Page 90 of Not Ready

I bury my face in my hands and try to fight the urge to cry. I’m stressed to the max, and it didn’t help at all when the guys got pulled into a last-minute business call.

Life is good.

So much better than it was before coming to live with them. And yet, I feel like a big, giant, super pregnant burden. It’s really difficult to understand how anyone could be attracted to me in my current state, which leads to my brain trying to convince me that they’re only pretending to be so that Mercer can collect his inheritance.

It doesn’t make logical sense, and I know that.

Bishop and I are bonded. I can feel his love radiating in the bond whenever he thinks about me. He’s also genuinely excited for Aurora to be born.

“Hey, are you ready?” Holt asks, shocking the hell out of me. “They’re just wrapping up the call, but they sent me to grab you.” He comes over, squatting down next to my legs. “Uh-oh. What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” I lie, glancing away. My nose feels warm, like it always does when I’ve been crying. No actual tears have fallen, but it did get close a time or two during my pity party.

I take a few deep breaths and try to fan my hot cheeks.

“Oh, okay. So you’re lying to me now. That’s a new development.”

My eyes narrow as they meet his. “I’m fine. I just need to change.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, shaking his head. “They’ve been spoiling you rotten, but I’m not them. Lie to me again. I dare you. I’ll have you bent over this mattress and your ass smacked red before I ask you the same question all over again.”

My lips purse as I try to decide if he’s serious. “I’m pregnant.”

“I know.” He runs his tattooed hand over my stomach. “Unluckily for you, I know a few swats on your backside won’t hurt the baby a bit.” His normally messy brown curls are perfectly styled as they fall over his forehead. He quirks an eyebrow. “Now, tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I think I’m too fat for this dress,” I whisper as my eyes fall shut. “It’s one of the new ones. It fit a week ago, but I can’t reach the zipper, and it’s really tight.”

His face softens as he caresses the baby belly. “She’s growing fast, but that’s a good thing. The more baking she does on the inside, the better. What about the pretty black dress you wore to the doctor’s office a couple of days ago?”

“I think it’s dirty. It’s also not very fancy.”

“We don’t need fancy, sweetheart. We need functional.” He leans in, nuzzling his cheek to mine.

“Mercy’s family will be here in a few days, and I’m worried none of the stuff he bought me will fit.”

“It’s also not the most comfortable, based on what I’ve seen of you picking through it every day when you’ve got to get dressed. All right, do you want me to see if I can get it zipped?”

“I guess,” I whisper as my cheeks burn.

He stands, and I’m immensely jealous for no reason. I can’t remember the last time I saw my feet, let alone could squat down long enough for a conversation. He stretches out his hands, and I grab them. He pulls me up with ease, spins me around, and gathers my hair before twisting it up and putting it over my shoulder.

His warm breath fans over my neck as he kisses me just below the ear.

“You know, once we walk out of that meeting today, I’m officially going to be calling you my wife.” His tongue flicks at my earlobe before dancing down my throat. “That’s hot. It’s doing things for me, if you can’t tell.” My nipples ache as he scrapes his teeth over my shoulder. The sound of the zipper zipping fills the air. “See, you just need a little assistance from your husband.” I glance at him over my shoulder as my chest rises and falls rapidly. His beachy scent floods my nose as he grinds against my ass and squeezes my hips. “Let’s make this union official.”

Our meeting is actually in the courthouse, but not a courtroom. It’s a weird section labeled solely for packs and cases involving omegas.

The waiting room is small, with clusters of chairs facing each other in groups. There’s only one other pack when we walk in, and they’re called back pretty quickly. I sit between Bishop and Mercy, with Holt across from us.

My giant alpha wraps his arm around my shoulder, letting me lean against him as much as possible with the bar of the chair digging into my side. It’s still better than not touching him. Bishop’s smoky campfire scent helps settle my nerves, but my anxiety is still present.

I cross and uncross my legs, trying to find some way to get comfortable. None of it works. I’ve pretty much come to terms with the fact I’m not going to be truly comfy for the next five weeks. Maybe longer, considering how miserable healing from delivery could be.

They call Bishop first, which confuses me. Shouldn’t they be bringing us in as a group? He’s in there maybe ten minutes before they call in Mercy. He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and waves Holt over to sit next to me.

There’s a lady sitting behind a little window to the right, so we’ve kept the conversation to a minimum, but I lean over close to Holt.

“Do you think it’s weird they’re calling us in one by one?” I ask in barely more than a whisper.

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