Ending with Forever

by LLP, Lan

  “Francine has been a godsend for us,” Jane explains, filling in the awkward silence between Carson and Francine. “Thanks to all her effort, Gabby was able to get in touch with you and hopefully qualify for a new drug that can…,” she hesitates, not knowing how to finish her sentence.

  “Francine, thank you for all you’ve done for Gabby, for introducing her to us,” I butt in, offering Jane time to recover from her relapse in courage. I can’t imagine how taxing it must be for her to maintain a strong front for her daughter every single day, knowing Gabby’s poor prognosis.

  “Oh…you don’t need to thank me, dear,” Francine replies modestly, resting her unsteady hand on my shoulder with a sincere smile. She has a dimple identical to Carson’s. “I’d do anything for little Gabby. She’s my power source.”

  “Who wouldn’t, right? But I still want to recognize all your effort,” I insist. “Credit should be given where it’s due.”

  “Thanks, Lucy,” she accepts.

  Stooping down to Gabby’s level, I tell her, “Mr. Bradley has a big basket full of surprises for you. Would you like to see what’s inside?” I open my hand out to her and so does Carson.

  “Yes, please! I love surprises!” she shouts with enthusiasm, clapping her hands and then grabbing ours. I hope we’re not exhausting her with too much excitement—something we wouldn’t have to consider for a healthy child and then the gloominess of her condition returns.

