Chapter 22
Death would be a welcome vacation right now. The cool porcelain of the toilet seat pressed into my forearm as it supported my head. I focused on breathing. Slow in, slower out, while my stomach staged what felt like a full-blown rebellion.
“Get it together,” I muttered to myself as I tried to lift my head. I didn’t have time for this.
I had a wedding to attend. A full day of smiling, hugging, making small talk, and pretending the man I loved was still my boyfriend. All the while my body was secretly growing his child and reacting violently to toothpaste.
The vomiting and the constant nausea were getting out of control. Those baby books said it should ease up after a few weeks. That it was normal. As if morning sickness was a rite of passage pregnant women joked about while sharing crackers and ginger ale.
Liars. They were all liars.
I couldn’t even keep a cracker down right now if I tried. And I sure as hell didn’t want to joke about it. I wanted to die.
But no. I couldn’t. I had a wedding to attend.
I breathed through another wave of nausea. “Just get through today,” I muttered to myself. Then I could finally tell Wy, and I could stop being a lying jerk keeping this from him. I could go home, put on some sweats, and curl up on the couch with what little dignity I had left.
With a deep breath, I sat upright and pushed to my feet. I grabbed the sink and held on as I dared a glance in the mirror. Red puffy eyes greeted me, thanks to my cryfest before Wy made it back to the room. My hair looked like a llama licked the back of it, and my skin had a lovely green hue.
“Perfect.” Just how every pregnant woman is portrayed in magazines and films.
I splashed water on my face and pressed a cool washcloth to the back of my neck.
A knock sounded at the door. “You alive in there?” Wyatt’s concerned voice drifted in.
“Define alive,” I said without thinking.
There was a pause. “That doesn’t sound promising.”
I opened the door and forced a smile. “I’m fine,” I lied automatically. Something I was getting too good at lately.
My stomach rolled, and I inhaled through my nose, biting my cheek in hopes of distracting my system.
“Stomach again?” he asked. “You didn’t drink much last night.”
“I think it was all that traveling yesterday and surviving on airport food. Not a spring chicken anymore. Can’t survive on a bag of chips and a stick of cheese. I need vegetables and more protein.”
“Then we’ll make sure to get you a big breakfast.”
My stomach lurched at the idea, but I managed not to show it. “That’d be great.” At this rate, I’d have no dignity left.
“I just need to…” He motioned toward the bathroom.
“Oh right!” I moved out of his way, using my hands to present a path like Vanna White revealing letters. “All yours.”
“I’ll be fast. Then how about I order us some room service while you shower?”
My stomach tightened at the thought of food, but I managed to keep from physically retching. “You don’t think Chris and Cynthia will want to go to breakfast with us?”
“I have a feeling Chris will be slow going this morning. And one look at a waffle will send Cynthia into a rant about his horrible gift-giving skills.” We both laughed softly before he continued. “Besides. It’s going to be a long day. I’d rather—”
I nodded, not needing him to finish. He wanted to enjoy the silence for a little while longer before he had to be the life of the party.
I didn’t blame him. It exhausted him when he was hyped about it.
But now with everything, having to pretend when he probably wanted to retreat into himself, it was going to be a long day.
“Room service sounds great.”
Thirty minutes later, I threw up twice, brushed my teeth three times, showered, and finally felt well enough to exit the bathroom without having to run back to the toilet.
Wyatt sat on the edge of the bed when I stepped out, a towel wrapped around my body, hair piled into a messy knot. His eyes glanced up immediately, concern flickering across his face.
“Color’s better. Less zombie chic.”
“I was going for undead Victorian orphan, but I’ll take less green.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, then stood, giving me space while still hovering. “I got you some peppermint tea. Thought that might help settle your stomach.”
My eyes snapped to him, my entire body softening as his gaze connected with mine. He always did the right thing. I didn’t even think he tried. It was just in his nature to be good. He could hate me—as he should—and he’d still take care of me.
I took the mug from his hands, the warmth seeping into my palms. “Thank you,” I said, though I thought and felt so much more gratitude than those two little words could ever convey.
“Of course,” he replied, as if there had never been a moment in time when he wouldn’t. He hovered a second longer, then backed away, giving me space.
