Clara’s face twists. "You structured it this way on purpose! You’re manipulating the books just like I taught you!"
"No," I smile. "I'm just finally building something you can't steal. I am doing the right thing for once and I'm building a community and a business at the same time. I plan to create several communities around the United States using a similar model, so we are taking this slowly to make sure that we get the logistics right. Your gravy train has left the station, Clara. and while we're on the subject I would like you to meet my fiancée Juliet." I wave my hand to Juliet as her signal to walk in with the paperwork. “This was actually her brain child. She envisioned the model we’re using and designed the overarching scope of the enterprise. We also have a private project that we’re working on together, just the two of us. It will be taking most of my time, energy, and love.” I bring Juliet into me. “We’re having a baby,” I tell her as Juliet hands Clara the paperwork.
She snatches it out of Juliet’s hands and heads out the door, stopping to say, “Fuck you both. You deserve him, you little cunt. Don’t expect more from Marcel than his cock and his pathetic excuses.” She spins and walks down the aisle. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer,” she shouts over her shoulder.
“That’s great,” Juliet says quietly. “I love cock and pathetic excuses.” She smiles and we both laugh. “You don’t have to worry about me,” she says sarcastically. “I don’t have a lawyer.”
“Well, if you did, you’d learn that half of what I own will be yours in a year’s time when you say, I do.” I kiss her and Juliet flushes with heat.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Juliet
I still can’t believe this is our house. Every time I walk through the little arched doorway into the cozy living room, I get a wave of disbelief, as if I’ve stepped into someone else’s dream. The townhouse is historical and full of quirks: uneven wooden floors, crown molding that’s chipped but charming, windows that creak when you open them. And then there’s the backyard, small but ours, with the view of the ocean glinting in the distance. This home, right next to Eaton, is perfect for us. We’ll live here when we visit Gran and while we’re working on the Eaton Project which we expect, with all of its phases, will last at least three years, perhaps more.
Gran wants to live in her own apartment when we’re in Rhode Island, so she doesn’t stay with Marcel and me, but we have a standing Friday dinner with Gran and Sundays are family days where she comes to us, or we go to her and watch movies, talk, and play cards.
Today our little townhouse in Rhode Island is buzzing with excitement and people. My family’s here and Gran is the center of everything, beaming like she owns the place. All of Marcel’s friends have come with the kids and Cayden is able to make it this time after winning the hockey championships in Canada. The kids are all fisting juice boxes and their dads carry tall glasses in hand, with amber liquid sloshing between ice cubes. Ah, these men and their scotch. They are laughing and teasinglike they’ve known me forever. I laugh too, but as the baby grows I’m starting to feel a little like a bloated beach ball.
I’m seven months pregnant and fully in my third trimester. We wanted to do the gender reveal earlier, but neither Marcel nor I had the guts to look at the envelope the doctor gave us a few months back. I finally gave it to Gran and she knows the results.
“You are going to be surprised but happy,” she told us and so we planned the gender reveal party with all of our friends.
There’s cake and appetizers on every flat surface, and Gran knitted baby blankets, hats, and little baby socks which are strung across the mantle. Everywhere I look there’s some tiny reference to babies: rattles, teddy bears, pastel balloons.
I smooth my white dress over my belly; it accentuates the bump. Marcel’s obsession with my pregnant belly borders on comical; he can’t keep his hands off me. Every chance he gets he’s brushing his palm against the curve, like he still doesn’t quite believe it’s real. And then he brushes my ass, my tits, and we retreat to our bedroom where we’ve had more sex than two people should. We are always hot for each other. I think pregnancy has made me perpetually horny and that doesn’t bother Marcel at all.
We gather everyone outside as the sky softens with cloudy afternoon light. Marcel and I stand in front of two powder cannons. The chatter quiets, as anticipation crackles around us.
“Okay,” I say, laughing nervously. “So far, the predictions are ... seven for a boy and five for girl.”
“Seven for a boy because, apparently, I’m too dominant to make a daughter,” Marcel drawls, shaking his head with mock seriousness.
“And five for a girl because they say I’m fierce enough to handle one,” I add, rolling my eyes. Laughter ripples through the crowd. “Truthfully, Marcel and I are happy with any gender. We know we will love our little real estate tycoon slash historical building restorer whether it’s a boy or a girl,” I joke.
“We thought our little Rayne was going to be a dancer,” Scarlett interjects with a laugh. “Nope. She’s getting A’s in science and wants to be a bio engineer. You just never know.”
Beckett's has his arms around Scarlett’s pregnant belly.
“Can’t wait to see what baby five will be.” Beckett kisses Scarlett’s neck and she blushes.
“Well, I can see how that happened,” I talk out of the side of my mouth whispering at Marcel.
“Just to let you know, I’m getting clipped after three,” he whispers. “Deal?”
“Deal.” We smile and there’s something super sexy about wanting a billion kids with your wife, but we have other plans for our lives.
“Well, who knows,” Selena interjects. “Our little fella is a pretty good negotiator, he might be a lawyer like his daddy.” And more love sparks the air when she and Griffin look at each other and then their beautiful little three year old boy.
Thad looks at his boyfriend and the two of them laugh. “Well, maybe someday?” Thad asks in his cute over-exaggerated manner.
“Definitely,” his boyfriend answers and they look at each other like there is no one else in the world.
“I know that look,” Marcel nuzzles my ear. “Makes me want to ditch this and take you upstairs.”
“Oh, please take me upstairs ... soon. I’m dying for you.” I answer by nuzzling his neck while our guests laugh at us.
Gran pipes up from the back, “Well, blow the cannon so we’ll all know!”
