different ideas that come along with that, honey. You’ve asked me to move here with you. You’ve asked to get a place together in NOLA. You’ve even suggested us selling off everything and getting an RV to live on the road, wherever the events may take us.” I can’t help but giggle.
“I’d be happy doing any of those things. Because all of them put you and me together. That’s all that matters to me. I’d give up everything for you, baby,” he tells me, squeezing me a little tighter with that last part, but I’m already shaking my head.
“I don’t want you to give up anything. I never want that. And I don’t want to have to give up anything either. I love my job,” I reply, and the light dims in his eyes just a bit, so I continue on, getting to the good part. “But as soon as that doctor told me it’s possible for us to have a full-term healthy pregnancy, it all clicked into place.”
His nostrils flare, and I see hope in his every feature. “What did?”
“There is nothing in the entire world I’ve ever wanted more than to be a mom. Nothing. I threw myself into my work, making it my world, allowing it to take over my entire life until I wasn’t even taking care of my own self in order to care for other people, nurturing them as if they were my babies. But now—” My hands move to my stomach and I close my eyes, imagining our little miracle there. “—I know I wouldn’t be giving up anything. My dream is actually coming true.”
“So what are you saying, sugar?” he prompts, his voice a soft whisper as if he’s almost afraid to ask.
“That my answer is finally yes. I will move in with you. Here in California. I love New Orleans and will be sad to leave, but my parents live there, so I’ll still get to visit as often as I want. But I want this to be our home,” I tell him, and I swear to God I think I see tears fill his eyes before they close and he slams his mouth down on mine, cutting off any more talking.
He devours me as if his life depends on it, and I let him, my nose tingling with tears this moment is so beautiful. I’ve never made a person so happy before. I feel his joy rolling off of him as if it’s a tangible thing, and it crashes into me in waves, filling me up until I feel like I’m going to burst with glee.
He picks me up, setting my ass on the vanity, and the loud clattering of all my makeup falling into the sink pulls us out of our haze before the party even gets started. “Fuck, I’d do anything to make love to you right here and now,” he breathes against my lips and then rests his forehead against mine.
“I’d love that too,” I whisper, “but one, we don’t have time before we’re supposed to go to dinner. And two, you’ll be happy to know I’m actually feeling a teensy bit hungry.”
He pulls back at that, searching my face, and when he sees whatever it was he was looking for, determination takes over his gaze. “Right,” he rumbles. He looks around me into the sink, grabs my blush and shockingly the right brush, and opens it up the compact. He dabs a little on the brush, and then to my utter amazement, he strokes it gently along my cheekbones. At my wide-eyed look, he prompts, “What?” And then finishes off the other cheek.
When he closes up the blush and reaches around me once more for the mascara I hadn’t finished, he tells me to close my eyes, and I do as he says, too flabbergasted to do anything more.
“You’re… you’re doing my makeup right now,” I point out stupidly.
He applies the mascara flawlessly to my lashes, not a smudge out of place, and when I open my eyes, I see him reaching for my lip gloss. “Open,” he orders, pulling the wand out of the tube, and my jaw drops without question. He smirks at that. “Gotta remember that for later. Such a good girl when I order you around, huh?” When my face never morphs from my astonishment, he finally gives in to my unspoken questions. “Sugar, I’ve gotten my makeup done nearly four or five times a week for the past decade. You don’t think I’ve picked up a few things with that many hours in a makeup chair?”
When he lifts a brow and demonstrates me pressing my lips together, I mimic his action. At his, “There. Fucking beautiful,” I turn around on the counter to peek into the mirror. Subtle highlights of color, just enough to take away my paleness from being queasy most of the day, make me look like I have a healthy glow, and I whip around to stare up at him once again.
“Is there anything you’re not good at, honey? Cooking, designing, now makeup?” I shake my head in wonder. “How did I get so lucky? You’re like a gentleman, an alpha, and like, the coolest girlfriend ever wrapped into one.”
