Page 75 of Single Mom's Christmas Wish

“I hate to say this again, but you do know you can talk to us, right?” I say, planting a kiss on her lips while Archer holds her close. “We’ve been down this road before. Keeping things to yourself didn’t do you any good.”

“I’m okay, I promise,” she insists with a warm, tired smile. “I really am just nervous about the wedding and everything it entails. Once it’s over, I think it’ll be a huge load off my chest. And not just mine.”

“It’s all taken care of,” Archer says. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Silence falls heavy over the room. I want to tell her that it’s going to be a perfect day for us, whether we’re ready or not. I want to tell her that we’re not just doing it to help her, that we are, in fact, hoping to make this work in the long term. Maybe someday we’ll give her that big wedding that she deserves, or at least something that feels more heartfelt for her.

“It’s going to be all right,” Archer whispers in her ear, his hands working their way up her naked body. “One way or another, I promise everything is going to fall into its rightful place.”

“You sound mighty sure of yourself,” she gasps when he finds her hot, wet core.

Her curves seem a tad more inviting as of late. Fuller, warmer, almost as though they’re the result of an artist’s brush strokes. The table lamp casts a soft, golden glow over her Rubenesque figure, beckoning me closer as I find myself starving for her again. Soon enough, Maddox joins us as we feast on our woman’s body once more.

27

Dakota

“I’m going to be sick again,” I warn Chelsea as I almost drop headfirst into the toilet bowl.

My best friend is a saint. She’s been standing beside me with ice and clean towels, helping me stay clean before I put the bridal gown on. I’ve been puking, on and off, for the past half hour. It’s as if my body has suddenly decided to turn against me, and on my wedding day, no less. My sham wedding day.

We’re upstairs, in one of the chapel’s private rooms.

“Wow, your wedding jitters are crazy,” Chelsea mutters and gives me another wet towel to put on my pale, burning face. “Do we need to call an ambulance?”

“No, no… it’s… maybe some orange juice will help?”

“Honey, this is not something that orange juice can fix,” she chuckles dryly but obliges, pouring me a glass of orange juice from the carafe on the dresser.

I thank her and take slow, deliberate sips, if only to change the awful taste in my mouth. “It’s a good thing I packed a toothbrushand toothpaste, just in case,” I mutter mostly to myself.

“Dakota, what’s going on?” she asks, giving me a worried look. “Are you really that nervous about this wedding? It’s not even real.”

I’ve been carrying this secret on my own for long enough. Chelsea has been nothing but kind and supportive every step of the way. I owe her the truth, and frankly, I can’t see the point in hiding it from her any longer. If anything, she might be able to help me get it all under control before I go downstairs and walk down that aisle.

“So, funny story,” I say, pasting on an awkward smile.

As soon as the words come out of my mouth, Chelsea stares at me for a hot second, her jaw slowly dropping. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I want to say I didn’t see it coming, but we weren’t exactly careful about it, either.”

“Oh, my God, Dakota, you’re pregnant?”

“Keep your voice down,” I hurriedly shush her. “Nobody else knows.”

“Which one of them is the father?”

“I have no idea.”

“Not that it really matters, come to think about it. They’re triplets,” Chelsea laughs. “It’s theirs, technically speaking. Same DNA, same pretty much everything.”

“I didn’t think of that,” I reply, half-smiling.

“Here, let me,” she says, wetting the towel and coming back to my face for one final round. “We need to get you ready. The preacher will be arriving in about an hour.”

“Thank you, Chelsea.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

---