  Carson and I walk her to his executive throne. Being of her minute stature, the top of her head barely passes the level of his desk top. The first thing that Gabby spots is my yellow and blue songbird sitting next to the basket. She reaches for it, nuzzles it against her chest and kisses it audibly. “Oh birdie, I love you.” She talks to it like it’s real and presses the button under its wing continuously. The same four songs play over and over again. Her reaction is priceless and poignant. We both melt into a ball of mush watching her love on her songbird. “You were right. All she really wanted was a bird,” Carson whispers to me, splaying his palm on the small of my back. “What do I know about pleasing a woman?” he trifles with a wink.

  ~~~~

  With watering eyes, Jane couldn’t offer Carson enough gratitude for all he’s done for Gabby. Their all-expenses paid stay at the Four Seasons in Boston is an unheard gift of generosity. For a change, she admitted her tears were joyful ones that didn’t hurt to cry. Francine warmed up to us after that awkward moment in Carson’s office. I still don’t know what her problem was and will probably never find out either. I did discover she’s from Bloomington—a Hoosier like me. She has four adult children, one of whom is four years older than me and is in med school. Sadly, Francine will be going home tomorrow, leaving Gabby and Jane to fend for themselves. I promised Gabby that I’d visit her whenever I can. She was elated, jumping with excitement. Carson offered to walk her to the elevator. Like any spirited child, she insisted he get in with her and go down it like an amusement ride. What a sport. He rode it up and down twice before surrendering.

  “I think I just developed an aversion to elevators like you,” Carson tells me jokingly as he shuts his office door behind him. “Good news. I’m done for the day. I’ll be coming home with you, babe.”

  “What? Why?” I stutter. He’s going to ruin my big surprise for him.

  “Don’t you want me to?” He frowns, not understanding why I’m opposed to the idea of him joining me.

  “No. That’s not it. I just thought…you had a lot of catching up to do. I didn’t want to interfere with your work.”

  “You’re not, angel,” he tells me firmly. “You may be my never-ending distraction, but that’s my problem.” He winks. “Are you ready? Rollin is waiting downstairs for us.” I nod and reach for my coat with a disappointing sigh. “What would you like for dinner tonight? We can dine out or have Chef Calvino prepare something that sounds appealing to you after Dr. Laurent’s checkup.”

  “I’m good with whatever you choose,” I defer the decision to him. Oh shit. I forgot all about my appointment. Dr. Laurent will see those darn balloons and wonder why the heck he was summoned after office hours to tell me something I already know.

  “Let’s eat in. I feel like cuddling with my body pillow tonight.” He grins, holding my coat out for me so I can slip my arms easily through the sleeves.

  “You know how much I love being used,” I add to his teasing. “By the way, why didn’t you tell me Chef Calvino is your personal chef?”

  “You were already having so many issues about my money. I didn’t want to add a personal chef or the many housekeepers and other employees on top of that. I asked them to work around you. I thought it would help make you feel more at home.”

  “And that made sense to you?” I question, squinting my eyes at him. “Altering people’s work schedule and life to appease me?”

  “I didn’t say it made sense. My concern is always about your happiness and well-being,” he defends.

  How can I argue with that? “You’re crazy. Do you know that?” I giggle. “Please tell everyone to resume their regular work schedules. They probably think I’m a bridezilla, making all these unreasonable demands.”

  “I did hear one housekeeper mention that word when I told her the future Mrs. Bradley wanted all her French imported panties to be hand washed, air dried and ironed,” he kids.

  “Stop. I don’t even own any.” I laugh and whack him in the arm. “You better be joking.”

  “You’ll never know and you’ll never be able to pry it out of me.”

  “Is that right, Mr. Bradley?” I fight to keep a straight face.

  “Yes. Never,” he confirms, shaking his head and narrowing his eyes playfully. Had I not given that arrogant man at the hospital a chance, I’d never know this lovable man today. For once, I’m grateful I followed my heart instead of my one-track mind. “Come here, baby,” he commands and lassos his arms around me. “My lips are sealed unless you know how to unseal them.”

  “Nice try. I’m not going to fall for your overwhelming charm. Nope. Not going to do it this time.” I shake my head.

  Purposely jutting his lower lip out and tapering his lids so he would look irresistibly adorable, I fall for his trap. I kiss his unseal-able lips.

  Chapter 19

  Carson Bradley

  Lil’s knees haven’t stopped twitching nervously since we stepped into the limo. She appears on edge. I have a feeling she’s hiding something from me again. I don’t know what it is yet, but mark my word, nothing is impassable between us. I always have a way of finding out. Honestly, am I that unapproachable? Why does she have such a difficult time opening up to me?

  “Babe, my parents would like for us to come over for dinner sometime this week. What day will work for you?” I ask, reeling her preoccupied mind back to me.

  “Huh? What did you say?” she responds. It must be serious. She’s so far gone that she didn’t even hear a word I said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind instead?” I insist, reaching for her hand which is clammy and warm—a sure indication that something’s really troubling her.

