EPILOGUE
SIX MONTHS LATER
Ahouse is not a home.
It’s a cliche saying, but my house would not be a home if it weren’t for my favorite person living in it with me. Just the two of us.
For now.
In the new Jeep Christian insisted on buying me, the same shade of dark green, I park in our driveway. If I didn’t have a blinding headache, I smack my forehead against the top of the steering wheel.
I look out the window, at this magnificent house Christian bought for us and our future family, and more tears join the party. I had just cleared them away before I took the turn onto our street, and now they’re back.
Defeated, I get out of the car with red, puffy eyes from crying for the past hour.
With shaky hands, I press the button to lock the car then put the key into the front door.
Christian is home, working in the office and in virtual meetings.
Some days I sneak in, interrupt and distract him on purpose.
I try to find new creative ways to get him away from the desk.
One day, I walked in entirely naked and all of his work was forgotten as I undressed him and he made love to me on his desk.
That was a good day. The last time I distracted him, I was wearing a purple set from La Perla he’d bought me and went down on him under his desk before he took me on the floor. Another good day.
Do other people do that thing where they think over their most epic and recent sex session? Because I do it often.
The new nurse at the clinic, Selena, helped me feel better after the day I had.
I nearly fainted behind the counter at the cafe and that was when Isa and Natalia brought me to the clinic immediately.
They said I looked pale and sick so they fed me water and forced me inside.
Despite their protests, I insisted they didn’t call Christian because he is working from our home office today.
I just thought that, maybe, I was stressed about planning a wedding with no specific date.
I thought the stress and restlessness finally caught up to me.
I had barely eaten anything these last few days and Christian has been so concerned that he has been packing lunches, cooking hearty breakfasts, and balanced dinners to end the day.
But every time I tried to eat, it’s like it got worse.
Nurse Selena asked me about my symptoms and ran a few blood and urine tests.
After giving me time to rest and recover with an IV in my arm, my two best friends hovered, nervously pacing.
When the nurse came back, she asked them nicely for privacy after seeing the look on my face.
Whatever she saw, I don’t want to know. I was terrified on the inside, but my gut somehow knew whatever she was about to tell me. Maybe it showed.
It was right then that she told me the results of the tests, and it solved the mystery behind my symptoms.
Maybe I should have paid more attention to the weird nausea even if I’ve only vomited once.
Now, in our house, I remove the Balmain combat boots—which I’ve taken care of with my life—and hang my coat.
I run my anxious fingers through my hair just as tears prick at my eyes again, stinging and blurring.
I pad toward the large family room where the afternoon sunlight pours in, and I lie back on the chaise of our L-shaped sofa.
I pull the throw blanket over my body and wait quietly. I sniff and wipe my cheeks, blinking the tears away.
I knew this day would come eventually, it was going to happen. I just didn’t think it’d happen this soon. We’ve barely had this house for a year but Christian is comfortable with his company again and my bookshop cafe is doing extremely well.
Still, my head is filled with so many doubts about my own capabilities. I wish I could ask my mother if she felt this way when she found out she was having me. If she felt unsteady yet thrilled all at once. If she felt insecure even if she was the most confident person in the world.
A door opens and I try to keep the tears at bay. It’ll be a few seconds until he finds me so it’s a waste of time to try to hide it. He knows me too well. I take deep breaths, inhaling through my nose and exhaling out my mouth, until I hear his voice.
“Lana? Baby?”
I squeeze my eyes closed, tears escaping. Before I can utter a reply, Christian is walking in like a man on a mission. His shoulders sag with relief as he exhales.
“Hey,” I croak.
“Hey.” Christian immediately sits beside me, pulling my legs over his lap. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, the tears getting harder to hold on to. “I just… wasn’t feeling well.”
“Lana, baby,” he says, his voice with concern. His hand strokes my arm and his thumb runs over the bandaid covering the vein of my elbow. Damn it. “What happened?”
“The girls took me to the emergency room,” I say. “The hospital’s clinic, I mean.”
Christian blinks. “Lana—”
“Christian,” I croak, a sobbing ready to rip out of me.
“Lana.” He’s quick to haul me over his lap and cradle me into his chest, holding me closely and tightly. His lips brush over my forehead and he rests his cheek against the same spot. “What happened? Why didn’t you call me?”
I shrug as my body begins to tremble and heave. “You were working.”
“Baby, you know I don’t care about that. If you have to go to the hospital, call me. I’m there.”
