Page 72 of Kandi's Crush: A BWWM Sweet Billionaire Romance

Since the Thanksgiving dinner, Celeste and I had experienced a breakthrough in our relationship. For the first time in our long acquaintance, she looked me in the eye and apologized. She’d explained that the elopement didn’t give her time to prepare for losing her only child. She felt as if someone had amputated her arm, like a part of her was missing. She apologized for misjudging our relationship and my motives.

I couldn’t complain. It was a start, and I hoped the apology meant we were on a different path.

While this ceremony was for everyone, we considered the second ceremony, the business school event, to be the official graduation. Unlike the event at the football stadium, Kandace would walk across the orange and blue festooned dais, receive her diploma jacket, her perfect face displayed on the Jumbotron.

The next evening, the Alexanders, our friends, and my parents were all seated together in the Exactech stadium. We wore matching orange t-shirts emblazoned with #TeamKandi in blue lettering. Besides the matching shirts, we each held white handkerchiefs.

I studied the program until I read “Kandace Marie St. Clair.” An asterisk next to her name showed she achieved Latin honors, Summa Cum Laude. Pride filled my chest. I couldn’t believe I was so lucky to have such a smart and caring wife.

A brass quintet played the processional. Excitement built, and the arena hummed at a gentle roar. We began yelling and waving our handkerchiefs in the air. Our voices carried over the cries of, “there he is,” and “over here.”

“There she is!” Celeste waved her hands like a madwoman. “Kandi! Kandi! Up here!”

I scanned the group until I found my wife’s signature curls. She searched the crowd until she found the cluster of orange shirts. She waved her arms, and we twirled the handkerchiefs in response.

Joy surrounded our group as we sat through the speeches, including a rousing speech from the valedictorian that centered on following your dreams.

Our group sat on pins and needles while the announcer called hundreds of names. The moment arrived when my wife would receive her five magical seconds to celebrate her hard work and accomplishments.

We yelled and waved our handkerchiefs when Kandace began the ascent to the stage. She took cautious steps up to the dais, and I held my breath as she teetered on the stage. She stood on the edge, waiting for the usher to call her to receive the diploma jacket.

My wife’s name echoed through the stadium. She walked to the center of the stage and stood in front of the university crest with her hand resting lightly on her stomach. I took a deep breath and looked at our family. Celeste flashed a knowing grin.

Kandace posed for a photo with the business school Chancellor and patted her stomach. This time, she walked across the opposite end of the stage with her hand resting lightly on her lower abdomen.

We’d all had a late night, but not so late that they would miss such an obvious hint. I looked at them expectantly and watched as realization slowly rolled through the group.

Kandace’s best friend, Natasha, was the first to get it. She screamed and then patted me on the shoulders.

“I can’t believe it. I’m going to be an auntie!” she yelled.

The week before Thanksgiving was when we had learned that Kandace’s mood swings and lack of appetite were because of pregnancy rather than merely insomnia. She had gone to the family doctor to inquire about sleeping pills or iron supplements to help with her overall energy level. The doctor recommended a full blood panel along with a pregnancy test.

I’d arrived home that evening to find my wife sprawled across the sofa. She’d placed a large bottle of water and a package of saltines in front of her on the cocktail table.

“Sweets, what happened?” I’d expected to hear drama about something she had heard or experienced with Celeste. I hadn’t been at all prepared for the news.

“The doctor performed a battery of blood and urine tests. I’m pregnant.” She’d given me an uncertain smile. “I hope . . . I hope this is okay.”

Okay? I had wanted to turn cartwheels in the living room, but I’d needed to understand her reaction. I’d sunk down on the sofa next to her and took her hand in mine.

“Are you serious? You’re pregnant?”

Tears had glazed her eyes as they’d met mine, and she’d nodded.

“When, Sweets?”

“About seven weeks along. July fourth is the estimated due date. I’ll have more details after the ultrasound. I know this doesn’t fit our timelines. I want to make sure you’re ready to become three.”

“I will be there for all appointments. I’m ecstatic and flattered that you will be the mother of my child. Are you happy?”

“I’m terrified. I’ve been a wreck these last few weeks. I can’t imagine another seven months of the emotional ups and down. I hope the hormones settle down a bit.”

I had pulled her over into my lap and had stroked her back. I’d laughed at a joke floating in my head.

What do you call people who use the rhythm method?

Parents.

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