by A. E. Murphy
I smile wryly and suggest, “Beatrix.”
“Beatrix?” He questions and I nod eagerly. He tests the name out a few times. “I like that.”
I sing a note of Hallelujah and then hold out my hands. “Give me my baby.”
He smiles, kisses her forehead and gently places her into my arms. I never thought I could love somebody as much as I love her right now. She’s the greatest.
Even though she ruined my vagina.
“I love her so much,” I say tiredly and then yawn as I gaze upon her peacefully sleeping, scrunched up body. “Little fatty.”
“She needs a brother,” Tobias declares, but I choose to not hear that at all.
If he thinks I’m going through that again he has another thing coming.
Lockhart
DADDY!” Bea squeals with glee as I race to my parent’s front door with her on my shoulders. “FASTER, DADDY!”
“But we’re here,” I say, dropping her forward and into my arms after coming to a halt. The door opens and my mother holds open her arms for her grandchild to hop into.
I was right when I told Cerise that our kids would be wild. Bea is a little brat. I can hardly keep up with her but I adore every second of it.
“Why can’t I come?” Bea suddenly realises I’m leaving, her three-year-old mind far too sharp.
“Because I’m taking you swimming!” My mother declares happily and Beatrix cheers loudly, her arms in the air.
“Is that my little bumblebee?” My dad comes into the hall, wiping his hands on a tea towel.
He and I still aren’t quite right, but we are better than we were, thanks to Cerise’s insistence on us reconciling. If it wasn’t for her I doubt I’d have bothered. I was too sore over what happened to her because of his games.
“BUBBY!” Bea squeals and scrambles out of my mother’s arms to climb up my dad like a tree. He finds it hilarious, especially when she calls him bubby instead of granddad. He never let us climb him like that as children, nor did my mother let us eat as many sweets as they sneak my daughter. I try not to be sour about it but it’s hard not to.
“I love it when she calls him that,” Mum sighs, squeezing my arm and watching the two of them play and chat as they disappear from the hall. She smiles wickedly at me. “Does Cerise have a clue what you’re doing?”
“Definitely not.” I raise an eyebrow. “She’d run away.”
“She loves you. She’d never run from you.”
“We shall see.” I kiss her cheek and turn back to my car. “I have to go and pick her up. I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Have fun!”
Cerise chats on her phone all the way to where it is we’re going. She doesn’t know yet that I have a surprise for her, which is good because she’d only do my nut in with the constant questioning about what it is and where it is.
She simply believes we’re going to pick up a friend who has just arrived in the city from Barcelona, so when we pull up to a bay full of yachts by the Thames at the edge of London, she doesn’t question it. In fact she doesn’t even look up from her phone. I take this moment to admire her beauty. She doesn’t fully realise how stunning she is and how stunning I think she is.
As arrogant as she can be about her looks, it’s only ever in good fun and I know that, as comfortable as she is in her own skin, she constantly worries about what I think of her. Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and tell her I love her, no matter what colour she puts in her hair.
I clear my throat but she holds up a finger, telling me to wait.
“Cerise, your attention please,” I snap, taking her phone from her after waiting longer than a minute.
“Hey,” she whines, but I know she’s not too upset.
I climb from the car and round it to her side before she opens the door herself.
When she exits, she throws her arms around my neck and kisses me in a way that only Cerise can kiss, so passionate but so short. It leaves me wanting more every single time. Such a tease.
“He wants us to join him for a drink.” I lie because there is no him.
“Okay.” She takes my fingers and pulls them around her shoulder until she’s tucked into my side. “Are you looking forward to seeing him?” She looks around and, before I can answer, she adds, “Yikes, these bitches are just getting bigger and bigger. You’ve got to have a really small penis to want a yacht that size.”
I clear my throat and don’t respond, because when we reach the yacht in question, she bursts into a fit of giggles.
“Oops… I’m sure your friend has a lovely penis.”
