The Virgin Romance Novelist Chronicles

by Meghan Quinn

  Chapter Forty-Four

  HENRY

  “Love, look at these.” I point out a tasteful cream and light blue invitation. “These are nice.” Kellan is strapped to me in his little baby backpack—there’s an actual term Rosie uses but I say baby backpack—and we’ve spent the afternoon marking things off our wedding to-do list.

  We booked a venue. High Bar 55’s rooftop. It’s gorgeous with a scenic view of the city, multiple rooms to accommodate the ceremony, has cocktail hour, and the best part is that the maximum number of guests is seventy-five people, which is absolutely perfect. We don’t want anything bigger than that.

  When we were looking over the venue and I saw the white brick wall as the backdrop to our ceremony, the dreamy look in Rosie’s eyes told me this was the place we were going to get married.

  After the whole penis fiasco a few weeks ago, I’ve been trying to cover up my junk as much as possible, because any small glance of my penis has Rosie breaking down in tears. When I talked to her mom about it—privately of course—she told me it was hormones and should pass. But in the meantime, I made sure to cover up as much as possible.

  In the end, no circulation was cut off and he was fine. He has the perfect penis, just like his dad. And of course, I did not utter those words to Rosie. Because . . . the big guy is in hiding.

  Rosie shuffles over, her small frame saddling up next to mine. She’s been struggling with her baby weight—honestly, she looks perfect to me—but the struggle has put us on a super vegetable-filled diet with lots of protein. Another thing that makes her mad? I’m more lean than ever. The other night, I carefully listened to her tell me how much men suck when it comes to losing weight and that from now on, she wanted me secretly eating donuts behind her back. I had one yesterday morning with Freddy in the break room. Figured I should listen to her.

  “Light blue?” she crinkles her nose. “I don’t know. I was thinking more of shades of blush and cream.”

  Girly colors.

  Would I ever imagine having a wedding that’s sparkled in creams and blush hues? No, but then again, I never thought I’d marry Rosie, therefore, I’ll happily take the colors, because I get the bride, and nothing is better than that.

  “Blush and cream, huh?”

  “Yeah, you know, vintage. It would go with my dress.”

  My brow lifts. “You got your dress?”

  “I ordered it online from ModCloth. It was exactly what I wanted and didn’t cost me thousands of dollars.”

  “Love, why didn’t you tell me? That’s really cool. You said yes to a dress?”

  She tilts her head back and smirks. “Were you watching TV with Freddy when he was here the other weekend?”

  I chuckle. “It’s not my fault he likes looking at wedding dresses. You can’t complain. Kellan didn’t have any issues and you were able to have girl time with Delaney picking out flowers.”

  “True, but seriously . . . Say Yes to the Dress?”

  I shrug. “It’s a good show.”

  She stands on her toes and presses a kiss to my cheek. “I love you.”

  And there she is, my girl, my sweet, cute girl. I get to see her on occasion when she’s not stressed with work and Kellan, or right before bed when she has this satisfied look on her face the minute her head hits the pillow. I know with time, she’ll eventually be back to her normal self but in the meantime, I’ll take these little moments. I’ve loved her for such a long time now, and even though my patience is stretched in fairly unexpected ways at time, it’s Rosie. She—and now Kellan—have made my life everything.

  I rub Kellan’s tiny body through the baby backpack and head to what looks to be a vintage invitation section in the paper shop. “Did you look through these, love?” I glance over my shoulder to find Rosie shifting her boobs in her bra. “Is everything okay?” It's one of those dumb man questions, but I'm guessing she's uncomfortable.

  Quietly, she walks over to me and says, “Hand me the baby; my boobs are about to explode.”

  Chuckling, I unlatch Kellan from the backpack and hand him over.

  “I’m going to the car to feed him. Would you mind pulling some blush and cream vintage-looking invites for me to choose from?”

  I press a sweet kiss across her lips. “Sure.”

