Page 189 of Wicked Proposal
“Of course.” The picture she sent me last night pops up in my head. I remember Eli’s face, all gap-toothed and joyful, his tiny hands clutching the Garfield plushie. “That is, unless?—”
“I want it,” she says. “I—yes.I mean, I’ll have to talk to him—about the wedding and all this—but I don’t think he’ll have a problem with it.” Her expression turns anxious. “God, I hope he doesn’t have a problem with it. His therapist said I shouldn’t make sudden changes to his life. What if?—?”
“We’ll figure it out,” I reassure her. “We can break it to him gently later. He doesn’t have to be involved from the get-go, if you think it won’t be good for him.”
I don’t tell her we don’t need to get married right away. Because, as a matter of fact, we do.
Mia purses her lips, deep in thought. “I don’t want to lie to him,” she whispers. “But I don’t want to lose this, either.” She squeezes my hand tightly.
I return the gesture and kiss the top of her head. “You won’t.”
“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” she says. “I promise.”
I nod. “Want me to be there?”
“Maybe not right away.” She gives me an apologetic smile. “Better let Mommy handle this one.”
“Keep saying it like that, and you’re not getting out of this tub.”
She laughs. “God, you have such a dirty mind.”
“Are you saying you don’t like it?”
“Not at all,” she croons, rolling over in the water to face me. “Just wonder what it’s gonna mean for our wedding night.”
I hook my palms behind her thighs and pull her on top of me. “I can show you right now, if you’d like.”
Her eyes go dark. “You’ll be the death of me, Mr. Lozhkin.”
Not if I can help it.
“That’ll teach you to tow the wrong car.”
“You are never going to let it go, are you?”
“No.” I wrap my arms around her waist. She’s so close now—closer than I deserve. “You never finished your story.”
“Huh?”
“About your dad.”
“Oh, right.” She straightens up. “Turns out, it was a heart attack. Caught it early enough, though. He had a stent put in, some bed rest, an outrageous medical bill—but lived.”
“And that’s why you decided to become a nurse instead of a linguist.”
“Doctor,” she corrects. “I wanted to become a doctor. But then…”
“Brad.”
“Yeah.” She shrugs. “Turns out, lots of stuff in my life can be summarized by those three words.‘But then, Brad.’”
“We’ll deliver your family’s invites personally, if you like,” I murmur. “I’d love to meet them.”
Her smile turns sad. “I would have loved to meet your family, too.”
My chest clenches. “I know. They’d have loved you.”
“Yeah?”
