Page 163 of Sinful Sacrifice

Damien’s worried gaze stays on me as my bridesmaids shuffle out of the bridal suite. He holds out his hand, helping me off the floor, and walks me to the couch. As I make myself comfortable, he swipes a water bottle, unscrews the cap, and hands it to me.

“Is there a backup dress or something else you can wear?” He drags his hand through his hair.

I shake my head. “I ruined our wedding day.” As I take a sip of water, some drips from the corner of my mouth.

He takes the seat next to me. “You haven’t ruined anything, and don’t forget—we’re already married. If you don’t want to walk down that aisle, you don’t have to. I can tell everyone to leave, or if you want, you can wear sweats for all I care.”

I scoot up the couch, snuggling next to him, and drag my knees to my chest.

He rests his hand on my knee. “I’m sorry your dress doesn’t fit."

“I gained weight,” I croak out.

He starts stroking my hair.

“’I’m … also pregnant.”

His hand stops.

There’s a moment of silence.

I wish I’d stayed where I was so I could see the expression on his face.

“I guess all those times I said I was putting a baby in you finally worked, huh?” He turns me in his arms, situating me to straddle him.

As I flick my gaze to his, there’s nothing but elation on his face.

It’s not that I was nervous he’d be mad about it. He’s stated multiple times, not only during sex, that he can’t wait to have a baby with me.

He cradles my chin in his hand and caresses my cheek. “Are you not happy?”

“No,” I choke out.

His eyes widen.

“No—shoot, I didn’t mean no to that,” I rush out, scrambling for words. “I mean, no, that’s not why I’m upset. I’m just emotional, and now, I don’t have a wedding dress, and I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t go out there in my panties.” My words are nothing but rambles that come out all in one breath.

“First, no way in hell are you walking down the aisle in your panties.” He lowers his hand to rest on my belly and smiles.

I cup my hand over his. I already like the warmth of it there, and I know it’ll become a regular place for his hand as our baby grows.

“What do you want to do?” he asks. “You decide, and I’m with you.”

I gesture toward what I wore here—sweats and a zip-up jacket. “Those are my only options of walk-down-the-aisle attire.”

“Wear them, then.”

“Sweats?” I sputter out. “The bride wore sweats—so romantic.”

“It does have a nice ring to it.”

I play with his bow tie. “Let me paint this picture for you. There you are, standing at the altar, looking all handsome in your tux, waiting for your perfect bride. She comes out wearing a gym outfit.”

“I’d still think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“No, you in a tux and me dressed like that won’t fit.”

“I’ll wear my sweats too, then.”

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