  With Rosie and Kellan in the car, I turn to the saleswoman and flash her a rakish smile, baby backpack dangling at my hips. I’m such a dad right now, and fuck, I couldn’t be happier about it. “So, do you think you could help a guy out?”

  “Sure.” She smiles politely. “What are you looking for?”

  “My girl is searching for a cream and blush vintage-style invite for our wedding, which is in a month and a half. Short notice I know, but we want to catch the warm weather of New York City. Rooftop wedding, you know.”

  “I understand. Well, that is quick, but we actually have some invitations already made that just need to be printed. It shouldn’t take more than a week. Does that interest you?”

  “Yeah, that sounds like a great option.”

  We spend the next twenty minutes looking through all different shapes, sizes, versions of cream and blush. We talk about RSVP cards and matching envelopes, whether we want ribbons included or any add-on embellishments that we can adorn ourselves. By the time Rosie gets back, I’m mentally exhausted and praying she likes at least one of the options.

  “Do you have some choices?” she asks, seeming happier than ever. She’s always happier after feedings.

  “We do.” I hold out my arms for Kellan and strap him back in.

  “Careful.” She rests her hand on my arm and leans forward. “He didn’t burp much and sucked me dry, so don’t jostle him.”

  “Sucked you dry, huh? Classy, love.”

  “Never said I was classy.” She winks and turns toward the options. “Oh, these are all so pretty. What’s the turnaround?”

  “They’re pre-made, so we just have to have them printed. It won’t take longer than a week, and if we give Miss Daniels a list of addresses, they’ll print those as well so all we have to do is stuff the envelopes.”

  Rosie’s eyes light up. Yeah. I did good. King of the paper store. “Really? That would be amazing. Wow. Okay, let me see.” She bends at the waist, her cute ass sticking up in the air as she weighs her options. She wiggles it a few times, and I’m immediately aroused, not a good situation while standing in a paper store with my son strapped to my chest.

  To distract myself, I bounce back and forth, taking in the large variety of wrapping paper rolls hung on the walls. Do people really buy wrapping paper from here?

  “This one is so pretty, don’t you think, Henry?” I turn to find Rosie holding up my second favorite option. With lace embellishments in the corners and a rosy blush hue, it’s very vintage, very Rosie.

  “Yeah, I like that one.” I pat Kellan on the back. “Makes me think of you.”

  She eyes me. “But there is one you like better.”

  “Maybe.” I give her a sly smile. “But I want you to have whatever you like.”

  “Which one do you like best?”

  I step up to the table and lean over, cradling Kellan’s head as I reach for my favorite. It’s a cream paper with blush watercolor seeping in the corners with an overlay of roses. “This one. It’s you.”

  Rosie examines it with a smile on her face as I sway a little with Kellan who’s starting to become fussy.

  “Did you pick this because of the roses?”

  “Maybe.” I shrug, bouncing and patting Kellan’s back.

  “You’re sweet, but I don’t know. Would it be too cheesy to have roses on the invitations?”

  “Well . . . didn’t you pick roses for the flowers?”

  “We’re actually going with felt, so there will be all different kinds of flowers in the bouquet, roses being one of them.”

  “Hmm, well it’s up to you, love. I just want to make sure—”

  Before I can even finish my thought, Kellan burps an unseemly sound, su
rprising us all with the boisterous belch.

  “Oh my goodness.” I lean down to look at our son. “You must have been holding that—”

  In slow motion I watch as our son’s mouth drops open, and then his body convulses right before the exorcist takes over the sweet little baby in my arms and spews breast milk all over me, the invitations in Rosie’s hands, and on the table. Oh shit.

  Warm seeps through my shirt, into my pants, and straight into my boxer briefs.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  I freeze in place, arms spread, spewing baby attached to me, letting it flow like a waterfall right out of his mouth. After what feels like minutes, he finally stops and with a smirk, rests his head against my soaked chest and falls asleep.

  Rosie and I exchange glances, a puddle of regurgitated breast milk at our feet, soaked invitations in hand.

  Smiling sheepishly, Rosie says, “Maybe I shouldn’t have had those tacos for lunch.”