  “I was thinking about my appointment with Dr. Laurent.”

  “What about it?” I press, staring directly into her eyes so she can’t evade the truth.

  “What time is he coming?”

  “You’re avoiding my question, Lil.” I emphasize, impatient at this point.

  “I’m not,” she denies innocently.

  “Pardon me, Mr. Bradley,” Rollin interrupts, saving Lil from my clutch. “We’re here. Luke texted. You’re both cleared to go upstairs.”

  “Damn it,” I snip. “Tell him we’re on our way,” I bark and then regret that it came out more tersely than I intended. Rollin doesn’t deserve to be in my line of fire. He’s a kind man who’s been driving my ass around for years, taking all kinds of shit from me, depending on my unpredictable mood.

  “Yes, sir,” he replies, ma
intaining his professionalism as always.

  “Was that necessary?” Lil points out with an exasperated sigh. “The attitude.” She tilts her head in Rollin’s direction.

  “No, it wasn’t. My apologies, Rollin,” I offer, shocking the hell out of both of them. Past the corners of my eyes I can see the tight, thin creases of Rollin’s lips curl upward in the rear mirror while Lil fights back her emerging smile. “Is that better?” I smirk.

  “Much,” she answers. “Let’s see if we can improve that attitude of yours even more upstairs.” She shoos me out the limo and follows behind me. “Thank you, Rollin. Have a great rest of the evening,” she turns back to tell him.

  “You’re welcome, Miss Ly,” he replies buoyantly, beaming a smile through his well-groomed, gray mustache. “You have a wonderful evening as well,” he winks at her, catching me off guard. I wonder what the familiarity between them is all about.

  We step into the elevator and I corner her with my six-foot-two frame, caging her body with my arms. “Talk to me, Lil. Tell me what’s bothering you,” I insist as the doors seal us in. “We should be able to talk to each other about anything.”

  She looks at me, eyes confident, and replies, “What makes you think something’s bothering me?” Her hands come up to my neck, loosens the knot of my tie, slides it off and tucks it into her coat pocket. “I might be happily distracted,” she implies as her fingers return to release the top two buttons of my collar shirt. Her lips press against my bare skin, sheathing my artery that’s pulsing for her. “I love the way you smell,” she exhales after respiring my scent into her system. She’s getting really good at baiting me.

  “My bad. I didn’t see the glass half-full. Thanks for enlightening my pessimistic side.” I concede and lean down to kiss her, but she places her index and middle fingers over my lips to stop me.

  The bell chimes. “Hold that thought, hazel eyes. We’re here.” The elevator doors slide open and she grabs my hand, tugging to hasten me through the wine cellar. Before heading up the spiral staircase, she turns to me and suggests, “Why don’t you choose something special for tonight?”

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “Dinner with my favorite guy,” she answers cheekily.

  “Red or white?”

  “Whatever excites your taste buds,” she grins. “But don’t take all night, I like my cuddle time.”

  Feeling a little indulgent, I walk underneath the staircase and enter an obscured room that houses ten of the most expensive vintage wine bottles I’ve amassed over the years. Each bottle is encased in its protective storage compartment. I choose Château Margaux 2009. I bought it in France after having an impressive tour of the vineyard and cellars and a private dinner cooked by a highly reputable chef.

  “Are you ready yet?” Lil hollers impatiently from outside the room. What’s her rush?

  “Yes,” I holler back and grip the bottle by its slender neck. “I’m coming.”

  Grabbing my free hand, she rushes us up the stairs, winding our way to the top. “Do you mind?” She asks me to open the concealed door to the pantry.

  “You’re very jumpy today. What’s going on, Lil?” I ask and then see my answer as soon as we exit the pantry and kitchen. Balloons—pink and blue—float all over the living room, claiming the entire open space. Her surprise hits me so hard that I almost drop the vintage bottle out of my hand, shattering it into a million pieces on the mosaic marble floor. So this is what she’s been trying to keep from me. I’m going to be a dad? How long has she known about it? That goofy grin that I couldn’t seem to shake off earlier is back on my face again, but I don’t give a shit. We’re going to have a baby. The delightful news is more than my chest can handle. For a change, happiness is overfilling the brim of my heart instead of misery. This is much more mind-blowing than the slice of heaven I told Hayden about. Lowering the bottle down by my feet, I pull Lil, who’s been silently observing my reaction, into my arms. “Angel, I hope this means what I think it does.”

  Pursing her lips tightly, she nods. “Yes, I’m pregnant,” she whispers.

  “When did you find out? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? How do you feel? Can I do anything for you?” I spring question upon question without giving her a chance to answer any of them and then lift her up in a reveling spin, celebrating.

  Gripping the lapel of my jacket she replies in a playful tone. “Easy there, baby daddy. I just found out earlier today.”

  “And you’re just telling me now?” I ask like she’s kept the news from me for months.