He frowns at that, narrowing his eyes.
“Of course, you are from California,” I tease, and then I’m squealing as he scoops me off the counter and carries me out of the bathroom to the bed, looking as if he wants to drop me there. But instead, he lays me down gently, trapping my hands above my head.
“You’re lucky you’ve got my baby in you, sugar. Or there would be hell to pay for all that,” he growls, but I see the playfulness in his eyes.
I soften at the mention of our baby and stop struggling against his grip on my wrists. “I love you,” I whisper, and after a moment of just looking at me, he lowers his face to the side of my neck, nuzzling me there, before whispering in my ear, “I love you too. More than anything.”
My stomach growls then, and his head pops back up. “I had a surprise dinner planned for you tonight, but I’m thinking it would be way too flavorful for what your belly can take today. What would you like instead?”
I narrow my eyes. “First, what was the surprise?”
“What if I want to save the surprise for a different day?” he counters.
“What if your surprise happens to be just what I’m looking for?” I volley.
He tilts his head to the side. “Italian,” he hints, and I groan.
“Oh ma God, yaaasss. Super buttery breadsticks. I’m in,” I tell him, and he thinks about it for a minute and then finally gives in.
“Whatever my sugar wants, my sugar gets.” He stands then, pulling me up when I reach my hands out. “You bring that little black dress I requested?” he asks, and I nod. “Good. If you feel up to it, wear that. I’ve gotta change.” And with that, he disappears into his huge walk-in closet.
My dress is comfy as hell, a bodycon dress that’s made of pure stretch, so I have no qualms wearing that bad boy to dinner. And then it dawns on me, and I burst out laughing. It makes Curtis peek out of his closet, and I see he’s buttoning up a sexy-as-sin black shirt that fits his torso and biceps like a second skin, making me drool a little as I wiggle into my dress. His eyes flare with heat, but he manages not to attack me, asking, “What’s so funny?”
“I was going to say something about this dress not being able to hide my food baby, but then I remembered… there’s a real baby,” I sing-song, threading my arms through the straps, and then I cease all movement. My head drops and I stare at my mostly flat belly, my hands raising to press there. “A real baby,” I whisper, and the next moment, Curtis’s hands are cradling my face as he tilts it up for me to look into his eyes.
“A real baby. Our real baby,” he breathes. “She’s really in there, sugar.”
My lip quirks. “She?” I whisper.
He shrugs. “Or he. Either way, I’d be happy. I just… have a feeling. Every time I picture the baby, it’s a girl.”
My bottom lip trembles at that as more love than I’ve ever felt in my life fills me up for the man before me.
At his “No crying. Don’t ruin my awesome makeup job,” I huff out a laugh and nod, sniffling back the tears.
“Fuck, these pregnancy hormones are no joke,” I reply, and then I stand up on my tiptoes and drop a peck on his lips before spinning to grab my shoes.
Chapter 25
Curtis
HALF AN HOUR later, I meet Dean�
�s eyes in the rearview mirror, since he’s sitting in the backseat behind me. He gives me a subtle nod of encouragement, and I exhale quietly, not wanting to freak Erin out with my anxiety. God, I hope she likes the surprise.
I see her sit up straighter in the passenger seat as we get closer to the restaurant, seeing the crowd out front, the bright lights spotlighting the red-carpet backdrop where my handpicked, invitation only guests pose for the reporters with cameras. Rachel is on the sidewalk, and the minute she spots my truck in the line of cars letting out high-profile patrons for tonight’s event, she gives a signal, and all the reporters turn to face the street.
“What is going on there?” Erin breathes in awe. “Is that… it that your assistant?” She turns to look at me, her eyebrows high on her forehead.
“Yeah, sugar. We’re here,” I tell her.
Her eyes widen. “I… I just wanted breadsticks,” she squeaks, and I press my lips together to keep from laughing as she spins to look out the window once again.
