“Trick?”
“I really hope no one else is climbing into our bed with you.”
She snorts and rolls over to face me. “Hi, Daddy.”
“Hi, baby. You doing okay?”
“So much better now that you’re home.”
My eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough I can see her features, so I kiss her forehead and the tip of her nose. She hums and scoots as close as her stomach will let her. I brush my fingers over the bump, smiling when our kid kicks and then press my hand against the spot.
“Are you okay, Trick?”
“I am now.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re home.”
“I love you,” I whisper against her forehead and she mumbles out a response before she’s snoring again.
Forty-Five. You like that I’m powerful, right?
Tamara, February
I’m tired, my feet hurt, my belly is weighing me down and this damn kid refuses to budge. We’re a week away from my due date and I’ve had enough of being pregnant. I know once the baby is born, there’s a lot my body will go through before I’m fully healed. But seriously, can the baby get here now? A week feels like a million years.
Despite everyone telling me it’s okay to wear flats and not put too much effort into my clothes, I’ve gone above and beyond. It’s Vera’s engagement party and I don’t want to be a slacker. So far, all our aunts and uncles have said I’m glowing and look beautiful. I force smiles for their lies. I know how I look—exhausted, washed out even with layers of makeup and ready to murder everyone. Millie and Krys have been reminding me my face has now developed subtitles. I’m not someone with a resting bitch face and I don’t always express my feelings. This pregnancy has turned me into a monster.
I shift on my feet, regretting my decision to dress up. The heels are killing me and my back hurts. I’ve already gone to the bathroom a hundred times and this baby continues to tap dance against my bladder. If I didn’t love them or my husband-to-be as much as I do, I would be cursing them to the highest heavens. Besides, tonight is not about me.
“Dammit, Lotus. Why aren’t you sitting down?”
I grunt at the deep growl that follows and let him force me back into my seat. I’m part of the bridal party and yet, I can’t see the freaking bride. We’re at the first table and the whole universe is standing between me and the couple. I know what they look like and who they are, but I want to watch.
I sit with a huff, the pink tulle of my dress flutters, and I make a show of slumping back against my chair. Patrick rolls his eyes at my dramatics, but doesn’t say anything. He sits beside me and silently lifts my feet onto his lap. I press my lips together to stop from smiling. I did agree wearing a saree while this pregnant would be a nightmare, but I refused to give up my heels. He still brought a pair of flats along. A bag with extra things—including adult diapers and extra panties for when I can’t make it to the loo—sits under the table and he tosses my heels there as well.
“What was your plan here?” he asks while pressing his thumbs against the soles of my feet. “Shove everyone aside until they moved?”
“Why are they all standing here anyway? It’s not like there’s a line.”
“Everyone wants to see Vera and Elias.”
I blow a raspberry and cross my arms, adjusting them until they’re sitting on my belly. Patrick continues to massage my feet, paying special attention to my ankles. I’m too frustrated to be turned on by the act, but it still feels so good and I can’t help but moan. The relief of not wearing my heels and having this man care for me is too much.
“You should eat something,” he adds, nodding at the plate I didn’t realise he’d brought over. It’s piled high with dessert and I grin.
“How did you manage this? A waiter said the buffet wasn’t open yet.”
He smirks. “Used my fame to get my way.”
“You’re the best.” I pop a tiny eclair into my mouth and chase it with a piece of chocolate cake. Someone makes an announcement about the couple taking a break and suddenly the sea of humans moves and I can see my cousin. Her fake smile drops as she carefully lowers herself to the sofa set up for them. “We’re not doing this, okay?”
“Doing what?”
“An engagement party. No matter what our families say or want, we’re not doing it.”
Patrick laughs. “Okay. But why not?”
“I don’t want to fake smile for a million people I probably don’t know or remember and I definitely don’t want to be the centre of attention.”
