“That was over a year ago,” Chenille said.
“Exactly,” Drake said as he slammed his palm down on the desk. “We’ve been leaving money on the table for an entire year.”
“Maybe if you tell Chenille some of the offers we’ve received.”
“A cooking show on the Food Network. Cooking with the Carpenters.”
“Seems like we should’ve gotten an offer from HGTV. Carpentry with the Carpenters.”
Chenille laughed at her own joke, but she laughed alone.
“I can make that happen. Is that what you want? A home improvement show?”
“I don’t want to be on TV.”
Brayden shook his head. “Why not? You can promote your makeup artistry.”
“How, by looking pretty while I stand next to you? Or what? I’m gonna say, ‘That was a yummy-ass bundt cake, now let me come and do your eyebrows.’ How does that even go together?”
Drake tapped his chin. “What if . . . what if we do a signature lip gloss for you? I was thinking of doing a Dallas Knights wives club makeup collection, and you could have your own gloss.”
“How about if it’s just me. Not the rest of the wives. I could put together an entire line of lip stains and glosses with custom colors.”
A smile teased the corners of Brayden’s lips. Chenille completely transformed when it came to talking about makeup. She had a hundred ideas for that space, but no passion for any of Drake’s other schemes.
“How do we make Brayden a part of it, though?”
“I have a few skincare items I mix for men. Mostly moisturizers, and shave cream. I could add some of that to the collection.”
“I can see that,” Drake said. “We can call it Carpentry. Your beauty building blocks. I am a genius.”
“Don’t like it,” Chenille said.
“Why not?” Brayden asked. “It’s perfect.”
“Carpenter is your last name.”
“It’s yours, too.”
“Yeah, but it’s not my given name. I’d rather do something with my first name. Maybe Shades of Chenille, but spell shades with a c.”
“Let me shop this around to a few people,” Drake said. “I’ll let you know in a few weeks. Are you two going to the Knights’ Thanksgiving Charity Ball?”
Chenille rolled her eyes, although she was going. Brayden had asked her to turn down a gig so that she could be on his arm for the ball.
“Yes, we’re going,” Brayden said. “With the rest of the team.”
“I will send a stylist over with dresses and shoes for Chenille.”
“A stylist? How much is that going to cost?” Chenille asked. “This is supposed to be for charity. I don’t want a stylist. I have dresses and shoes.”
“You’re killing me, Chenille. Let me do what I do,” Drake said. “It is for charity, but you need to be red-carpet ready. Designers will let you wear their dresses, shoes, and jewelry for free as long as you look good in it. Media will be there.”
“I’ll be ready. And I’ll look awesome. Without a stylist.”
Drake’s cell phone rang, and he glanced at it. “Oh, I need to take this. Give me five minutes?”
“Take ten,” Chenille said.
Drake stepped out of his office and closed the door behind him. Brayden turned his chair around to face Chenille.
“Why are you being so difficult today? Attitude on one hundred.”
Chenille shrugged. “I don’t know. Drake is getting on my nerves, though. I do know that.”
“He’s getting on your nerves trying to make us household names?”
“You’re already a household name.”
“You don’t want to wear a free designer dress on the red carpet?”
“I don’t want to walk the red carpet.”
Brayden sighed. One of the things he loved about Chenille is that she had no desire to be in the spotlight. She wasn’t posting selfies on her social media pages every day, and she stayed away from the places that paparazzi trolled.
Although Brayden loved this private quality about Chenille, he owed it to his fans to give them something, a little taste of his life. Chenille was a part of that.
“What do you want in exchange for this?”
Chenille lifted an eyebrow. “In exchange for this stylist red-carpet foolishness?”
“Yes.”
“Ooh, you’re not going to like this one.”
“Go ahead, hit me with it.”
“I want a Marilyn-free Christmas. We spent our first Christmas with her. This one I want just me and you.”
“You want to go away for the holiday?”
“Nope. I want Christmas in our home. With just the two of us.”
Brayden’s nostrils flared as he thought about how he might make this work. If they were not on vacation somewhere, Brayden didn’t think his mother would appreciate being banned from his home on Christmas.
“Yep. You’re going to have to tell Marilyn she can’t come over.”
“Babe.”
“Not sharing you with her.”
“Okay, I’ll tell her.”
Chenille squealed, jumped out of her seat, and gave Brayden a kiss that was more appropriate for their bedroom than his manager’s office.
“What else do I need to uninvite my mama from?” Brayden asked.
“That’s it. When Drake comes back, you can tell him to send his stylist to our house. I’ll have Kara help me pick out my dress.”
“Pick a hot one. Low-cut and snug. I want all those curves on display.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’m proud of my baby. I want every other brother there to be jealous.”
Brayden was sure they would be jealous, too, and not just because his wife’s body was perfect. They’d be jealous because of everything they had together. The perfect marriage and the perfect partnership.
Chapter 27
I’m so glad I talked Brayden into a Marilyn-free Christmas—not because I don’t like his mama. I do like her, and I’m starting to love her. But she smothers Brayden, and wants to be number one in his life. As soon as I became Mrs. Carpenter, I took that slot. She’s still adjusting.
