Chapter 57 Everett
EVERETT
Having learned more about Bea and the family she was born into, you wouldn’t think she’d be uncomfortable in a designer boutique, but that’s exactly how she looks as we follow the manager, Bea’s personal shopper for the next hour, around the store.
As much as I hate that she’s not enjoying this the way she should, I also don’t want to take her to Walmart to grab a few things. I want her to have clothes she's proud of, that she feels good in.
I hadn’t really considered how all of this was affecting her until I found her drowning in all the changes to her body last night.
All I wanted to do was fix it and make her see herself the way I do.
Yes, she’s changing. But not in a bad way. She’s just as hot as she was that first night. No—she’s hotter, because she’s growing my kid. Our kid. It’s fucking incredible.
“What about this one for your party?” Anita asks, spinning around with a floral, navy dress hanging from her fingers.
“Maybe,” Bea mumbles.
“Try it,” I state, just like I have everything else she’s suggested.
I don’t think there’s anything here that wouldn’t look amazing on Bea. If I didn’t think she’d kill me in my sleep, I’d ask Anita to bag up one of everything in Bea’s size and be done with it.
By the time we get to the fitting room, Anita has a rack full of things for Bea to try on.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Anita says, looking at an obviously anxious Bea lingering at the entrance to a cubicle.
“What’s going on up here, huh?” I ask, stepping up to her and gently tapping her temple.
The second the warmth of her body spreads down my front, I’m taken right back to our kiss against my car.
Goddamn, that was hot.
If I’m going to get away with things like that in public from here on out, we might find ourselves never at home. The thought makes me sad, because I love hanging out with her. But I really like kissing her, too…
“All of this, it’s…too much.”
“Sweetheart, nothing is too much for you or our baby. I want you to feel beautiful.”
Her eyes shutter. Needing to keep our connection, I reach out and tuck my fingers under her chin.
“Do you want to leave?” I ask. If she says yes and means it, I’ll take her hand and lead her straight out the front door and not look back.
Her eyes drift to the rack of clothes beside us. I’m not sure if she’s looking at one particular piece or all of it in general, but something tells me that despite how much she wants to fight all this, she won’t.
“I…I can’t afford all this stuff, and I don’t want your money,” she says quietly.
“I know you don’t. That’s never been in question.
You are a strong, independent woman who has proven time and time again that you can take care of yourself.
But it’s okay to let someone else take the reins for a bit.
Treat you to a few things you deserve for doing a spectacular job of growing his kid and making him smile more than he ever has in his life.
” A smile twitches at her lips. “I’m the he, in case you didn’t get that. ”
She laughs, and my body relaxes.
“Yeah, I got that.”
“So, what do you want to do?”
She glances at the clothes again before looking over her shoulder at the fitting rooms.
When her eyes come back to mine, I know she’s made a decision. The unease has been replaced with determination.
“Let’s do this.”
“Sounds good to me, sweetheart. And make sure you pick something hot for our date.”
“Maternity clothes aren’t hot, Everett.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
After helping her get the rack of clothes into the fitting room, I reluctantly close the curtain and drop onto the couch.
“You gotta show me,” I call.
She groans in response, but like a good girl, she does as she’s told.
Each outfit looks great on her, and I won’t lie, seeing that little bump showcased by properly fitting clothes does make my heart beat a little harder.
I might be getting used to the idea that I’m going to be a father, but while there’s no tangible evidence other than Bea living in my apartment and spending her mornings vomiting, it’s easy to push aside.
That bump, though…there’s no pushing that aside.
“I’m not showing you this one,” she calls, dragging me from my thoughts.
“What? Why not?” I ask, sitting forward with interest.
“It’s…it’s a little revealing.”
I rub my hands together. “Then you have to show me.”
“Everett,” she warns.
“I think it’s only right that as the father of your unborn child, I get the final say on whether something is too revealing or not.” And whether she’s going to be able to wear it out in public or if it’s just for home…
“That’s ridiculous,” she mutters.
“If you don’t come out here, I will come in there.”
She huffs before the curtain ripples.
“Holy shit,” I gasp, my eyes running down the length of her in the navy dress Anita picked up. “You look incredible.”
“My boobs are practically out,” Bea argues, tugging at the fabric.
“Hardly. Sure, it’s a little low cut, but damn, that’s a good thing. You have a great rack, sweetheart.”
Her cheeks heat at my compliment.
“You’re wearing that to the party.”
“Oh no,” she argues. “I couldn’t.”
“Get one of your girls to do your hair and makeup, and everyone will be jealous as fuck that you’re with me and not them.”
“Stop,” she begs.
But I can’t.
Instead, I push to my feet and stalk toward her. I grip her waist before backing her into the cubicle.
“W-what are you doing?” she whimpers as I stand her in front of the mirror, much like I did last night, and step behind her.