I took a careful sip. The peppermint was mild, soothing, and exactly what I needed.
“You don’t have to,” I said, almost too softly. I was afraid he didn’t hear me, but it was Wyatt. He was always in tune with me.
His eyebrows drew together before arching toward his forehead. “Don’t have to what?”
“Take care of me. Not anymore.” I lost that privilege the minute I ended us.
Something unreadable flashed across his face before a smile curved his lips. “Habit, I guess.”
I stared down into the mug so I wouldn’t see the way he looked at me, as if I was still his and he was the luckiest guy in the world.
I leaned on the dresser, towel cinched tight around me, the tea still warming my hands. The weight of it all pressed heavily against my chest, and for a moment, it almost felt normal. Almost like we were just getting ready for another friend's wedding.
And that was the problem.
Pretending with Wyatt was the easiest thing in the world because I wasn’t pretending.
Wyatt was my safe place, my happy, warm cocoon that brought me peppermint tea when my tummy hurt, who held my hair back when I puked, who would go along with anything I wanted because all he cared about was making me happy.
When this wedding was over, and I finally told him the truth, our lives were going to change. I had no idea how that would look, but I knew Wyatt would be there for me and our baby every single step of the way. Not because he was obligated, but because he loved me.
I knew he did. He wanted me back. He told me as much.
And I loved him too. I was sick and tired of pretending I didn’t.
Of thinking life without him was the best thing for me.
Hell, Cynthia and Chris were engaged, and half the time I wondered if they even liked each other.
Maybe Wyatt was right. Maybe a ring and a wedding meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Our love had already experienced all the tribulations of marriage. So what if I didn’t get the party and the dress so I could proudly stand in front of my family and friends? The dress, the ceremony, none of that proved Wyatt and I loved each other any more than we already did.
It was just an excuse to spend money and party.
I pushed off the dresser and placed my tea on the table.
“Is it too hot?” Wyatt asked.
“It’s not what I want,” I said.
He pointed toward the phone. “I can call room service and get you whatever you want.”
I moved closer and stopped in front of him. I shook my head, my hands reaching for the knot of my towel. “All I want is you.” I undid the knot; the towel fell from my body and pooled at my feet. Wyatt inhaled, eyes widened as his hungry gaze swept down before settling on my eyes.
“We shouldn’t,” he said.
“I’m sick of pretending I don’t want you.” My voice was steady, though my heart was anything but.
Wyatt’s jaw tightened, his hands flexing at his sides like they were fighting the instinct to grab me.
He didn’t touch me. Not yet. He wouldn’t cross a line unless he was invited, and even then, he had to make sure.
“Rosebud,” he said, the nickname carrying more weight than it ever had before. “If we do this—”
“I know,” I whispered. “I know what it means.”
The hunger in his gaze softened, giving way to something deeper, heavier. He brushed a strand of damp hair from my face, his knuckles grazing my cheek.
“This isn’t a mistake,” he said. “You aren’t. None of this is.”
My throat constricted. “Neither are you.”
For a moment, we just stood there, me bare, him fully clothed, both of us exposed in ways clothes had nothing to do with. Then he leaned in and pressed his forehead to mine.
“Come here,” he murmured.
He tugged me into his arms, wrapping me up in his warmth, in his welcome comfort. Home. His finger tilted my head back, his mouth descended before he captured my lips in a fiery passion of need.
A moan rumbled in my throat as I grabbed for him, hands fumbling for the hem of his shirt.
I hooked my fingers into the cotton and yanked it over his head, tossing it behind us.
His hand went to my ass, squeezed, eliciting a moan from both of us before he walked us to the bed.
He hit the mattress and collapsed onto the comforter.
I climbed on top of him, but before I could position myself, he tossed me beneath him.
He glanced down at me, his hand roaming my side, before slipping between my legs. I sucked in a ragged breath, waiting for that familiar feeling, then he froze. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Wy, don’t you dare stop.” My body arched as his thumb found my clit, and he stroked circles over the swollen nub.
I cried out, desperate for his fingers to slip inside of me. He continued to caress, using my moisture to glide smoothly.