This is just another lesson.
Brayden insisted that we not stay home for the holiday, even though I know this is only because he wanted to let his mama down easily. At first, I objected, until he told me that we were invited on a yacht to the Amalfi Coast and the island of Capri with an elite group of celebrities.
I don’t give a damn about the celebrities, but I do want to see the blue waters of Capri. That is a bucket list trip for me. Or it was until I married a football player and the bucket list went away and everything became possible.
In fact, there’s a party going on right now, on the top deck of the ship, but I’m below in our cabin, because I feel strange. I’ve never been seasick before, but I’m nauseous with every little bump the boat takes. I decide that I need rest, so I lie across the bed looking out at the ocean through the little porthole. Above, Taneeka sings her newest ballad, and the scent of marijuana seems to come through the air vents.
Brayden probably doesn’t even know I’m not up there. I can hear his laughter bellowing out every few moments. He’s enjoying himself, and I’m glad that he is. It isn’t the holiday that I wanted, but it is Marilyn free.
I wish Kara was here. She’d enjoy this more than I am. When I told her about it, she practically salivated. I do feel blessed to have a friend like her who isn’t jealous of all this.
“Babe.”
I sit up in the bed and feel a wave of vertigo. Brayden stands in front of the bed with a smile on his face and a drink with an umbrella in his hand.
“I brought you a drink.”
“Oh, thanks babe, but I don’t think I want anything to drink.”
Brayden cocks his head to one side and gives me a strange look.
“What?” I ask.
“I’ve never seen you turn down a tequila sunrise.”
“My stom
ach feels kind of queasy.”
“Oh no. I hope you aren’t about to get your period. I still have to get some booty on the top deck after everyone is asleep.”
“I’m not about to get my . . .”
My voice trails off because terror fills my core. I can’t remember the last time I had my period.
“Why aren’t you upstairs enjoying the concert with everyone else?” Brayden asks, clearly not catching the shift in my mood.
“I’m enjoying it down here. Taneeka sounds amazing.”
“She does. Talented girl, but a total jerk.”
This makes me chuckle. “She’s getting better. Used to be a lot worse than that.”
“So, you gonna come up and chill with me?” Brayden asks as he puts his hand on my lower back and pulls me close to him.
“This is your world, babe. I don’t really want all that.”
“What would you like to do right now?”
I kiss Brayden’s neck. “I’d like you to get in bed so we can snuggle.”
“Just snuggle?”
“When do we ever just snuggle?”
Brayden laughs. “Okay. I’m down.”
Brayden takes my drink and sits it on a deck table. He kisses me deeply and makes me forget that anyone else is on the yacht.
But he doesn’t make me forget that I haven’t gotten my period this month. And now that I think about it, I don’t remember getting it in November either.
My mind races, while I try to recall the last two months. We’ve been having lots of sex. Great sex. That reckless, without abandon, honeymoon sex. Did Brayden knock my IUD loose? Is that possible?
“Babe, you know what? I’m sleepy. Maybe I should lie down.”
Brayden touches my forehead. “You don’t have a fever, but you do look a little strange.”
“I just need a nap.”
“I’m going to climb in bed with you. I can hear the music just fine from here too.”
Brayden gets into the bed with me and cradles me in the crook of his arm.
“How are you feeling about the playoffs? Think you guys are going to go all the way this year?” I ask.
“Not gonna say. Don’t want to jinx it.”
“You football players are so superstitious.”
“Yeah we are.”
“Well, I’m going to say what I think. I think you’re going all the way this year.”
Brayden smiles and kisses the top of my head. This is how he starts. He says he’s only going to snuggle and cuddle, but then he starts kissing and rubbing. Once the fire is started there’s only one way to put it out.
And that’s exactly why I’m lying here wondering whether or not I’m pregnant.
Brayden’s kisses go south from the top of my head to the small of my neck. I feel my second wind coming.
“You sure you’re sleepy?” Brayden whispers in a husky voice between kisses.
“Mmm-hmmm . . .”
Brayden slips his hand under the thin material of my sundress and strokes my breast while his kisses continue. I squirm beneath his touch. The heat in the room having nothing to do with the warm Mediterranean breeze.
“What about now?” Brayden asks. “You awake?”
He pulls me back in and kisses me again. The taste of him intoxicates me more than the drink left on the table.
“I’m awake.”
“All right, then. Let me get out of this bed and give you your Christmas present.”
“I thought this was my everyday present.”
“It is, but this is gonna be the Christmas edition.”
I can’t deny him even if I wanted to, and I don’t want to. I’m not going to lie, the loving is one of the best things about being married to him. But the loving makes babies, and babies steal careers.
I let out a long sigh. Brayden probably thinks it’s a sigh of pleasure, and it is, but it’s also an apprehensive sigh. A worried sigh. Because what am I going to do if I’m already pregnant with a gut full of human?
Chapter 28
Weeks after the Marilyn-free Christmas and I still don’t have my period yet. Shoot.
I am never late. Since I was twelve years old, my monthly visitor shows up like clockwork. Every twenty-eight days. I know this means I’m pregnant. I just don’t want to admit it.