“Look at yourself, Bea.”
She swallows thickly but does as she’s told, her eyes running down the length of the dress. It pools at her feet, covering everything but her arms and her insane tits.
“If you were looking at Sienna right now, what would you tell her?”
She chews on her lip, refusing to answer.
“Bea, what would you tell your best friend if she looked like you do right now?”
“I’d…I’d tell her she looks hot. That she should have her hair off her neck, smoky eyes, and pink lips to pick up the flowers in the dress.”
“Would you tell her it’s too much?”
She shakes her head. “Never.”
“So why do you think it for yourself?”
“I just…I stepped away from a life in the spotlight a long time ago. I like being in the shadows, quietly doing my thing. And—”
“And then you met me,” I finish.
Her smile comes first, and then her laugh erupts.
“Yeah, and then I met you.”
“You’re too incredible to be hiding in the shadows, Bea. And if you’re mine, I’m gonna shout it from the rooftops.”
“That’s really unnecessary.”
I smirk at her. “Then people won’t believe any of it. You might not know this about me, but I’m not a quiet person.”
“I’m aware,” she mutters.
“If you’re mine, I want everyone to know how lucky I am to have you.”
“I’m not, though, not really.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “Aren’t you?”
The air crackles between us, but before either of us can say anything, Anita pops her head around the corner and gushes, “Oh, Bea, that looks like it was made for you. Tell me you love it.”
“She loves it, and we’re taking it,” I confirm before reluctantly stepping out of her cubicle and sitting my ass back on the couch to wait for her.
Despite her reluctance, we end up leaving with almost every item Bea took into the fitting room.
And I couldn’t be happier with the dress she chose to keep on to wear for our date tonight.
It’s a light summer dress that rests just above her knee with an elasticate waist to allow for bump growth, and it’s loose enough right now that I don’t think anyone would be suspicious.
“Thank you,” she says once I’ve placed all her bags in the trunk and joined her in the car.
“You don’t need to thank me, sweetheart.”
“Did you not see the cost of all that? I really do.”
“It was nothing. Now, is there anything else you need?”
She glances away from me, gazing out of the window.
“Bea?” I warn.
“Shoes. I need shoes.”
“Okay. Now? Or shall we go for dinner?”
“Definitely dinner first. I’m starving.”
“Me too,” I agree before putting the car into drive and heading toward the Italian restaurant I booked for our second date.
The drive is short, and before I know it, I’m walking around the hood of the car after demanding that Bea wait for me.
She does as she’s told, and the second I hold my hand out to help her, she slides her palm against mine and allows me to tug her from the seat, and I don’t stop until she almost collides with me.
“Whoa,” she gasps, her free hand pressing against my chest.
Reaching out, I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, loving that I don’t have to hold back touching her like I do when we’re at home.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”
Her eyes shutter and her lips part as if she’s about to argue. And right before any words spill free, I lean forward and steal them with a kiss.
It’s not like our last one, just a quick brush of our lips, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t just as potent.
“You look beautiful,” I whisper, just to really nail the point home.
With her hand in mine, I tug her away from the car and close the door.
“Whoa, this place is busy,” she comments as we walk toward the entrance.
“There’s a good chance we’ll be photographed tonight,” I confess, ducking my head low so it looks intimate.
“Right,” she says weakly. “I guess it’s a good thing I have a new dress then, huh?”
“There’s a method to my madness. You’re okay with this, right?” I ask, suddenly regretting bringing her out.
“We’ve got to make it look believable,” she says, but it sounds more like she’s convincing herself than assuring me of anything.
“We do.”
She rolls her shoulders back and holds her head high.
“Let’s do this.”
Unlike last time, we’re not seated in a back corner where we can remain hidden. Oh no, this time we’re right in the middle of the restaurant.
A few sets of eyes spot me as we take our seats, and I spot a couple of cell phones pointed in our direction. My stomach knots uncomfortably, and all I can hope is that we’re doing the right thing.
The food is incredible, but both of us are on edge the entire time, making me regret setting this up.
It was Hailee’s idea to get out and about more before the party.
I know our relationship is fake— I’m achingly aware of that every second of every single day.
But it’s never really felt like it. We get on so well, our relationship—whatever form that takes—has been as easy as breathing.
But this, tonight, sitting here in this restaurant, everything feels forced and fake, and I hate it.
Bea’s smile doesn’t meet her eyes like all the others she’s given me recently, and her laugh isn’t relaxed and happy; it’s tight and reserved as if she’s worried about what every single person in this restaurant is thinking of her.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out the second we’re safely in the car.
Despite being alone, she reaches over the console and twists her fingers through mine.
“None of this is your fault, Everett. It’s just…teething pain. In a few weeks, it’ll all get easier.”