Page 73 of Tell Me No Lies

I’m happy because he’s finally letting himself have a home. Finally realizing he deserves it. That saving his pennies and doling out unlimited climaxes aren’t what’s keeping him from being someone he’s not.

Not that I mind the second part.

“I’m not buying it because it’s what makes me happy.” I grip his T-shirt, tugging him a little closer as I scoot down the bed, thinking maybe I can get him to touch me a little before he goes back to work downstairs. “I’m buying it so Peanut has a comfortable home when they get here.”

To my disappointment, Tate slides away from me, resting on his side next to me. One wide palm curves over my belly, fingers spread wide over an area that will grow exponentially bigger over the coming months.

Can’t really wrap my head around that either.

He nuzzles against my ear, the heat of his hand sinking into my skin so deep I can almost imagine Peanut might be able to feel it. “I love the fuck out of you, know that, Sugar?”

A smile curves my lips even though it’s clear I’m not getting the orgasm I was gunning for until he’s decided I won’t break if he plays with me. “I love you too, Caveman.” I tip my head to meet his gaze. “And our little Peanut makes me extra glad I didn’t taze you in the nuts that day.”

EPILOGUE-THE GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING

PIPER

"ARE YOU SURE this is a good idea?" Lydia's not even pretending like she thinks my plan is brilliant, which is okay. I don’t need her to.

Because I know it’s brilliant. I also know my soon-to-be husband understands that in addition to being brilliant, I'm also a little crazy. Can be like a dog with a bone when I set my mind to something and adopt a ‘take no prisoners’ sort of attitude from time to time. They’re characteristics he’s claimed to love on more than one occasion, and now it's time for him to put his money where his mouth is.

“It’s going to be fine.” I smooth down the drapey layers of chiffon that make up my flowing turquoise dress for the thousandth time. I keep thinking that if I can get the front to lay just right, I won't look as big as a house.

Even though I am.

“I don’t know. I think this is a lot to spring on him at a time like this.” Lydia remains unconvinced. I get it. The wedding gift I’m giving Tate is a little unique. Definitely not something you can buy from the store or order off Amazon.

It would have made things a whole lot easier if I could have, though. Saved me a ton of time.

"I promise he's going to love it." I mess with my curled hair a little, adjusting the ring of flowers woven through the strands. I’m fidgety. Not because I'm nervous and need something to do with my hands—I'm genuinely fine—it's more about knowing that in a few minutes there will be a million pictures taken of me. And while I can't do anything about the pregnancy puffiness I've fallen victim to, I would really love it if everything else looks as perfect as I can make it.

Lydia blows out a long breath, lips pursing with the action. "I guess I'm just going to have to trust that you know what you're doing then."

I collect my bouquet from where it’s resting in a vase on top of my dresser. "I always know what I'm doing." Even when I know I shouldn't be doing it.

At least I've matured out of my act first, think later phase. Being with Tate and impending motherhood have helped me find my center. My reactions are no longer knee-jerk. Now they come with careful forethought and planning. They're still frequently the same reactions I would have had before, now the executions are just better.

Lydia falls silent as my Bridal Chorus escort quietly enters the room. After a few seconds of awkward silence, my best friend checks her phone and flashes me a tight smile. "Looks like it's time." Lydia checks over her own dress, gives her hair a little fluff, and strides out of the bedroom Tate and I share.

As her heels click down the staircase, I give my newly acquired partner in crime a bright smile, hoping it will calm her nerves. "Ready?"

I don't wait for a response—it was a rhetorical question—before I loop my arm through hers, and together we carefully descend the stairs, moving through the quiet house to wait behind the front door.

When Tate and I decided last fall that we wanted to get married before Peanut was born, we figured it would be easy to throw together a wedding and be husband and wife before Thanksgiving. We didn’t care where or when it happened, so it should have been easy to find a venue.

Wrong.

The soonest we could book was the beginning of May, which is a lovely time to get hitched, but also a week after my due date. So we came up with a Plan B. And I would say Plan B is absolutely the better alternative. Not only was I was able to get ready in my own home, but if our family gets shit faced, they only have to stumble a few yards to pass out in their very own beds.

Did this plan mean we had to wait until the weather was decent enough we could brave the outdoors? Yes. Did it also mean I would be well into my third trimester on my wedding day? Also yes. But last night, when I saw how beautifully our family decorated the rented tent taking up the bulk of our dead-end block, and I got to see how excited they all were to be a part of making this day happen, there wasn't a doubt in my mind this is exactly how it should be. Waddle and all.

Especially since—in a full-circle moment I couldn’t have planned if I wanted to—waiting changed everything in the best possible way. I know Tate wasn't a fan of postponing—never has been—but I think he might change his mind.

Soon.

The opening chords of the Bridal Chorus blast through the DJ’s speakers outside, and I turn to the meek and mild woman beside me. "Show time."

Her smile is timid, but there’s a determined glint in her eye as she gives me a nod. The door in front of us pushes open and the brisk early April air lifts my skirt and my hair, making me shiver. Niko and Evan stand at either side of the stoop, there in case we need an extra hand as we maneuver our way to the heated air of the enclosed tents. Evan gives me a wink as I pass while Niko leans in to press a kiss to the cheek of the woman at my side, proving all I told her is true.

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