When I pull up to the curb, I meet Dean’s eyes in the mirror once more, and he gives me a grin and a thumbs up before I look over my shoulder when I feel Emmy squeeze my shoulder in support. She smiles excitedly, and I nod, reaching for my door handle and opening it up. As I circle the hood, I let out a growl when one of the valets reaches for Erin’s door, and he hops back, giving me room to open it myself. Her eyes are full of wonder as she looks up at the restaurant, obviously trying her best to ignore all the cameras now flashing like crazy around us.
I reach in and pick her up by her hips, gently placing her on her feet on the sidewalk and plastering her to my side. Dean and Emmy are next to us seconds later, and I vaguely register my truck pulling away.
“This is a hell of a surprise. Is it always like this at restaurants in LA?” she asks, looking up at me, her face a little nervous with all the attention.
“No, not always. Just when there’s a big event, or… a grand opening,” I tell her.
Her eyebrows raise at that. “Oo! Is that what this is? Did a celebrity just open this place up?” she asks, excitement filling her voice.
I smile softly. “Something like that.” I look at Rachel, giving her a nod, and she hurries over to give me a small black remote, which I hand to Erin. “See that white curtain?” I ask her, pointing at the top of the building we stand in front of.
“Uhhh… yeah,” she replies, shifting from one foot to the other with nerves.
“Aim this at it and push the button,” I say, and I watch as she looks at her best friend, a questioning look in her eyes as if she’s trying to figure out if Emmy knows what’s going on. The huge grin on Emmy’s face and the way she’s practically vibrating, Dean’s arm the only thing apparently keeping her from jumping up and down, lets Erin know she’s in on the surprise.
“Do it!” she squeals, and hesitantly, Erin lifts the remote, aiming it at the white curtain.
We all hold our breath as she pushes the button, and the curtain falls away, revealing the name of the restaurant.
“Sugar’s,” Erin whispers, and all eyes in the crowd watch her, silence having fallen over the hundreds of people except for the sound of cameras flashing the moment I handed her the remote.
Finally her head whips around and she stares up at me. “Did you open a restaurant?” she hisses in shock.
I smile down at her. “I did.”
“And did you name your restaurant… after me?” she clarifies.
My grin takes over my whole face. “I did… sugar.” I wink at her, and her eyebrows practically hit her hairline.
“You opened a restaurant and named it after me, after only knowing me a month?” she prompts.
“Technically, I only knew you a week before I decided to name it after you, but the restaurant has been in the works for several months now,” I explain. And I barely have the words out of my mouth before she leaps at me, her arms encircling my neck the best she can with our height difference, so I bend at my knees and lift her up, allowing her to have access to my face, where she plants kisses all over my cheeks, nose, forehead, jaw, and then finally my lips, the crowd bursting into applause and cheers as the flashing around us crescendos.
Minutes later, when she’s finally let me go, we all bark out in laughter when she asks our small group, “Okay, now can I have breadsticks?”
Chapter 26
Erin
I COME AWAKE to a hot, wet feeling between my legs and instantly go into a panic. It’s mostly dark in the room, just a teensy bit of light coming in through the tiny crack in the curtains. My hands dive to the apex of my thighs, and I know—I just know—I’ve lost our baby. I sob out, lifting my fingers to try to get a closer look at the wetness that I pull away, fully expecting it to be an ugly red.
And that’s when I feel Curtis whisper against my thigh, “It’s okay, sugar. It’s only me.”
When my eyes focus, I see my hand, my fingers only shiny with clear wetness, and my head falls against the pillow in relief. Tears sting my nose at the roller coaster of emotions I’ve been on in only the few moments I’ve been awake, and when I sniffle, Curtis crawls up my body, circling his arm beneath my back to hold me to him as he shushes me, trying to soothe away my fears.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I only wanted to make you feel good, wake you up in the best possible way. Made sure to wake up before you, so I could convince you not to run this time. It was the first time we would ever wake up together, and I wanted it to be special. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says against my lips, pressing kisses between each sentence.