  I blow a long breath out of my nose. Tacos don’t settle well with Kellan . . .

  I turn to Miss Daniels who looks horrified. “Do we get a discount if we take the breast milk-covered invites?” I try to give her another winning smile, but it doesn’t seem to penetrate the sour expression on her face.

  Looks like we’ll be paying full price.

  Half an hour later, a clothes change—Kellan in a new onesie, me in Rosie’s gym clothes—we are driving back to the burbs, a receipt for invites in hand, and a box of ruined invites in the back of the car.

  I shift in my seat. The tank top that says “Baby no longer on board” pulls on my shoulders, and her leggings cut into my cock in all the wrong ways. “Fuck, love, you need new gym clothes.”

  She chuckles next to me and glances at my crotch. “I have to say, seeing your penis in this new light is doing all sorts of things for me.” It’s doing all sorts of things to me too, but I’m fairly sure we’re thinking different things right now. I’m thinking Kellan will be our only child . . .

  I send her a quick side-eye. “Not going to happen. Any ideas you’re conjuring up for the bedroom that include me wearing these leggings is never going to happen, so drop it.”

  She folds her arms over her chest in a huff. “It could have been sexy.”

  I gesture toward my getup. “Love, this is NEVER sexy.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  ROSIE

  “If this doesn’t fit, I might shoot myself,” I say through the partially cracked bathroom door. Delaney is on the other side rocking Kellan in her arms, while Derk and Henry are out getting fitted in their suits. Henry refused to wear a suit he already had. He wanted something special to wear for the occasion, even though he’s wearing a navy-blue suit, a suit he has two of already. Men. But I wasn’t going to argue with him—he takes his clothes very seriously—because after the whole invitation store incident including having to pump gas in my gym clothes, I don’t think I should complain about anything to do with clothes.

  Funny thing, there is a diaper bag in our car at all times, as well as a parents’ bag now, because Henry refuses to ever be caught in a situation again where he’s wearing my leggings in public. He might have thought they were ridiculous looking, but I thought they were quite nice, showing off all the goods.

  The goods I miss terribly.

  I’ve had some fun with him the last few nights, teasing him with my fingers and then finishing him off with my mouth, but when he goes to reciprocate, I get nervous and shoo him away. Until I get the okay from the doctor, I don’t want him anywhere near the junction between my legs, even if it’s only his tongue.

  Even though I want it so badly.

  I thought that after the baby my libido would slow down, but it hasn’t. Doesn’t help that my diet has turned Henry into a sexy beast with ripped muscles and a lean stomach. God, just watching him take a shower this morning had me dropping to my knees and pulling him into my mouth. The way he gripped the wall of the bathroom, the ripple in his abdomen when he came, made me more than horny.

  But now that I’m on a strict no-sex-for-six-weeks deal, it feels like I’m a virgin all over again. Hot and bothered with no one to take care of it. Then again, if I gave Henry the go-ahead, I know he’d happily pleasure me. He’s desperate to have me—I see it in the way his eyes blaze up and down my body whenever I’m around.

  And even though I’m still carrying baby weight, he makes me feel sexy, a feeling I’m so grateful to have when it comes to my future husband.

  “It’s going to fit; you’ve been working really hard at the gym doing your post-baby exercise program,” Delaney calls out.

  It’s true, I have been. But instead of hitting up spin classes—no thank you, Satan—I’ve been attending a step class at my local gym. At first I tripped over the step at least five times a class, but now, I have the hang of it, I’m a killer on the step and workout in the front row like a champion. I’m not where I want to be weight wise, but I feel good, and with one week left before the doctor’s clearance, I want to look as best as I can for Henry . . . and for the wedding, of course.

  I slip the dress up and over my hips, loving the short but full skirt and lace three-quarter-length sleeves, and bateau neckline. The gold and pink with the ornate lace overlay is everything I would have imagined in my wedding dress. It’s perfect.

  And it was less than two hundred dollars.

