“Whoa, why would you think that?”
Curious, I reached over to pick up the little pee stick and noted the pink plus. When I saw it, my heart swelled to what felt like twice its normal size. An intense sense of completion swept over me, a feeling of rightness that I never thought I’d experience. And it was all because of her.
She let out a little whimper. “Because you went from playboy to playing house with me, and now this—”
“Bess, stop.”
With a practiced move, I reached out and took her hand, then guided it to my pocket. She knew the drill already and reached her hand inside when I said, “Take it out.” When she slid her hand out, holding the ring, I took it from her and moved to one knee.
“Bess, will you marry me?”
That day was nearly a year ago. When I opened the door to our French country master bath tonight, floral-scented steam swirling around the large room, I was whisked back to the present—where my gorgeous wife lay naked in the tub in front of me. Her dark eyelashes fanned out over her cheeks as her head laid back against a small spa pillow—compliments of the WildFlower—and her arm was draped over the side of the tub.
On her hand was the ring I’d given her that day. The four-carat yellow diamond set in platinum was out of place in the middle of the wilderness where we currently lived, but Bess didn’t care.
“I never want to forget this day,” she’d told me that night after she got up off the bathroom floor. We’d had Chinese takeout outside by the pool, my hand resting on her still-flat belly. Looking at her hand, she’d said softly, “It’s too much, but so, so, so pretty. Every time I look down, I’m going to think of kissing you for the first time ... I don’t know why, I just am. Maybe because that’s when I gave you my heart.”
As for hearts, Bess had owned mine since the day she seated me for breakfast and I realized she was still alive. Maybe even since she stank like holy hell and collapsed on me in yoga. I might have found redemption with Bess, but I also found life. Amazing how two people, both stuck in despair, could come together and emerge stronger from the darkest of times. But we did.
Thank fucking God I’d picked that exact day to propose marriage, otherwise Bess would have never gone for it. She would have been completely convinced I’d asked her to marry me because of the baby, and would have driven me fucking crazy with arguments and questions.
Since there were as many wedding planners as muscle heads in South Beach, we tied the knot that week; there was no reason to wait. We said “I do” on the tiny patio of the Dylan with our hammock swinging in the background and Bess’s hair blowing in the ocean breeze. James was our only witness.
Seeing her currently naked, wet, and luscious in front of me, did I feel shortchanged in my time alone with Bess?
Of course.
Did I love anyone more than my daughter, Madison Jake Wrigley?
Absolutely not.
We named our daughter for Bess’s former supervisor, Maddie, who had helped bring us together by insisting she meet me for dinner. And of course for my brother, who had forced us to reconnect when I’d given up, whether I liked it or not.
With a full head of soft, curly brown hair, perfect little hands, and blue eyes just like Jake and me, Madison stole my breath—and my heart—from the moment I first saw her image on the 3-D ultrasound.
“Hey, babe,” Bess called to me, turning her head to the side and taking in my presence. Her voice was throaty and sultry.
Magnificent.
I sat on the edge of the tub in my suit, unbuttoning my shirt and pulling it off before I dipped my hands in the warm water and touched my wife.
“Hey.” Thoroughly engrossed, I scooped up some bubbles, then slid them along her arm, over her side cleavage, and around her taut nipple.
“How was the trip?” she asked, leaning her head back, her eyes closing as I circled her nipple again.
“Good, closed the deal. So, James?”
She opened one eye. “Yeah, he didn’t have anywhere to go for the holidays, so I invited him. And then the snow was coming, so he caught an earlier flight. He was just so excited ... you know James.”
I just nodded with a smirk. The guy had been torturing me for over a year, why should he stop now? What he wasn’t going to do was stop me from making love to my wife.
Little prick—let him continue to decorate my house.
“Plus, he misses us,” she added. “And he hasn’t seen the house since we moved in and the kitchen was finished.”
“I know,” I grumbled, then leaned in and kissed her, the water sloshing on my pants.
“Want to come in? Mad is fast asleep after a big day of James and snow ... and oatmeal cereal.”