  “Come with me,” she insists, tugging at my hand. I follow her into the living room, zigzagging through vertical silk ribbons suspended from the helium balloons with labels attached to them. Curious about the writings on the tags, I flip one over and read it. Clarity-bright and shining. I flip another one. Liam-resolute protection. Lil has written names, boys and girls, and their meanings on each one—what a clever idea and a “Lillian” thing to do. “Did you find a favorite yet?” she asks, smiling under a pink heart-shaped balloon, the only one in the throng.

  “How do I choose? There are so many good choices.” I weave my way to her, parting the strings with my hands as if I’m trekking through a jungle of wild vines. My prize at the end of the quest is my beautiful fiancée. “Have I told you how happy you make me?” I ask with my arms around her waist. She shakes her head while biting down on her lower lip to impede an emerging smile that’s dying to overtake her mouth. “I’m very happy,” I stress. Tracing my thumb along her bottom lip, I persuade it to slacken. “No more waiting. I’m marrying you as soon as possible, baby momma,” I tell her in a trifling tone and then seal my promise with an intense kiss. Enfolding her lower and then upper lips between mine, I savor our intimacy, our passion. Willingly, she accepts every sensation I offer her, pulling me into her, tasting me, and running her fingers through my hair.

  Finally, she backs away for a much-needed breath and argues, “But…,”

  “No buts. I can’t wait any longer. I want you mine now,” I declare and then drop down to my knees to kiss her belly, my baby. “Your mommy will be a Bradley by the end of this week,” I tell my son or daughter.

  Lillian Ly

  Carson welcomed my baby surprise with an open heart like I hoped he would. “Your mommy will be a Bradley by the end of this week,” he whispered into my belly, making me chuckle internally. I wasn’t going to be given a choice this time. We will be married this weekend and that was the end of the discussion. I decided this was one battle I wasn’t going to win. I gave into his demand and prepared myself to become Mrs. Carson Ly-Bradley. He’s sorely mistaken if he thinks I’m going to completely lose my identity to his over-sized name.

  Dr. Laurent stopped by as soon as I broke the news to Carson, entering through a field of helium balloons. He appeared amused but refrained from mentioning them in conversation, keeping everything very professional. Distracted by all the excitement, both Carson and I had failed to cancel the appointment. As always, he was gracious and his bedside manners were impeccable even though he had to make an unnecessary trip over to the penthouse. My blood was drawn and the specimen was sealed in a special metal case to take back to the lab. Carson insisted that he contact him with the results tomorrow as soon as it’s been processed and tested. Once a control freak, always a control freak. I guess I’ll wait to hear from Carson to see what my blood test will reveal.

  I’m confined to our bedroom as Carson prepares a celebration dinner for us. He thinks I already look drained and I need to kick my feet up. Before leaving the bedroom with Sugar and my four positive tests, he propped my back with three down pillows and my legs with one. Here we go again with the over-protective daddy thing. The mind is so moldable. Just an hour ago, I was strong and capable because he didn’t know I was pregnant and now, I’m fragile because I’m pregnant. I can’t imagine what he’ll be like when I actually have a baby bump protruding from my body. He’ll probably insist I wear protective gear around my
belly. That idea might sound funny to most people but I wouldn’t put it past him.

  To my advantage, I use this opportunity to search the web for information on Sasha. It’s not as easy of a task to locate Sasha Harris in Boston like I thought. There are a handful of them, but luckily I’m able to narrow down my search by locating her on LinkedIn as Bianca Sorté’s executive assistant for Sorté’s Trendz n Glitz. Most everything I need to know about her demographics is in there. I use that information to look her up on Whitepages and voila, I’ll be paying Sasha a visit tomorrow. Slyly, I tiptoe to the closet that Carson and I share to retrieve a piece of paper with Edison’s phone number. It’s a folded BPC stationary securely tucked under my sock drawer. Logically, I thought it would be the least likely place Carson would snoop around. I pull it out and add Sasha’s home address and number on it and slip it back in.

  The chime of Carson’s text message startles me from outside the closet. I feel sneaky and guilty for doing this behind his back, but I need Bianca out of our life for good. Once I get a confession from Sasha, I’ll have Carson handle the legal stuff. I dash back into bed and resume my fragile state before picking up the burner phone to read his text.

  Dinner’s almost ready. I’ll come get you soon. X C

  I’m pregnant. My legs still work. I’ll see you out there;) XOX Lil

  I reply and giggle to myself, imagining Carson’s overly dramatic reaction to my playful mocking.

  You’re pregnant and MINE. Stay put! I’m coming. X C

  He responds to my text and then appears at the bedroom entrance unexpectedly. “Lil, are you really going to take away my fun of spoiling my pregnant and very soon to be wife?” Carson asks as he moves in a prowling manner—slow, calculated and dangerous. Shaking my head, I shrink into the sinking pillows, wishing they’d swallow me in. This man is used to always having his way, being an only child as well a billionaire. It’s unlikely that I’ll be the one to put an end to his rotten habits. “Good girl. I’d hate to have to make another point,” he stresses, curling his lips up on one corner. I think he’s reminding me of my repercussions, so I don’t make the same mistake again and deprive him of his demands.