“Living abroad, too,” Mom mutters, sulking a little. “You’ll need to come and visit us, you know.”
“Of course, I will,” I say, looking at Oz. “And you’ll have to come visit us. Sooner rather than later. For the wedding.”
“Are you sure you want to rush in?” Oz asks, using my dad’s turn of phrase on purpose, I think. “If you’re studying here for the next three years, you’ll have a good enough visa for that. We won’t need to be married for that.”
“That’s not the point,” I say, tutting lightly. “And besides, it’s a while yet before the semester would even start. I want to make sure I can stay even if I don’t get accepted. And more than that – I want to be your wife.”
“My wife,” Oz repeats, and I hear in his voice the ghost of the same feeling that I have. It’s still so new we haven’t even felt the whole scope of how amazing it all is. That this happiness is a wave that will continue to wash over us for days, maybe weeks. Maybe even months. And it’s a good thing, too, because if we felt it all at once it might be too much to take.
“We have to invite everyone from back home,” I say, already thinking ahead. “We’ll have to give them a little notice, at least, to get flights and hotels and everything booked.”
“We can figure all that out for them,” Oz shrugs. “It’s not like I don’t have an army of assistants who can help out. We can get them here.”
“Time off work, though,” I say. “We’ll need to give them time to book a vacation. But as soon as we can get it organized…”
“As soon as we can,” Oz smiles, nodding. As much as I’ve loved talking to my parents again after a week away from home, I’m starting to feel that I want them to leave us for a little while. That I want to be back in my happiest place. Right by his side, just the two of us alone in our bubble.
Because as much as I care about my family, I know now there’s one person who comes above it all. One person, I love even more.
“It’s been a long day,” I say, looking at the screen. “We should probably get some rest. And you two, too. You’ve been up for half the night.”
“You’re right,” Dad sighs. “And since I’m not needed at the airport anymore, I guess I can go back to bed for a nap.”
“You can if you like, old man,” Mom says, grinning. “I’ve got the word to spread about some upcoming nuptials. You don’t mind if I tell everyone here, do you?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No, Mom. Go ahead.”
She smiles, and then we all wave and say our goodbyes before turning off the video screen.
And finally, it’s the two of us alone again.
I bury my head in Oz’s chest, feeling the warmth and strength of him through his shirt, the support that I know I’ll always have now. There’s a diamond ring on my finger that tells me so, and before long, that band will be accompanied by another one that is even more permanent.
“You’re sure about getting married fast?” he asks again, now it’s just the two of us. “You don’t think you could possibly be making a mistake, jumping into marriage with an old man like me? I never want you to feel pressured.”
I laugh softly. “Didn’t you hear what I said to my dad?”
“I heard it,” he says, his voice right in my ear, his breath tickling my neck. “I just wanted to make sure. Because you know what?”
“What?”
“I think if we’re going to be married so soon, we’d better get started on making that family of ours too, so we don’t have to waste any time.”
I laugh and sit up, and when he picks me up in his arms and carries me into the bedroom, I know I’m going to be hard-pressed to find a happier day than this one.
But something tells me that record might just be broken again sooner than I think.
Epilogue
Four Months Later
Oz
I’m sitting in the waiting room feeling like I’ve never felt before. There have been board meetings, takeover bids, even one or two days in court. I’ve had to face down titans of the industry being one of the top private investors in London. I’ve watched stock figures crash, knowing that everything I risked is gone if they don’t climb back up again like I predicted.
And yet I’ve never felt as nervous as this.
“Stop fussing,” Gabby whispers, leaning over to grin at me. “You’re going to put a hole in the sleeve of your jacket.”
I do as she tells me, knowing that she’s right but still feeling fidgety anyway. I leave the button I was playing with alone. I suppose I just have to accept the fact that the seamstress who made it sewed in on upside down.
Or, if you’re on the other side, I suppose it’s the right way up.
This is all stupid, anyway. It’s not like the baby will be able to see me. I’ll be able to see them, not the other way around.
“Gabriella Patterson?” the nurse calls out, making us both scramble to our feet. Gabby has been taking all of this a lot easier than I have. She doesn’t even seem nervous. Just excited. As we follow the nurse down the hall to a private room, it’s like Gabby is skipping along with anticipation, while I’m wishing I could loosen my tie.
But I don’t. I want to make a good impression, you see. I want the baby to know because I feel somehow like it will know that I’ve made the effort.
“If you could just lie down here,” the nurse directs Gabby, making small talk with her about how this is our first child and whether we’re excited as I find a chair by the side of the bed. There’s a screen set up in front of us, kind of ominous with all its wires and the link to the computer beside the nurse. I dry my palms on the sides of my legs before I settle down, reaching out to hold Gabby’s hand and squeezing it hard.
The nurse types out a few things on the screen, asking a few more questions before she finally turns to Gabby with a probe in one hand and a tube of gel in the other. “This will be a little cold,” she says, smearing it over Gabby’s exposed stomach. Her fingers twitch just slightly in mine, but other than that, she doesn’t seem to mind it at all.
