I glare at him. He grins back. Shameless.
“Fine,” I mutter. “But nothing ridiculous.”
“Define ridiculous.”
“No sequins. No feathers. No—”
“You’re really limiting my creative vision here.”
“Good.”
He’s already scrolling through his phone. Probably pulling outfits. Making plans. Being Jasper.
“I’m thinking emerald green,” he says. “Brings out your eyes. Shows off the pregnancy glow you’re starting to get.”
“I’m not glowing. I’m sweating.”
“Tomayto, tomahto.”
“That’s not how that expression works.”
“Also thinking heels. Nothing crazy. Two inches. Maybe three.”
“I can barely walk in flats right now.”
“Which is why we practice.”
Grandma’s watching us with amusement. “Let him dress you, Mary. What’s the harm?”
“The harm is he’ll put me in something I can’t sit down in.”
“I would never.” Jasper presses a hand to his chest. “I’m a professional. I know pregnant bodies. I dressed three pregnant actresses last month.”
“Were they actually pregnant or Hollywood pregnant?”
“Irrelevant.”
I turn back to the stove. Keep stirring the broth.
And realize something.
I like this. This life. This version of me.
The Mary who cooks with her grandma. Who has a best friend who insists on dressing her up. Who has two Russian bodyguards standing outside like sentinels. Who’s pregnant witha baby she never planned but already loves. Who’s waiting for a man who reads poetry and kills people and calls hermy love.
It’s messy. It’s complicated. It’s dangerous.
But it’s mine.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t want to be anywhere else.
“I like this version of me,” I say quietly.
Grandma looks up. “What?”
“This version. The one who’s here. Doing this. Being this.” I gesture vaguely at myself. “I spent so long trying to be someone else. Someone acceptable. Someone who fits in. And now I’m just… me. And it’s enough.”
“It’s more than enough,” Grandma says. “It’s everything.”
