Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 35660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 178(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 178(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
“Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” She moves her legs, feet hooking around my waist, pulling me in. I allow it, keeping quiet to see if she’ll finally tell me or if I’ll have to fuck the words out of my Doe. “I see we’re going the silent treatment route.” It’s a rarity to see the spitfire come from her, and I’ve go to say I love when it happens. “I, Fawn Peterson, love you, Sylvester Sterling.” Goddamn, is that one way to make me weak in the knees. The foot or so apart we were is no more. My hands cup her cheeks, and I kiss her with everything I have while her hands work at my pants. She’s greedy for my cock like I am for her, and tonight, I’m going to make it my mission to fuck my baby inside her, if she’s not already pregnant.
Epilogue
FAWN
Six Weeks Later
“Sable, I am not wearing a shirt to work that says Future Baby Mama. Go away.” My sister thinks she’s hilarious. Calling her before telling Sylvester was probably dumb, but how else could I come up with ways to tell my future husband, who now happens to be a future baby daddy as well? I’m standing in front of the mirror in the master bathroom. Sly isn’t home yet. A meeting of his ran over, which gave me the time to head to the pharmacy for a quick pick-up, head straight home, pee on a stick, and confirm my suspicions with the missing of my period.
“Well, I don’t think you’d have enough time anyways. Your fiancé slash baby daddy slash boss can always tell when you’re holding anything back, and you don’t have very much time left before he gets home.” Sable is now working for Sterling & Associates, much to our father’s annoyance. He wanted her to work at his firm, but she didn’t want anything to do with family law, rather working in corporate law, where there are fewer feelings involved.
“Shit, is he already on his way out of the office?” I ask. I look in the mirror, standing in my bra and panties, hand on my lower abdomen as I think about the life growing inside of me.
“Yep, we walked out together. You caught me right as I was getting into my car, so I’d say you have maybe five minutes, if that,” Sable responds. She and Blaire are engaged as well. The planning for their destination wedding in the Bahamas next month is in full swing. Our mom and Blaire’s mom micromanage every detail from thousands of miles away. It makes no sense—a destination wedding is an all-inclusive package. Well, it was supposed to be, but two moms with their first-born daughters getting married, it’s been an epic shit show. I’m thankful all I have to do is walk down the aisle and hold Sable’s bouquet as the maid of honor. As for Sylvester and myself, we’re eloping. This has opened my eyes, big time. Sly doesn’t want a big wedding, and neither do I, especially if it means we have hundreds of guests who are more business acquaintances than friends. As far as I’m concerned, we can have a small intimate wedding, in which case my mother will absolutely not hold the reins, or we can elope. The choice will be ours no matter what we decide, and I have a feeling I know what my husband-to-be wants to do.
“Shit, I gotta go. He’s already here. What? Does he have supersonic speed on his side? love you,” I tell Sable.
“Have fun. Let me know how it goes. Love you!” I hit the end button, eyes looking around, trying to figure out if I should hide the test until I come up with a plan. Too bad time will not be on my side. The box is ripped open, and the instructions are lying inside the sink. Don’t ask. Even I’m not sure how they landed there. Probably from throwing them away from me when I had to pee so bad, I barely had time to pull the plastic cap off the stick. Then there’s the fact that the positive pregnancy test is in my hand, phone abandoned, and I’m standing in front of the mirror, side profile on full display, trying to notice any change in my body as I place my hand on my stomach. It’s too early. Cognitively, I know that, but visibly, I can visualize a small bump. My breasts even seem bigger, and thankfully, I’ve been lucky enough not to have the one symptom Amelie warned me of the most—morning sickness.
“Fawn!” I hear Sylvester call out. On the rare occurrences I’m home before him, I’ll greet him in the kitchen, dinner will be at least started, and my phone will be playing my audiobook while I bustle around making sure everything is cooking how I like it.