I nod and sink into him. “Can I just—” I sniffle loudly. “Can I cry it out for a bit?”
Christian nods. “Yeah—Yeah, go ahead, baby, I’m here.”
It takes what feels like hours for me to cry most of it out—but it’s only been five minutes. Finally, Christian helps me wipe my face, regulating my breath. My breathing evens out eventually while he rubs my back, but still comes out shaky as I sit up.
“H-How was work?” I ask, wiping my nose with the back of my wrist.
Christian shakes his head with furrowed brows. “It was fine—Lana—”
“Tell me,” I cry, tears flooding back. “Tell me about your day, please. I need it.”
He sighs, pushing hair behind my ears, peeling strands from my wet cheeks. “Boring. Everything I have to do without you is boring.”
I sniff, throat burning. “Stop, don’t be romantic right now.”
He huffs a laugh and kisses my cheek. “Work was good. I got a lot done and we’re doing well, babe.”
I nod with a pout.
“What about you, baby?” He kisses my other cheek. “What happened today?”
Sighing, I force myself to sit straighter. My leg bounces uncontrollably, my entire body feeling jittery with the weight of the two words on my tongue.
I’m pregnant.
I stand on wobbly knees and pace the living room. “Christian…”
He follows my pacing, his eyes volleying side to side, and his worry is written in the ridge between his brows. “Babe… You’re scaring me now, what happened?”
“Christian, I’m pregnant,” I blurt, and swallow—freezing where I stand, looking at him. “I know it’s sudden and it’s…much earlier than we thought. I mean, I’m pretty sure it was when I got my IUD removed and started the pill. I don’t think I gave it enough time to work.”
I inhale deeply, then exhale. I might be hyperventilating.
I shake my hands out at my sides and he’s frozen on the couch, leaning forward on his knees, face in his hands.
“Christian?” I say quietly. “Are you…angry?”
Slowly, he picks up his head. His eyes are red and puffy, cheeks just as brightly colored. “No,” he rasps, his voice breaking. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands and swallows. “No, Lana, I’m…”
“Baby…” I lower myself onto my knees in front of him and hold his face in my hands. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m…” Christian sniffles, a small smile cresting in his lips. “I’m so scared.”
I frown, tears clouding my vision. “Christian…”
“I’m happy,” he says. “I am, I swear. I’m so happy, Lana. I’ve always…I’ve always wanted this with you. The kids and the house… Now it’s so real and I just…”
“Hey,” I whisper, sweeping my thumbs beneath his eyes to clear the tears. “Hey, talk to me.”
“I don’t…” Christian inhales shakily. “I don’t want to be a bad dad, Lana. What if—”
“No,” I cut him off. “No, we aren’t playing the ‘what-if?’ game.”
He nods, swallowing audibly. “I don’t want to be a bad dad and disappoint our kids.”
“Christian, you will never disappoint them. You’re going to be such a good dad,” I tell him. I stand to straddle his lap and push him to rest back on the sofa. I keep his face cradled in my hands and kiss his lips softly. “Is this… Do you want this?”
“Yes,” he answers quickly. “Do you?”
I nod. “With you, yes. All of it, with you.”
“Yeah?”
I nod. “I just… I always thought that when we found out I was pregnant I’d be…immediately happy.”
“You don’t have to be happy right away. You’re allowed to be conflicted, baby.”
“I am—was. Until now.”
“So we’re having a baby…” Christian sighs deeply. “Is that why you’ve been feeling sick?”
“It seems that way.”
Christian chuckles softly until it turns into a full, tearful laugh. His head tips back, the beautiful sound echoing off the walls of our home. I sigh quietly, a bit unsure of what to do with this reaction.
We’re stable people—for the most part. We’ll be fine.
We’ll be fine.
“Christian?”
His arms come around my waist and pull me down onto his lap, my legs straddling his thighs. “I don’t know what to do with all of this,” he says, grinning. I hold his handsome face in my hands and wipe his cheeks with my thumbs. “I didn’t know I could be this fucking happy.”
I smile. “Are you sure?”
Christian turns to kiss my palm. “I’m sure.”
“I guess…” I bit my lip. “I guess this means you have to buy me the hot mom car you once promised me.”
Even though I want to keep my new Jeep until I die and then be buried inside of it. Christian bought it especially tailored for me in every way, I’d throw a tantrum if anyone took it from me. It’s absolutely perfect.
Christian laughs softly. “Can I get a hot dad car?”
