Page 71 of Forbidden Pregnancy
His thumb brushes my lips and he brings my gaze to meet his. After twelve years, I still find his face incredibly beautiful. The angles of Michael’s jawline, the crystalline blue color in his iris and even the scar slashing into his brow add character to the face I first fell for twelve years ago.
I want him – badly. The baby flips when Michael’s thumb brushes over my lips, as if our child can sense him from the slightest touch. I press my baby bump forward, allowing Michael to feel the soft kicks.
“Would a walk around the property feel better?” he asks. “I want to see the new apple and cherry trees.”
Nesting has taken over both of us since Pino Corsini’s funeral. The watermelon-sized being currently inhabiting my womb occupies most of our thoughts and plans have unfolded beautifully. Michael’s fingers interlace with mine and even if I can’t say for sure how a walk will make me feel, I want to stay in this moment with Michael as long as possible.
While we’re both excited to welcome new life into the world,we don’t have much longer, just the two of us.Michael’s thumbs rub along the inside of my palm as he both soothes me and assures me that even if we won’t have much time together just the two of us anymore, his love and attention will always be present in my life.
Our walk takes me through all the new landscaping. Hedges. Pine trees. Little alcoves with stone benches and then a long cobblestone path that leads to a giant pond Michael had installed. The big brick mansion and the increasingly landscaped gardens surrounding us reminds me of the house Pino Corsini owned where I taught CC lessons all those years ago.
We don’t have a guest house and our home certainly feels a lot happier, but it’s hard for me to look across at the rolling hills or at our growing orchard and not remember the place I lost my virginity to Michael over a decade ago. My heart flutters reminiscing on those first confusing emotions. Did Michael always see a future with me? Was there really no one out there in the whole wide world for us but each other?
“You’re too quiet,” Michael says. “Makes me nervous.”
“I’ve never heard you say you’re nervous before,” I respond.
The only thing Michael gets nervous about might be his football parlays. He has plenty of money to fund his gambling habit, and he doesn’t seem addicted to the high, just a casual enjoyer. Still, it’s hard to think that my silence makes himnervous when $5,000 on James Cook’s passing yards barely causes this man to bat an eye.
Not to mention his family business, which I would imagine to be a lot more nerve wracking than a walk through the garden.
“There’s a lot on my mind,” Michael says. “The baby… You…”
I rest my head on Michael’s shoulders. We walk down the cobblestone path into the thicket of trees at the orchard’s entrance. Our apple trees are organized by variety with Pink Lady apples, Cortland apples and Macintosh apples in the front and three cherry trees towards the back of the orchard, separated by enough grass that the trees don’t have to compete for light or resources.
The home and gardens we constructed are gorgeous and for weeks now I haven’t worried about anything except how I’m going to enter the workforce again after having the baby. It’s the only part of the original contract I have any interest in. I didn’t spend all those years studying just to pop out a baby and sit on my ass the rest of my life. There needs to be some balance. Still, I didn’t think that would be anything to worry about.
Michael understands my intellectual and spiritual needs just as well as he understands my physical needs.
“We have nothing to worry about, right?” I ask him, running my thumb along the outside of Michael’s. I want to hear the truth, but I also want the truth to be comforting.
“Nothing to worry about,” he says. “Except… This tree.”
“Which tree?”
I don’t have a clue what the hell Michael means. I let go of his hand and turn around, searching the orchard for a fucked up tree. When I whip my head back around, Michael is… kneeling?
“Michael, what are you doing?”
He cups my hand in both of his. I feel something weird like a tarantula leg brushing against my palm and flinch, tryingto jump away from the possible bug attack. Michael opens his hands up and reveals a velvet box – not a gross spider.
“Myra,” he says, staring me straight in the eye while he holds this box. “I need you to listen closely before you answer, okay?”
“Okay…”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I want to marry you. Ineedus married as soon as we can. So please… please… can we just agree to this. Please. Will you marry me?”
He opens the box and lets the ring speak for itself. When I look at it, the realization hits me, along with an even deeper understanding.Diamond. Pink Diamond. Sapphire.The notes from Michael’s notebook had nothing to do with some murderous mafia code.
It seems so obvious now.
“Yes!” I say, so stunned into silence that the word has to force its way out of my mouth. My heart is just beating so damn hard that I can barely talk. But the “yes” makes its way out – and I mean it. Michael’s hand closes around mine.
“YES!” I repeat.