“Please stop talking about penis unless it’s about mine,” I comment, kissing the top of her head and pulling her onto the wooden steps that lead onto the beautiful white yacht.
We step onto the deck and are greeted by the servers I hired for the evening. The heat lamps warm the area around the hidden table that holds such a cliché dining set up for two.
I’m starting to rethink this entire plan. It’s too cheesy. I never should have listened to Drake. I should have just presented her the yacht and demanded she marry me.
“So, where’s your friend?” She asks, looking at the table for two with her lips pinched.
She is trying so hard not to laugh.
Fuck.
“Is he umm… into you romantically?” This time she does laugh and the servers all look at each other as though they don’t know how to process this.
“Shut it.” I smack her rear and pull out her chair as she continues to laugh so hard she snorts, which only sets me off.
“Just bring the starter and the vodka,” I sigh after calming myself, waving to the female who stands patiently to the side watching this bizarre exchange.
“Oh, wait, no vodka!” She calls after the woman and then speaks to me as though telling me that it’s going to rain tomorrow. “I forgot to tell you; I’m knocked up, so I can’t drink.”
My lips part. My heart swells. The thought of another child with Cerise is an amazing one, but her delivery is not exactly what I would have expected.
I expected more than, ‘hey I’m knocked up’.
“You couldn’t have told me on the way here?”
“I forgot.” She shrugs, then smiles cheekily. “Sorry?”
“You forgot? How do you bloody forget something as important as that?”
“I was on the phone, remember?”
“Right.” I rub my temples.
“So,” she motions to our surroundings, “what’s with the get up? Whose boat is this?”
“It’s yours,” I state in exactly the same manner that she stated our pregnancy moments ago.
Her jaw hits the floor when I place a toy replica of this yacht on the table between us.
“You called it Wild One?” She squeaks in the same tone one would squeak when receiving a puppy, not a yacht. “Oh my goodness! You got me a yacht? Why?”
“It’s the only thing you’ve ever asked me for.”
I watch her rack her brain for the time she asked me for a yacht. It was back when we first met and I’ll never forget it. It’s funny the things that stick with us.
“You’re so random.” She grins, standing and coming to sit on my lap. I let her kiss me all over my face before forcing her lips to mine and humming when she does that thing with her tongue that I love. “A yacht,” she giggles, pulling back and shaking her head in disbelief. Her eyes twinkle with humour and love, the kind of love I thought I’d go through life living without. Every day with Cerise is like a day in heaven. “I love my yacht and its name is bad-ass. But…” There is always a but. “You do know I can’t drive this thing, right?”
“I’m not a complete imbecile.” I place my hand on her stomach and squeeze gently, so gently, with the pads of my fingers. “Are you sure you’re pregnant?”
“Oh definitely. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.” She shrugs and pops a piece of bread into her mouth. “I found out weeks ago, back in Vegas.”
�
�You fucking found out in Vegas?” Is she for real?
“I’m sorry!” She looks genuinely regretful but I’m fucking furious. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up until I got to see a doctor to confirm it and I didn’t get to see my doctor until last week, and then I couldn’t find the right time to tell you!”
I just stare at her, wishing I could stay mad, but this is Cerise. Why did I expect any different?
Which brings me to the question, why the hell did I do all of this for her?
“I’m guessing I’m around fourteen weeks,” she goes on after swallowing the bread. “I think it’s a boy because I’m not having any more after this and I know how much you want a boy. They say if you think it enough then it happens… what’s that called? Where you envision it or something? I don’t know, but if we keep saying it’s a boy, it’ll be a boy.”
While she’s rambling, I pull the ring from my pocket after opening the box discreetly. I was going to do the whole get down on one knee thing but after seeing her react to this stupid set up, I’ll only embarrass myself. So I do it in a way I know she’ll love and won’t say no to.
