“There was one stripper.”
I know it’s conventional to have strippers at bachelor parties—as cliché as it is, it’s still practically a mandatory time-honored tradition—but it’s hard not to think of Trevor looking at a perfectly proportioned, not-heavily-pregnant, nearly naked woman.
He obviously sees the disappointment on my face. “Babe, the only naked woman I want to look at is you.”
“Thank you for saying it, even if you’re basically obligated to as my husband-slash-fiancé.”
“I’m not just saying it, Ava. It’s true. Anyway, you have no idea.” He chuckles and kisses the tip of my nose. “The stripper was hilarious. I wish you could have seen it. She wore a prosthetic pregnant belly.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not. It was great. I’ll show you the pictures tomorrow.”
As he tells me all about the party and I recount every detail about the shower, emotions that have been building up all week finally break through, and I cry in his arms.
“I can’t believe they did all that.” My breath snags in my throat. “We have the best friends, don’t we? Do you know they said they don’t want to do coffee Tuesdays anymore after I’m gone?”
His hand runs soothingly down my arm. “Don’t be sad. We’ll make more friends.”
I sniff away the tears and paste on my best supportive wife smile. “Of course we will.”
I try hard not to reveal my true level of sadness. Because how can Inotbe sad about leaving these friends behind? Sure, we’ll make more. But deep down, I know no one could ever replacethesefriends. These tried and true, ride or die friends who have been there for me through good times and bad.
Looking on the bright side, I’ll have my man. I’ll have my baby. That will be enough for now.
Won’t it?
Chapter Fifty
Trevor
I’m not sure why I’m so goddamn nervous. It’s not as if we aren’t already married. But as I look out over the hundred or so guests, all awaiting Ava to walk down the aisle toward me, I’m suddenly sweating like a snowman at the equator.
“Dude,” Carter says, leaning toward me. “She’s not gonna bolt, you know.”
“Am I being that obvious?”
He shrugs. “I get it. To you it’s your first wedding. I’m sure I’d be nervous as hell, too. But trust me, you have nothing to fear. The two of you—” He stops talking and his eyes go wide. “Oh, wow.”
I look where he’s looking and, holy God, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sight. Ava is standing at the back of the aisle on the arm of my dad. She’s wearing an incredible cream-colored satin and lace gown designed and donated by Holland McQuaid, who is apparently a big-shot designer in Manhattan.
Her long honey-brown hair is upswept with wisps of curled tendrils framing her face. A veil sits atop her head, trailing tulle and lace down the back of her hair and past her shoulders.
The massive bouquet—peonies, of course—covers her belly, and if you didn’t know she was pregnant, you’d be shocked to hear it.
Awestruck gasps and lauded murmurs coming from the crowd let me know I’m not the only one mesmerized by her beauty.
I have no idea what the twenty-five-year-old me felt or thought the first time this happened, but if it’s anywhere in the vicinity of how I’m feeling now, I know I was a fortunate man.
As she makes her way toward me, the past seven months flash through my mind as if on a movie reel. And I realize I’m still a lucky man, despite the accident and the memory loss. I’m lucky because even after all the shit I put her through, she’s here in a wedding dress, willing to marry me for a second time. Willing to uproot her life so I can chase my dream.
It’s like I finally get it. Watching her walk toward me, as her eyes connect with mine and I get lost in her sandy brown pools, I finally get the meaning of unconditional love. It’s total. Complete. Absolute. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted… and more.
This feeling. It’s indescribable. It’s like I’ve won the largest lottery in the history of all lotteries.
Her eyes slam shut. Her gait slows. A harsh wince overtakes her gorgeous face. One of her hands loses its grip on the flowers and presses against her belly. For a moment, I tense. But then her smile returns, and a soft shake of her head lets me know it was just another Braxton Hicks contraction.
I laugh inwardly, because wouldn’tthatmake this wedding memorable?
