Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Lev, who is sitting next to me, clasps my free hand—the one not held hostage by the women under this roof—and drops a casual kiss to the tip of my shoulder.
“No joke.” Lenora’s eyes widen as she studies the ring. “I could sculpt a life-sized toddler with this thing.”
“No more babies,” Vaughn mumbles.
“It screams money,” Luna agrees.
“It screams Rosie,” Dean corrects from across the table, spearing a brussels sprout and popping it into his mouth.
This is the part where he chides all of us and calls Rosie his wife—present tense—but when we all stare at him, all he does is shrug and get back to his food.
Without realizing it, the entire room breathes in relief.
Dixie puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder, smiling at me. “You look wonderful, Bailey. Healthy and happy. And the ring suits you very well. How lovely that you and Rosie are the exact same size.”
“Thank you, Dixie.” I smile back. “You look radiant. I…” I catch myself, desperate to say the right thing. “You look right at home.”
The rims of Dixie’s eyes gleam emotionally. “Excuse me.” She starts to stand to bring herself a tissue, but Dean produces a handkerchief from his suit and hands it over to her. She pats her eyes dry, laughing. “Sorry, I get so emotional these days. And seeing Lev and Bailey so happy…” She trails off.
“Yes,” Uncle Vicious drawls, staring at the bottom of his wineglass, his arm slung over Aunt Emilia’s shoulder. “I’m sure that’s why you’re emotional and not because you’re seven months pregnant with the devil’s spawn.”
Dean gives him a scalding look. “Watch your mouth.”
“Physically can’t,” Vicious quips tersely.
“So, are you guys ever gonna tell us how you two got pregnant? Turkey baster, or…” Knight points his fork between Dean and Dixie.
Dixie turns bright red and stands up. Her big bump is covered by a black evening dress, and she caresses it protectively. It was definitely IVF. I know, because I was there on the phone with her when she complained about the bloating and the pain. “This is my cue to declare heartburn and go hunt for Tums. Thanks for dinner, Millie.”
Dean glances at her from behind his shoulder. “Be right there, Lady D.”
Lady D is a better nickname than Dix. I’m sure she appreciates it. I know Lev does.
Dean turns to stare at Knight. His nostrils flare. “What is wrong with you?”
Knight sighs and sits back. “Oh God. There’s a long list. Make yourself comfortable, Dad.”
“Who asks something like that?” Mom interferes, unhappy with where this conversation is headed. “That is Dean and Dixie’s business. Where are your manners?” What she doesn’t add is that everyone knows that Dixie’s unrequited love cost her her sanity before they settled on their arrangement.
“I have the answer as for the whereabouts, but you’re not gonna like it,” Vaughn grumbles.
“But they’re not even together,” Knight whines.
“Even so, Dad did buy her the house,” Lev adds thoughtfully. “And not as a loan. He straight up paid in cash so she could live down the street from him, close enough that he can see her and the baby all the time.” Lev pauses.
The truth Knight and Lev can’t seem to accept is that Dean and Dixie absolutely did not conceive their unborn child in the biblical way. Dean isn’t ready for that. This whole moving on from Rosie part. Never will be. He is ready to love again, though. And he needs someone to take care of. Someone to receive all the love Rosie left behind.
Another child. Another member of his family.
Dean and Dixie have a unique relationship. They’re somewhere between friends and found family; their appreciation for one another morphed into something sibling-like. I trust they’ll be amazing parents to their child, but the Rosie-shaped hole in Dean’s heart will never mend. Which is fine. He looks content. Fulfilled. Excited for the new baby.
“Do you know what it is yet?” I squeak, trying to change the subject. My fiancé throws me an I-see-what-you’re-doing look in my periphery.
Dean grins, and for the first time in five years, he doesn’t just look content—he looks happy. “It’s a girl,” he says, pink spreading to his cheeks. “And,” he adds, “we are going to name her Rosie.”