And it’s not just the lack of my period. My body is changing too. My breasts are heavier and sore all the time. I can barely smell anything cooking without a wave of nausea overtaking me.
Brayden would’ve noticed if he wasn’t so wrapped up in his work. The Knights are going to the Super Bowl, so that’s all he can think about. I wish I could share his excitement.
It’s time for me to find out for sure, but I am standing in the bathroom, unable to go through with it. Once I know for sure, I can’t trick myself into being optimistic about this anymore.
This is the worst possible time ever, too. Taneeka just asked me to go on her world tour in four months and command a team of makeup artists. That is completely next level, and I’m gonna have to turn it down, because by my calculations, I’m almost three months pregnant—if it’s true.
I cradle the pregnancy test in my hands. I don’t even want to open the box. Because if I open the box, then I have to take it, and if I take the test, then I’ll know the truth.
I let out a massive sigh and then unbutton my pants. Might as well do it while I’ve got the courage.
Taking the test is awkward. I hover over the toilet and try to urinate in a straight line. Pee splashes all over the toilet seat. I hope I got it over the hole on the test. Hold in urine stream is just about the most useless instruction ever.
I put a piece of toilet paper on the sink and place the imperfectly saturated pregnancy test on top of it. Then I wipe myself, fix my clothes and sit on the edge of the bathtub.
The test takes three minutes to be sure, the box says, so I don’t touch it for three minutes. I stare at it: a little piece of plastic that’s holding my life hostage.
I hear Brayden in our bedroom. He’s finally awake. The television is on ESPN, because that’s the only channel he ever watches. Every morning, he blasts ESPN while he’s getting dressed.
I grab the test before he has a chance to burst into the bathroom. Brayden doesn’t believe in privacy. He’ll be in here in a minute, giving zero cares as to what I’m doing.
“Shit.”
That’s the only word that comes out of my mouth, and it sums up every emotion I have. Panic at the thought of even being pregnant. Then, more panic at the thought of having an abortion. I could never abort our child.
It’s early. Maybe it won’t stick. Maybe I’ll miscarry.
Shit! What kind of monster am I? Who wonders if they’ll miscarry their first child?
I burst into tears. Can’t contain them anymore. In my mind, I just see my career going up in smoke. I wish I was like those gospel singers Mary, Mary. They were popping out babies left and right, singing on the stage and then going right on into labor the same night. I remember watching their reality show in awe, thinking if I get pregnant, I’m doing that. I’m working until this baby falls right on out, and then I’m gonna scoop it up, put it in a stroller, and keep on working.
The only wrinkle in this working mother’s fantasy is my very wealthy husband. He will ask me to put my business on hold, because we don’t need the money. He will insist on me staying home and sitting down until our baby is born.
I refuse to sit.
He jiggles the doorknob, and I snatch the test off the sink. I wrap it in tissue and stick it in my pocket, then I toss the unused ones to the back of the medicine cabinet. I’m not ready to tell him yet. I don’t know when I’ll be.
“What are you doing in there?” Brayden asks. “Can I come in?”
“Yes.”
Brayden opens the bathroom door and heads for his sink. He takes out his shaving equipment and lines it up on the counter.
“You’re about to just come up in here and set up shop, huh?”
“I know. I was just enjoying being alone with my thoughts. With you in here, it’s no longer quiet.”
I need time to think and strategize without Brayden’s input, because, let’s be real, I already know what his input will be. He wants me fat, pregnant, and home. Period.
I sit quietly on the edge of the tub while he brushes his teeth. His perfectly sculpted body is always pleasing to look at, but lovemaking is the last thing on my mind this morning. Our coupling like rabbits is what got me into this mess.
“You okay?” Brayden asks.
I must look crazy, like I’ve seen a damn ghost. I have. The ghost of my career floating right out of this bathroom. The ghost of careers past.
“Just have a headache this morning. Not sure why.”
“Maybe you’re about to get your period. You always get a headache right before.”
Brayden is just like a man. He thinks he knows my body so well, but he doesn’t. He’s up here talking about my period, and I’m pregnant as all get out.
He goes back to brushing his teeth and humming. It’s some gospel song he likes to sing.
“You’re in a good mood,” I say. “You have good news?”
He sets his toothbrush down and grins. “I thought you’d never ask. I’m getting my own shoe. With Nike. It’s going to be a limited edition, to see how it sells. Us going to the Super Bowl and now this! God is blessing us right now.”
“Really? That’s awesome, honey. I get to rock my man’s shoes at the big game.”
“Yep. I’m getting them for you in every color.”
“I hope they’re super comfortable so I can wear them on the set this spring.”
He has questions in his eyes, so I guess I’ll just go ahead and tell him. I was trying to wait until after the football season was over, but this baby will complicate things anyway.
“I’m going on tour with Taneeka. Remember I told you I was meeting with her manager?”
“Where’s the tour going?”
“It’s a European tour. She has concerts planned in Germany, England, France, Spain, and Italy. I can’t wait. There will be a whole team of makeup artists that I’m supervising, so it’s really a great portfolio builder.”
The Outside Child Page 12