I bounce my brows. “Oh, yes!” I moan mockingly. “Please.”
“Can I get my McLaren back?”
My amusement fades and I glare. “It’s a two seater.”
“It’ll be our weekend car!”
“We are not those people, Christian Calloway.”
Laughing some more, he kisses my jaw. “I love you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much, Lana.”
His big, homey arms wind around me in a protective cocoon and suffocate me as he holds me into his chest. I pull back enough to kiss his jaw, but he brings his lips mine, molding perfectly.
“Marry me,” Christian rasps hoarsely.
“When?”
“Now,” he says, smiling. “It’s been five to seven years.”
I sniff a laugh. “Five years to be exact.”
“See?” He smiles tearfully. “Marry me.”
I smile.
“You told me yes once,” Christian rasps. “Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind now.”
I shake my head rapidly, sniffing as tears roll down. “I could never change my mind about you.”
With a boyish grin, Christian lifts me off his lap and tosses me aside, my body bouncing on the cushions. “Where are you going?”
Christian speeds out of the room, his footsteps echoing through the house as he bolts around for whatever he is looking for. I let him scramble about and settle back into the couch, pulling the blanket over my body again.
“Baby,” he breathes and sits beside me again.
I sit up, keeping the blanket over my legs. “Yeah.”
Christian swallows audibly. “I proposed to you when we were twenty three,” he says, his voice cracking and hoarse. He holds a red, velvet ring box in his hand, fidgeting with the lid as he stares into me. “So now, I’m giving you the ring.”
“But I love my ring,” I breathe, tracing the dainty, golden ring with my thumb.
“I know, baby.” Christian lowers himself from the couch and gets on one knee. He opens the lid and there is a rock that looks too heavy for my skinny finger, shining up at me.
“Christian…” I gasp. “This ring…”
“I’ve been dreaming of giving you this ring for years,” he confesses quietly.
The diamond is a large, emerald cut with a gold halo decorated in tiny diamonds. It’s breathtaking and maybe too obnoxious. I love it.
“This is the ring I’ve been wanting to get you since the moment I realized I was in love with you,” Christian says. “And this is the ring you deserve. I love you, Lana.”
I stammer for a bit, my mouth opening and closing with no coherent words coming out—only cries and breaths. “But…”
“Lana, this ring…” he rasps.
“I love it,” I breathe. “I…”
Christian pulls the piece of jewelry from the box and takes my left hand. With his eyes locked on mine, he slips it onto my ring finger. “Do you want me to ask again?”
Blinking so I can see him, I shake my head. “No,” I croak. “I like our first proposal. I want to keep that one.”
“Yeah?” His eyes redden.
I nod and admire the way my ring looks on my skinny finger. “Yeah,” I rasp. “Marriage is a forever thing, Christian.”
The corner of his mouth lifts into a half smile. “So are you,” he says. “You are everything to me. Everything I am is you, Lana. This house is for you. This ring is for you. My head, my heart, my body, my soul—everything is for you. And now it’s for this baby.”
“You didn’t want kids once,” I whisper, teasing him with a poke on his chest.
“That was before I loved you. Before I knew what love was and that our family didn’t have to be like mine.”
“It doesn’t.” I shake my head and cradle his gorgeous face. “Your heart is bigger than you think, Christian. Look at everything you’ve done for me. You called yourself damaged once but you never were. Look at this house. Look at us. Look at you.” I choke on my tears. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I love you so much,” he breathes before he is on top of me and between my legs, kissing me. “We’re going to have a baby.”
I nod and he presses his forehead to mine. “Yeah. Is that okay?” I ask one more time.
“It’s perfect,” he breathes before he sniffles. I reach up for his lips but before I can, he removes himself from between my legs and walks away muttering, “I’m going to look at nursery ideas.”
I gape, half smiling. “Christian!”
My fiancé comes back with his laptop open, a smile on his face, and sits beside me. Smiling, I nestle into his side and look at the screen. “Are you on my Pinterest account right now?”
Christian starts a new board and titles it Baby #1. I snort and he’s already scrolling and adding photos. And this is how we spend the rest of our afternoon—finding ideas for a nursery and landing on the colors yellow and sage green for a subtle nature theme.
Then we order take out and eat on our comfortable couch in perfect bliss, laughing and already talking about names. Tomorrow, I’ll make an appointment with my doctor and we’ll move along with our ideas because we have everything we’ve ever wanted.
And it is all because of that silly little house jar.