I let out a weak laugh and brush away my tears that have fallen out of the corners of my eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, honey. I promise. You never have to worry about me running ever again.” I lift my hands to cradle his face. “I guess we both have a little PTSD to work through, huh?”
He nods. “I guess so, Ms. Psychologist.” He kisses me passionately then, and my hips instinctively begin to move against him. “Is… is it safe for me to make love to you?” he asks tentatively, and I smile, closing my eyes, nodding slowly.
“Yeah, honey. It’s safe. Just be gentle,” I reply, and when I open my eyes, he looks a little worried.
“Gentle because I might hurt you?” he clarifies.
I shake my head. “No, gentle because I don’t want to risk crazy acrobatics bringing on my morning sickness in the middle of the bed.”
“Oh,” he pushes out through a laugh. “Got it.” With that, he kisses his way down my body.
And we make sweet, slow love, managing to stave off any nausea until way after my second orgasm.
_______________
“So what’s the schedule today?” I ask, sitting at the island next to Emmy as I nibble on a piece of toast Curtis buttered for me while he flips a pancake flawlessly midair.
“Well, the team will be here around three to start getting us ready for the awards show. They’re going to bring you girls several dresses to choose from, and us guys a couple tuxes,” Curtis replies.
“Hawt,” I say, taking another bite.
“Blow on it first, baby,” he says, his eyes turning to me over his shoulder.
“No, you goob. You in a tux. Hot,” I tell him, shaking my head.
Emmy giggles next to me. “Get used to that shit, Rin. If you thought they were annoying before with their overprotectiveness, you ain’t seen nothin’ until you’re knocked up.” And then she squeals, “You’re knocked up!”
I chuckle with the toast up to my mouth, leaning my head over to rest on her shoulder for a minute of loving companionship before I sit up when Curtis slides a pancake on my plate.
“Eat,” he orders, and I roll my eyes.
“I’m just going to throw it up,” I argue.
He puts his fists on his hips. “Yeah, well. At least your body might have enough time to soak up some of the nutrients before it makes its reappearance. I packed in some extra protein in that pancake. Eat.”
“All right, all right, boss
y britches. Gimme some syrup,” I tell him, propping my elbow up on the countertop, my palm up as my fingers wiggle for him to hurry up.
He grabs a glass bottle out of a cabinet and hands it to me. “Not too much. Internet said a lot of sugar can set off nausea.”
I pout my bottom lip. “Awww, you researched pregnancy stuff for me, honey?” Emmy and I share a look that agrees that’s super dreamy.
“Of course I did. I gotta know what I can and can’t feed my babies,” he says, coming around the island to press a kiss to my lips before I dump syrup on the pancake. He growls, stealing the container away.
“Why is all your stuff unmarked? If I ever try to cook anything, I’m going to have to smell and taste everything trying to figure out what each item is.” I cut up my food, placing a square of the flapjack on my tongue. I close my eyes and moan around the bite. “Oh, that’s gooood.”
“I buy a lot of my stuff from farmer’s markets or make it myself,” he explains, confirming my suspicion he probably churned the butter himself. Maybe that’s why everything he makes me tastes so much better than anything else I’ve ever tasted before.
“So anyway, what happens after we pick out our dresses?”
“Then our team will do everyone’s hair and makeup and all that crap, and then we’ll head to the awards show. After the awards, we’ll go on to our after party, which we’ll have whether we win or lose.”
“Oh my God, Rin! This will be the first party you’ve ever been to where you didn’t drink you-call-its,” Emmy says, nudging me with her elbow, and I stick my tongue out at her.
“I will make you whatever virgin drink your heart desires,” Curtis counters, and I blow him a kiss.
Dean comes downstairs then, stopping next to Emmy to kiss her on top of her head before circling the island, standing next to Curtis. “Your protein pancakes?” he asks, and at Curtis’s nod, he whoops. “Hell yeah, man. I’ll take three.”
“Coming right up,” Curtis replies and pours more batter into the skillet.