The nurse puts the probe to Gabby’s stomach, and there they are – our baby.
It’s not the first ultrasound, but this time around the baby is so much bigger and so much more defined than last time. It takes my breath away.
“Are you wanting to find out the gender today?” the nurse asks, glancing over at both of us.
“Yes, please,” Gabby says eagerly.
“Alright, we’ll do that at the end,” she tells us. “First, we’re going to do all of our checks and measurements and make sure that the baby is doing well, and then we’ll look at gender.”
Great. A long wait to find out. And with all the tension of not yet knowing if they’re going to be deemed, well, alright. My heart thumps painfully in my chest. I just want to know that they’re okay. That they’re going to be born healthy. All this not knowing is driving me mad.
But I soon get carried away in the awe of it. The tiny little heart the nurse finds pumping away inside his tiny, tiny ribcage. The hands and feet that are so small you can barely see them, and yet they’re moving around and waving as if the baby knows we’re watching. We even see a tiny spine, the vertebrae picked out like marks made on the surface of cake icing with a toothpick, so small it seems like they must be impossible.
And finally, the nurse turns to us and moves the probe in a certain direction, and shows us something on the screen that mostly looks like more blobs but is much easier to make out from her expert opinion.
“There you have it,” she says. “You’re having a...little girl.”
“A girl,” Gabby gasps, squeezing my hand so tight I think she might break my fingers for a moment – and I don’t even care.
Both of us are unable to hold back our tears of happiness as we look back at her on the screen, the nurse moving the probe back up to her tiny head. Our baby daughter. I can’t believe it.
We leave the appointment skipping along on cloud nine, so happy and high up that i
t feels like nothing can touch us.
“I can’t believe it’s only been four months,” I chuckle. “Four months ago, I had no idea. If you’d told me four months ago I would be expecting a baby girl with the wife of my dreams, I’d have told you that you were an idiot.”
“Hey! Don’t call your wife an idiot,” Gabby says, smacking my arm lightly with the folder of information the nurse gave us. But she’s grinning. We both are. I feel like my facial muscles have been permanently rearranged.
“And five more months to go,” I say, more seriously. “I can’t believe it. We planned a wedding in a month, and yet I don’t know if five months feels like enough time to make sure everything’s ready for her.”
“We’ll make it work,” Gabby says, with serene confidence. “The house is almost ready. As soon as the builders sign off we can get the decorators to focus on the nursery first so that she has somewhere to sleep even if we don’t.”
I laugh at that. “We can curl up in front of the cot, I suppose.”
“You’re paying the best in the business, so it really ought to be then I’m sure,” Gabby continues as we walk out of the hospital and towards the car. “They’ll be done on schedule. And I’ll have plenty of time to make sure that we’re fully stocked with everything we’re going to need.”
“Are you going to have plenty of time?” I ask. “With college on top of all this?”
She waves a hand in the air. “I’ll manage just fine,” she says. “Besides, they’ve been really good at allowing me to go part-time from just before the due date. It might take me an extra year to finish, but so what? I’ll still get my degree, and I have a feeling that this little one is going to give me enough happiness to cover anything else that might go wrong.”
“I think she already is,” I say, slipping my arm around her hips and squeezing her against me.
We get into the car, and I pause for a moment with my hands on the steering wheel, turning my head to look at her.
“What?” Gabby asks, her eyes curious.
“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head with a wide smile. “I just had to check. Sometimes, it doesn’t feel like any of this can be true. But it turns out I’m not dreaming, after all.”
“You’re not,” Gabby reassures me, her hand sliding along my leg – and dangerously close to a place that might not have us leaving the hospital for a little while. “It’s not a dream. It’s real. It’s a dream come true.”
Extended Epilogue
One Year Anniversary
Gabby
I set down my knife and fork on the side of the plate with a sigh. “He’s done it again,” I say, shaking my head in wonder. “Absolutely delicious.”
“What’s that? Is that my favorite customer I hear?”
I hear a familiar voice and turn my head, laughing.
Marco stands watching us from the kitchen door, his arms folded over his chef’s whites as usual. Oz lifts a hand in greeting, grinning at him. “You knew full well we were here.”
“I did,” Marco admits, walking over to our table. “I just wanted to make sure everything was perfect for you in the kitchen. One year already, eh?”
“Yes,” I say, reaching out for Oz’s hand. Our wedding rings glint in the dim lights of the restaurant as we entwine our fingers together. “And it couldn’t have been a better year.”
Marco makes a face, teasingly. “Disgusting, the pair of you,” he says. “No little one in tow?”
I shake my head. “Deanna’s with my parents,” I tell him. “They’re here for a month visiting, so we roped them in for some babysitting duty while we have them.”
“Ah, that’s a shame,” Marco says. It makes me laugh – this gruff chef, part of a profession of famously unyielding men, always turns to putty whenever we come by with Deanna in her stroller. “Well, a night to yourselves. What are you planning to do with it?”
Oz’s eyes sparkle with the real answer. “We’ll see how the night goes,” he demurs, but even the hint of it sends a shiver racing down my spine. I wonder if he feels it, too.
