39. Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Prosecco, Pregnancies + the Proper Play
Aspen
The champagne bubbles hiss in our glasses, a crisp, celebratory sound that fills Marlow’s living room. We’re all gathered around her—the Stand-Ins, back together again—to toast the newest addition to our tribe, little Maddy.
Watching Marlow cradle her daughter, I feel a strange, fluttering warmth in my chest. Maddy is absolutely perfect, a tiny bundle of soft sighs and miniature fingers.
“To Maddy,” Marlow says, raising her glass. “And to surviving the first month without losing my mind.”
“To Maddy!” we chime in unison.
Eslin takes a sip and leans back into the velvet sofa, eyeing the nursery gear scattered around. “I love her, truly, but seeing you in those nursing pads is the best birth control I’ve ever had. No, thank you.”
Tatum nods fervently, clutching her glass like a shield. “Seconded. I will be the ‘cool auntie” til I die. I have too many contracts to sign and too many flights to catch to be worried about a diaper bag.”
I look down at my own glass. I haven't touched it. The ginger ale I’ve swapped for prosecco looks identical to theirs, but the secret inside me is starting to feel like a living thing. I look at my girls. The women who have seen me at my messiest, my most guarded, and my most impulsive lately.
“Well,” I say, my voice catching just enough to make them all freeze. “I have a bit of an update on that front.”
I let the silence hang for a heartbeat.
“I’m pregnant.”
The reactions are instantaneous. Marlow squeals, a high-pitched sound that nearly jolts Maddy awake, while Eslin’s jaw practically hits her chest. Tatum, true to form, literally chokes on her drink, coughing into a napkin.
“Aspen!” Eslin gasps, her eyes darting straight to my stomach like she’s trying to see through my clothes. “Oh, my god.I’m so happy for you...and so incredibly glad it isn’t me!”
“Ditto,” Tatum wheezes, wiping her chin and finally catching her breath. “But holy shit, Aspen. A little Luca? That kid is going to be a genetic masterpiece and probably a total menace on the pitch by age four.”
I cackle, because she’s absolutely right. “Are you kidding? Luca has already ordered custom Strikers gear and a mini soccer ball. He even makes me put headphones on my belly and play old match commentary, saying the baby needs to know exactly how dope his daddy’s footwork is.”
“The man is nothing if not arrogant,” Tatum comments, and I don't even bother correcting her. He’s earned it.
“So,” Marlow whispers, leaning in close, her eyes searching mine for the real story. “What does this mean? For you and Luca? For... everything?”
I take a deep breath, and for the first time in a long time, the smile spreading across my face feels entirely effortless.
“We’re staying married. For real this time.
We’ve actually decided to do a proper wedding—the whole nine yards.
We’re doing it on the Strikers’ field next year, on Valentine’s Day. ”
“On the field?” Tatum gushes. “That is so brand-appropriate, I could cry. It’s perfect.”
“It feels right,” I admit. “And because we’re finally solid, I agreed to the BSN profile. Eros Beaumont is doing a full spread on us. It’s going to highlight Luca taking the lead as the new team captain and our ‘whirlwind’ marriage. We’re finally telling the story our way.”
“Captain Chidubem,” Tatum muses, clinking her glass against mine. “And the woman who actually keeps him on his toes. I love this for you, Pen. I really do.”
As we sit here, surrounded by the scent of lavender baby lotion and expensive candles, the dumpster fire of the last six months finally distills into something beautiful. I’m no longer in hiding. No longer standing in the shadows, waiting to be chosen.
I am exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Hook, line, and star-crossed…no more.