I giggle, tilting the magazine in my lap and showing him the photographs of us there. “Speaking of writing . . . Did you know that we’re apparently having triplets?”
Before Patton can examine it, Bob saunters over to see what I’m pointing at. He places his large head on my swollen belly, effectively covering the magazine photos, and stares at me with those droopy eyes I’ve come to love so much.
It’s his way of asking for pets. That, or he somehow senses when I’m even slightly worked up.
I scratch his long ear. “I’m fine, buddy. Just annoyed that, with all their fancy cameras, the paparazzi always manage to make me look like a troll.”
Bob heaves a dramatic sigh, and I can practically hear him say, “I hear you, sister. They never get my good side, either”. Then, as if he’s been reminded of his great misfortunes, he trudges back toward his dog bed with his head lowered to find one of his many treasures.
Earlier this month, Patton helped me get the house Christmas-ready. After so many years of not having a real tree, we picked one out and decorated it while one of Patton’s films,The Claus and Effect, played in the background. It’s the one where he played a marriage counselor helping Santa and Mrs. Claus through their tumultuous relationship. We laughed, nibbled on peppermint bark, and sipped cider.
It took us twice as long as it should have to get the tree up, given we took frequent breaks to give each other orgasms, but we got the job done. Not to mention, we even had help from Bob. Thanks to his generosity, three of my bras are artfully draped over our classy Douglas fir.
That definitely made for an interesting conversation with my family when we hosted Christmas Eve dinner at our house a few days ago.
“Sweetheart, I’m glad to see you’ve ‘chilled out’ a bit, like you kids like to say,” Dad had remarked, giving our tree a once-over like a high school mean girl. “You know, limited checklists, less organizing, fewer over-fluffed pillows . . . all progress.” His eyes slid to the bras dangling off the branches and then to Bob, snoring near the fireplace. “But letting the dog turn Christmas into a lingerie yard sale might be taking things too far, don’t you think?”
I’d pursed my lips because what Dad didn’t know was, just that morning, we’d caught Bob marking one of the lower branches with a well-aimed tinkle. Let’s just say once we cut the branch off and cleaned up the floor, I had to light some additional cinnamon-scented candles just to make the house smell extra festive before everyone arrived.
Patton leans over to glance at the glossy photo spread of us from Cabo with a headline that reads,Hollywood’s Heartthrob Jumps Headfirst into Fatherhood with Estranged Ex.
Despite all the security, the pictures are from our afternoon walk on the beach in Cabo. I wasn’t even showing back then, but sure enough, there’s a red arrow directed at my then-flat belly.
The caption reads:Insiders speculate that the couple is expecting not just one, but three babies! Could this be a ploy for ex-wife Nisha Arora to claw her way back into the glamorous life of the multi-millionaire, multi-award-winningactor? Sources say she’s been in dire financial distress, having seen her come out of a homeless shelter.
I snort. “Oh, please. First of all, that wasn’t a baby bump, that was the burrito I inhaled for lunch. The only real food I was able to keep down all weekend, mind you. Second, ‘dire financial distress’?! I love how, apparently, I’m gunning for your bank account. Joke’s on them because I’m only in this for the orgasms and foot massages.”
Totally not the whole truth, but I can’t deny that the pregnancy hormones have made me insatiable. I literally want the man twenty-four/seven.
Anyway, unlike my sister, who hates everything to do with being in the spotlight, preferring to stay as far away from the media as possible, I’ve never been too bothered. Even when Patton and I were married, I’d wave at the hidden camera poking out from a bush or smile at the flashing lights when we stepped out for dinner.
It was part of being with someone as high-profile as Patton. It still is.
Do I enjoy being watched or having dumb articles written about me? No, but I also don’t stress about it, and I definitely don’t let it get to me.
For all intents and purposes, they’re just doing their job. Sure, they’re spreading rumors, but in the end, that’s exactly what they are: rumors. As long as the close small circle I trust knows the real me, I don’t give two shits what anyone else thinks.
“Just orgasms and foot massages, huh?” Patton tickles the bottom of my foot, making me squeal. “And here I thought you were with me for my Adonis looks and irresistible personality.”
“Please. Your personality is seventy percent ego and thirty percent historical trivia.”
He clutches his chest like I’ve physically wounded him. “You’re telling me you didn’t find it fascinating that men with mustaches in the Victorian era used special cups so their mustaches stayed dry? Or that Americans called hamburgers ‘liberty steaks’ during World War II because hamburgers sounded too German?”
“Yes.Riveting. Truly, you’re the master of pillow talk.”
He tickles me again. “And seventy? Babe, my ego should get at least ninety-percent. It’s my best asset!”
“Dear God, what if our child inherits your humility? Or your obsession for random facts.”
Still chuckling, he pulls me closer so my back is to his chest. Placing a kiss on my temple, his hand finds my belly. It’s something I find him doing often, even waking up with his hand at my belly protectively. “I hope she inherits everything else from you, because then she’ll be perfect, just like her mom.”
I look up at him. “I’m going to need you to kiss me now.”
I feel the movement inside my stomach as soon as his lips drop against mine, like she knows her dad’s hand is right there for her to touch.
Both our gazes drop to where his hand rests, and Patton starts to rub his thumb on the spot where he feels her.
“She’s saying hello,” I whisper.