I take her hand as she rambles on about visions or some bullshit and slip it onto her finger. She’s so engrossed in whatever the fuck it is she’s saying that she doesn’t notice until I push it right to the base. It fits perfectly, a gorgeous Cerise pink stained diamond on a bed of black and white diamonds. It’s exactly her. It’s also one of a kind and cost nearly as much as this yacht.
“Ooooh this is pretty!” She exclaims, holding her hand up to the light.
“I’m marrying you, when you’ve popped out this one, so we can go on a decent honey moon. Just the two of us.”
“You’re marrying me?” She repeats, her lips tipping up at the edges.
“Yes.” I state, keeping my usual cool demeanour in place when my heart is actually racing inside. Cerise has made it perfectly clear how she feels about marriage, so there’s still every chance that she’ll say no.
“Okay.” She smiles, looking at the jewel on her finger.
“Okay?” My heart stops racing and instead starts hammering with a happiness I can’t contain. It makes me feel surprisingly aroused.
“Uh-huh,” she confirms and then pops another piece of bread in her mouth. “Thank god you didn’t put it in a glass of wine.”
“I was going to get down on one knee actually.” I bite my lip when she howls with laughter and kisses me, still laughing. “I’m glad I did it this way.”
“You captured a Wild One on the Wild One,” she mutters, stroking my cheek with her hand and running her nose along mine. “Corny as fuck. I didn’t know you had that level of soppy in you, Lockhart.”
“Shut it,” I mumble, sucking her lower lip into my mouth. “I love you, so much.”
“I love my yacht.”
THE END
As always I have been fortunate enough to have an entire team of people who support my work and I am so grateful! So very grateful, but I’m using this space in this book for a different reason this time. Because you know how much I love you all already.
So I’m giving up your space to write this brief plea to my readers, to just please empathise with those around you, especially young men. Did you know the biggest killer of men under the age 45 is suicide?
Not everybody can afford the treatment needed to save their lives, physical illnesses aren’t the only illnesses that kill. Suicide isn’t always a choice, it’s a cure to their warring feelings. It’s the end of everything that hurts.
Say hi to your neighbours today, if you see a FB post or something on social media that concerns you, reach out a hand and just say hi. Your hello could be the one thing that brings a person back over from that edge. Your ability to listen could save a life. Don’t take your power as an individual person lightly. You are one in a crowd of many but that doesn’t mean you and your feelings aren’t important.
Just because there are worse things in the world, doesn’t mean your issues are inferior. Let yourself feel so you can heal.
Much love, Alex.
A. E. Murphy is the queen of sarcasm and satire, she likes long walks in the park, as much as ice cubes like to chill in a roasting oven.
She’s effortlessly independent and so good at adulting it’s unfair on the rest of the world. She only napped twice today and has only avoided the dishes for three days before making the child slaves do them this morning.
Winning!
Her favourite hobby is writing, her worst hobby is reading through that writing.
Also, she has two cats that carry toys to the top of the stairs and drop them down so they can chase them. They do this repeatedly in the middle of the night.
Who cares if she has work the next morning?
Not the cats, that’s for sure.
And if it’s not the cats doing the waking, it’s the toddler crawling into bed with her and pulling individual hairs from her scalp with pudgy little fingers for comfort.
This is likely why she’s in a constant state of grump unless there’s chocolate and coffee.
P.S. Please leave feedback, if not on the book then on this ridiculous bio she wrote herself. It’s the least you can do seeing as she’ll forever talk in the third person now.
Alex loves her readers. Alex says thank you. Alex smiles.
To get in touch with me please use the following.
[email protected]
The Little Bits Series
A Little Bit of Crazy
A Little Bit of Us
A Little Bit of Trouble
A Little Bit of Truth
The Distraction Trilogy
Distraction
Destruction
Distinction
The Broken Trilogy
Broken
Connected
Forever
A Broken Story
Disconnected (Dillan)
Standalone Novels
Masked Definitions
Sweet Demands Trilogy
Lockhart
Lockdown
Unlocked