I’m sure he does.
Marco holds up his hands in an expression of surrender. “Say no more,” he says. “I’m guessing you’d like the bill, not to stick around for coffee.”
“As delightful as your coffee is,” Oz says, inclining his head yes.
“I’ll get that sorted for you,” Marco says, making a gesture in the air towards the waiter, who nods understandingly and hurries to work. “Enjoy your anniversary, you two.”
“Oh, we are,” I assure him. “Thanks, Marco. Your food hits the spot every time.”
“Glad to hear it,” he grins, disappearing into the kitchen again.
I look up at my husband, our hands still joined together on the tabletop. “Ready to go?” I ask, reaching for my purse.
He nods. “I’ll settle up on the way out. Do you want to go anywhere before home?”
I pretend to think about it. “Well, we could stop by the campus,” I say slyly. “I might have forgotten some work in one of the lecture rooms. It’s fine, though. I have my access card, so we’ll be able to get in.”
“Well, I wouldn't want you to go without your work,” Oz says, winking at me. We get up, and I fish around in my tiny purse for my keycard as he pays.
Even though it’s summer, I’m still splitting my time between studying and being a mother. The benefit of them allowing me to go part-time while I gave birth to Deanna last year is that I get more time with my family, but the downside is that I don’t really get much of a break through the year. Summer is a time to catch up, to make sure I’m not falling behind my peers on the same course.
But it also means I get to go to campus when it’s almost deserted, and no one bats an eyelid about me being there.
We walk down together, taking advantage as always of how close everything really is in central London. At the campus entrance, the security guard looks at us in our expensive evening wear with a certain level of doubt, but he can’t argue with my student card and Oz’s alumni card. We’re inside, and walking down the hall to where my lectures are usually held.
Until I yank Oz to the side, pulling his arm sharply and opening a door at the same time.
It’s only when the door closes behind us that he reacts, our bodies close together in the enclosed space. “Is this a cleaning cupboard?” he asks, his voice innocent and curious as if he doesn’t know what we’re doing here.”
“No, darling,” I tell him, winding my arms around his neck. “It’s a closet. Now, hurry up. We don’t want to get caught by the janitor.”
And even in the dim light from the hallway, which at this time of the evening is lit only with scattered, low-energy bulbs, I can still make out his grin.
Extended Epilogue
Sometime later...
Oz
“Dadda’s home!” Deanna exclaims, the first sound I hear when I open the door. It’s followed by the sound of her rapidly running feet, pitter-pattering over the tiled hallway in that way she does that always puts my heart in my mouth.
“Careful,” I exclaim, not wanting to see her fall over again. Whenever she does, the sound of her cries makes me want to burn down the whole world just to make her feel better. I step inside properly and scoop her up in my arms, making her laugh happily.
“Hello Dadda,” she says, in-between chewing on her own finger. She then pats my cheek with her wet hand, which is just so nice of her.
“Hello, Deedee,” I say, chuckling and shaking my head. I carry her through to the kitchen, following my nose and ears, the scent of Gabby’s cooking is hard to miss, as are the sounds of the boiling pots and the cooing of our baby son.
Joel is already there in his high chair, gurgling happily as he slams a rattle against the side of the chair over and over again, amusing himself with the noise. Gabby looks around with that radiant smile she always gives me and turns from her cooking, brushing her hands off on her apron as she steps over to us.
“Good day at
work?” she asks. It’s a joke, really. This domestic scene isn’t quite as cookie cutter as it looks. I work from home most of the time now, and she’s right there with me in our home office. Gabby just likes to pretend to be a housewife when she’s on maternity leave – the rest of the time she’s an absolute goddess, somehow juggling childcare, cooking, and making sure I don’t make any stupid mistakes now that I’m not in the office anymore.
“Wonderful, darling,” I say, putting on a deliberately exaggerated accent as I kiss her on the lips. “And how have the children been?”
“Messy little pups,” Gabby laughs, stirring the pot of whatever smells amazing on the stove. “Did you get that meeting with Simpsonite?”
“Yes, the paperwork should be through at the end of the week,” I say, taking Deanna still on my hip to lean down and kiss Joel on the forehead. He coos up at me, making Deanna giggle.
“Good. Now, no more work talk for the next hour,” she beams. I see everything I need to know in her eyes, anyway, the way she looks at me every time we close a deal, with total pride and admiration. I thought that would wear off after we’d been together a while, but it hasn’t and it never will. I’m a very lucky man.
“I’ll get the table set,” I say. “Deedee, do you want to help me?”
She nods, scrambling to be put down, and quickly starts running about fetching placemats and putting them on the table. She’s already so helpful and industrious, following her mother’s example. By the time she hits school age, we’re going to have a very good student on our hands. I can’t wait. Just watching her grow and develop already is the biggest gift of my life, and it’s surely only going to get better from here.
“Good girl,” I say, ruffling her hair slightly and making her pout as I finish up with the cutlery. “How long until the food’s ready, love?”
Love In London: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Page 12