“You’re so wet,” he said as if he was surprised at how utterly ravenous I was for him.
He dipped his head, taking my nipple between his lips.
The touch was almost too much; every nerve ending felt amplified, the pleasure brighter, deeper, more intense than ever before.
A sharp rush of sensation shot straight through me, stealing the breath from my lungs.
His tongue swirled around the tightened bead, lashing out and sending sparks of desire coiling through my body.
His thumb traced my slick seam, his tongue swirled, and then he sucked my nipple hard as he thrust his finger deep inside me.
A cry tore from my throat but was quickly smothered by Wyatt’s lips.
He kissed me as if he were a man dying of thirst and I were the first drop of water after a long, brutal drought.
My hands flattened on his face, holding him close as I kissed him with equal desperation. I didn’t just want him; I needed him in ways I had forgotten.
His mouth dragged from mine as he kissed a path down my neck. He stopped, gaze meeting mine. “Your boobs look fantastic… and supersensitive,” he said before taking my nipple between his teeth again.
My body arched into him, creating a path for him to follow. He inched down, kissing as he went, stopping just above where his fingers still worked inside me.
For a second, he just stared as if he were reacquainting himself with an old friend. The thought made me smile, and I almost laughed, but then I realized what he was about to do. I had read in a pregnancy book that air could—
His mouth was on me, tongue slashing across my clit, fingers pumping inside of me, and the world spun away from me, tossing me into a spiral of pleasure so intense all I could do was claw the comforter and hold on.
His finger curled, hitting the right spot because he knew exactly where it was. A string of expletives flew from my mouth as waves of heated bliss slammed into me. My body went limp as I drowned in the aftermath, soaking it in.
The bed moved, Wyatt’s weight shifted away from me, but by the time I popped my eyes open, he was already hovering over me. His hard length pressed against my thigh, his hand cupping my cheek as those golden-brown eyes stared down at me.
“We can’t go back,” he said.
“Back to what?”
“Pretending.”
I placed my hand on his, gaze holding his. “I don’t want to go back.”
He thrust into me, fingers lacing with mine, and the world didn’t just spin away—it faded completely.
My eyes focused on the adorable wrinkles on Wyatt’s forehead as he slowly eased out of me before pushing back in.
Pleasure and relief flooded his features, and it didn’t just feel like home.
It felt like two lost puzzle pieces finding their way back to the grand picture.
Fitting perfectly into their parts of the whole that made each other one.
He stilled, dropping his forehead to mine, and it wasn’t the rush that undid me. No. It was the way he smiled, like he couldn’t believe we found our way back to each other again.
If only he knew my heart had never left. Eleven years ago, he had branded it with his name, claimed it as his. So while it was always mine, I was more of its keeper, like a painting on loan at a museum. I was the vessel that held it, but it belonged to Wyatt.
Hot moisture pressed against my eyes at the heartache I’d caused us all for a piece of paper to tell us we belonged together.
I didn’t need that piece of paper. Paper was fragile, destructible.
The love I had for Wyatt defied the laws of physics.
It was infinite, imperishable. It was the greatest gift he could ever give me.
Fuck the ring. I didn’t need it. Not anymore.
“I love you.” The words fell effortlessly from my lips as if they’d been teetering on the edge, waiting for their time.
Wyatt didn’t hesitate.
“I love you, too,” he said like it was the easiest truth he’d ever spoken. His hands framed my face, thumbs brushing away the tears I hadn’t even realized had fallen. “I never stopped.”
“Me either. I just lost my way for a minute.”
Emotion swelled in my chest, and Wyatt lowered his head, capturing my lips in a sweet, tender kiss. He started to move again, slow, toe-curling strokes that had me whimpering his name.
His fingers wrapped around my hip, his strokes quickened, and my slick walls tightened with each thrust, but his lips never left mine.
“You feel so fucking good,” he said. “God, I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.”
His tongue traced the curve of my bottom lip, slow and familiar as if he were relearning my mouth. He sank into the kiss, not rushed or hungry, just filled with everything we hadn’t said out loud.
I cherished the moment, relished every touch and kiss, knowing the secret I held could be the one thing that finally broke us.