  Taking a deep breath I push my arms through the sleeves and hike the rest of the dress up. Sucking in my stomach, I zip up the side zipper, trying not to sweat too much while I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping and praying this dress fits. I have three weeks to the wedding, which gives me some time, but not a lot.

  Come on. Come on.

  And when the zipper stops, I have a mild heart attack, that’s until I realize the dress is fully zipped.

  “Oh.”

  “Is everything okay?” Delaney calls out.

  Turning toward the mirror, I open my eyes and take in my dress. It fits . . . perfectly. Maybe a little tight in the breasts, but that’s because I’m carrying gallons of milk every day inside of them.

  “It’s perfect, Delaney.”

  “Really?” She stands from the bed and works her way into the bathroom where she gasps, taking me in. “Oh my God, Rosie, you look beautiful.”

  “Yeah?” I turn in my dress, taking in all the angles.

  “Yes, I don’t think I could imagine you wearing anything else. Henry is going to die when he sees you in this.”

  “I hope so.” I press down on the skirt. “And I don’t look too . . . fat?”

  An angry brow is directed my way. “You can’t be serious. Rosie, you’ve worked your butt off in the gym and it shows. You look incredible.”

  “Thank you.” I let out a pent-up breath and fold my hands in front of me. “I can’t believe I’m marrying Henry. Isn’t it crazy?”

  “Sort of, but not really. You two were made for each other, but it just took some time to figure it out. Honestly, I have never seen you two more in love, and the way he looks at you, Rosie, as if you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, it’s so romantic.”

  I eye my friend, caught off guard. “What have you done with my brash and crude friend?”

  She chuckles and cuddles Kellan closer. “I don’t know, over the last few weeks, I’ve started getting this need to settle down. Maybe it’s Kellan, or seeing this beautiful life you have here in the suburbs, but I’m jealous and I want the same thing. I want a family.”

  “Really?” I clasp my hands together. “Oh my God, does Derk know?”

  She shakes her head. “No, but I plan on having a conversation with him soon. There are a few houses in your neighborhood up for sale and our lease is coming up, so it just seems like perfect timing, don’t you think?”

  “You want to move near us?” Tears start to well in my eyes. “That would be . . . oh goodness, that would be amazing. We could raise our kids together and have arranged marriages.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Of course
. Hell, they have arranged marriages right now just being little sperms and eggs.”

  I clap my hands, causing Kellan to whine. I reach for him, but Delaney pulls away and eyes me up and down. “Be smart about this, Rosie. Dress first, baby second. I’ll take care of him as you carefully take that off, and then you can feed him.”

  I tap my head. “Always thinking.”

  “Well, after the picture you sent me of Henry in your gym clothes, I’m going to be extra careful in case the exorcist appears again.”

  I don’t blame her. I think we were all scared that day . . . for many reasons.

  “How did he go down?” Henry asks, whipping a towel over his shoulder, finishing up on the dishes.

  “Good, swaddled him up real tight and sang him a song.”

  “What song was it this time?” Henry asks with a smile, knowing my nursery songs are anything but traditional.

  I weave a finger over the marble countertops of our kitchen and smile sheepishly. “You know, just a classic by Salt-N-Pepa.”

  “You sang him, Push It, didn’t you?”

  “It’s been stuck in my head all day and just so you know, he really liked it. He thought it was quite the jam.”

  With humor in his expression, he shakes his head at me and sets the towel down before pulling me into his embrace and kissing the top of my head. “What am I going to do with you, Rosie?”

  “Marry me?”

  “Exactly. How could I not?” He tugs on my hand. “Come on, let’s go hang out in our bedroom.”

  “We still have a week before anything can happen,” I remind him, because he has that glint in his eye.

  “I know, love. I just want to talk and hold you.”

  Well, I can’t say no to that.

  He guides us into our large master bedroom and helps me into bed where he pulls the covers over the both of us. When I was decorating this room, I wanted it to feel like an oasis—whites with black and green accents, almost like a spa. And that’s exactly how we treat it. It’s our little getaway, the perfect place to spend our evenings.