Page 108 of Protecting Her Secrets

Those words hit me right in the gut. My mom’s not here, even though Skylar sent her an invite. Our yearly Christmas calls have even dwindled, and she hasn’t called the last three. She knows she has grandkids, but not even that is enough to make her care. Yet, in this moment, I don’t care because Luther and Martha have taken me in and aren’t here out of obligation. They’re here because they love me and my family.

The ceremony is short and sweet. There was no chance in hell I could write one vow, let alone multiple, so we went with traditional ones, minus the “obey” line, because we both know Skylar would be lying. I wouldn’t ask her to anyway. She spent too many years being forced to obey first her dad, then her asshole ex, may he rest in hell. She deserves to be free now.

Once the formalities are over, the real party begins. I danced with my wife, even though I have two left feet, but the highlight of the night was dancing with our daughter while Skylar danced with our son. At some point during the song, the four of us swayed together. I’m not a flowery type of man, but even I knew that moment was magical.

But now it’s dark, and the booze is almost gone, which means it’s time for me to collect my wife and take her to our suite. The venue offers a honeymoon suite on the upstairs floor of the house, since the only other place to stay in Culver Springs is a motel that caters to tourists.

I find Skylar talking to Wren, Mickie, and Harper while Wilder, Rowan, and Ridge stand close by. Leaning over, I whisper in her ear, “Time to go, sweetheart.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to come get me.”

“Tonight, I think you’ll be the one coming for me.”

Her cheeks turn a beautiful shade of pink as she takes my hand. We wave to our friends, who hoot and holler like we’re teenagers on prom night, but it makes my wife laugh, so I don’t grumble about it.

Our bag was already delivered to the quaint room with a king-size bed, a dresser, and a small nook with two cozy chairs and a small table in front of a window overlooking my mountain. In the bathroom is a clawfoot tub and a shower, with a separate water closet.

I spot a bottle of champagne sweating on the table next to two flutes. “Want a glass?”

“I don’t think one glass will hurt.” She’s still breastfeeding Nova, though she’s trying to wean her. My daughter is stubborn, though, so it has been challenging. Tonight will be the first night she’ll be given a sippy cup of warmed breast milk. I pray Jazzy isn’t up all night with a screaming baby.

I pop the cork and pour two glasses. After handing her one, I hold mine up. “To my beautiful wife, who made all my dreams come true.”

She clinks my glass and takes a sip. “Can you unbutton me?”

“Wife, I will never not want to undress you.” My fingers fumble with the small, fabric-covered buttons, but eventually, I reach the last one at the base of her spine.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, disappearing into the bathroom, giving me only a small glimpse of the underthings she has on. I happen to know they’ve been shipped in from some expensive lingerie store and can’t wait to see her in them.

While she’s gone, I slip off my coat, remove my shoes and socks, and unbutton my shirt, making things as easy as possible to remove once my wife comes out of the bathroom. Minutes tick by, and I’m on my second glass of champagne before I start to wonder if history is repeating itself. I already know she’s good at climbing out of windows.

I knock on the door, and even though I know she’d never leave me and the kids, I do breathe a little sigh of relief when she calls out, “Come in.”

I find her still in her dress, sitting on the ground. “What are you doing?”

She nods at the counter, and I spot what could only be a pregnancy test. Her reaction tells me all I need to know, but I look anyway. Positive. My poor wife has spent three years being pregnant and breastfeeding. She was looking forward to weaning Nova and having her body back, but it looks like my pull-out game is weak.

“This is your fault,” she says.

I sit next to her. “It is, but I’ll never apologize for making babies with you.”

Her head rolls back on her neck. “I was so close to not growing a human or having one attached to my boob.”

“If I promise to go get snipped, can I have my wedding night back?”

She chuckles. “It was the smell of the meat at dinner. My stomach turned a little, and I just knew. Dee ran and got me a test during the reception.”

“Just think, though: you got it all done at once. None of this starting all over shit after we’ve already potty trained them all.” I wrap an arm around her, and she buries her face in my neck, giving me hope she’s not too angry.

“It’s your super sperm. Even your pre-cum is too potent,” she says, though it’s muffled.

I laugh. “I’m gonna give you more of my super sperm tonight too. In you, all over your tits, down your throat. And lucky for us, you’re already pregnant, so no pulling out.”

She slaps my chest, but her gaze is heated when she looks up at me. “That’s not very romantic.”

“Baby, I’ve been romantic all night. Now it’s time for the real fun to begin.”

“What’s in it for me?”

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