Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
I leaned forward and typed two words.
I am.
At the sound of Mila’s soft sob, I shut the lid of her laptop and set it aside. I wrapped my arms around her, resting my hand on her stomach and my chin on her shoulder. “Our child is right here, Mila?”
“Yes.”
“We’re going to be parents,” I breathed out.
“Yes.”
I had to see her. It took some maneuvering, but I got her turned around. I cupped her face. “Shortcake, tell me. Let me hear your words.”
“I’m pregnant.”
“I’m going to be a daddy,” I said with wonder.
“I’m going to be fat,” she sobbed.
“You’re going to be the cutest damn pregnant woman I’ve ever seen.” I kissed her. “And the best mommy. Mila, this child will be so loved, no matter what. I’ll make sure they grow up strong and healthy. You’ll nurture their creative side, I’ll watch over them. Oh God, your parents are going to go crazy.”
“So you’re really happy?”
I gathered her in my arms.
“Totally.”
The next few days flew by. The premiere was good, the film well received, and I’d heard the word Oscar more than once. Mila was with me to walk the red carpet, and she enjoyed seeing the movie, although she turned her eyes away at the sexier parts. I laughed and kissed her head, murmuring silly words to make her smile. I, myself, couldn’t stop smiling, but it was because of the news she had shared even more than the premiere or the exciting projects I had signed on for while there.
I arranged for a private screening of the film back in Toronto for her family. Mila still protected their privacy as much as possible. We would watch it with them when we returned and have our own after party.
One thing about the BAM clan was they loved a good party. Any excuse was used, and they were always ready to celebrate. We’d have a double celebration this time.
We sat in the first-class lounge, waiting for our flight home. Mila sighed, resting her head on my shoulder.
“Glad to be heading home?”
“Yes.”
I understood her feelings. Despite the fact that LA was where I grew up and lived for so long, the sleepy little hamlet of Port Albany felt more like home than LA ever did. I loved the privacy, the peace, and the people. I pressed a kiss to her head. “Me too.”
We linked our hands together. “My parents will be so happy when we tell them.”
“I know. Your dad might like me.”
She laughed, nudging my shoulder. “He already does.”
I had to chuckle. “I know.” Van and I got along well. I secretly thought I had the edge over Luke since I’d moved to Port Albany and didn’t take Mila away, but I kept that information to myself.
“I want you to pull back a little when we get home,” I said, lifting her hand to my mouth and kissing her knuckles. “I already told Tom I’d be adjusting some dates.”
“And he was okay with that?”
I smiled. “He’ll make it work. He’s awesome that way.”
She nodded. “A definite upgrade.”
I chuckled. “Did I tell you what I heard about MJ?”
Mila frowned. “No.”
“She lost the rest of her clients and left LA. She’s managing some third-tier wrestling wannabes somewhere in the Midwest.”
Mila’s eyebrows rose. “Oh my. Quite the fall from grace.”
“Yep. It’s vastly amusing to me. Bad acting and bad management. She deserves it.”
“Do you ever think to reach out?” she asked. “I know you have a lot of history.”
“Nope. She is the past. The worst of it. You’re the best. You, my wife, are my future.” I lowered my voice, drifting my fingers along her stomach. “You and our little one.”
She smiled, her eyes bright with tears. She went from happy to sad back to happy a lot. I should have clued in on the whole pregnancy thing faster than I did. I would next time.
She sniffed and wiped at her nose, then tapped something out on her phone, scrolling for a bit. I sipped my coffee, glancing up when she giggled, then looked at me. “I found the website.”
Of course she did. Research was one of her many talents. “Oh?”
“Oh, it’s so awful,” she murmured. “The names. The Grim Rapper. The Scottie Hottie.”
“Does he wrestle in a kilt?” I asked dryly.
Her eyes widened, a grin tugging on her lips.
“What?”
“One guy’s name is Pack’em & Rack’em.”
I grunted. “Nice name. Catchy.”
She shook her head, trying to hold in her amusement. “Bad choice. His opponents call him Packed Rectum.”
She began to laugh. Loudly. She covered her mouth to stifle the sound and snorted. I laughed with her, bending close to kiss her, and shutting off her phone. “Forget her.”
They announced a delay to our flight, and I let my head fall back with a groan. Mila patted my arm, still giggling quietly.
“When you’re done laughing over that unneeded information, Shortcake, I need a coffee,” I informed her.