by Kata Čuić
“I was asleep!” Evie shouts as she points at herself. “Someone else thought it would be a good idea to stay awake and deface me!”
Horrible memories of my car being defaced threaten to crack my happy mood.
“That wasn’t defacing,” Rob defends, standing with Robbie in his arms. “That was reminding.”
“With permanent marker, Superjock? Really? Your idea of a reminder is going to last for weeks!”
Alex sidles up to me and wraps his arm around my waist. He murmurs out of the side of his mouth, “If it comes to bloodshed, I’ll make a play for Robbie, and you run for it with Layla.”
“Agreed,” I whisper.
To be honest, I have no intention of leaving. Perhaps I need to make more time for myself beyond work and parenting. This is the most excitement I’ve enjoyed in weeks. I’m practically drooling for the big reveal.
All the more reason for Alex and me to get our own place. I can think of much better forms of both excitement and enjoyment.
Evie turns to me with a tight smile. “When is the team charity ball?”
“Next Friday,” I reply.
I’m grateful to have people I trust to watch the kids while we attend, but I’m also dreading all the inevitable questions coming my way about the status of my relationship with Alex.
What will I tell people? That I’m his baby mama?
We’ve managed to lay low in the public eye because Alex has been on the injured reserve list since the Gold Rushers picked him up during the off season. The charity ball will be the week after his debut on the field. If he’s still as explosive of a player as I think he is, the media will want to know everything about the comeback story I truly believe the man I love will become.
“Look what he did to me!” Evie shouts before lifting her shirt.
I stare in horror at the word MINE written in obviously permanent marker in various places all across her stomach and breasts. There’s no way she can wear the gown with the elegant sweetheart neckline now.
Alex bursts out laughing before turning his back on the sight. With obvious force, he coughs out, “I didn’t see anything.”
“Please,” I scoff. “What did you notice first? The granny panties or the stretch marks? We have given birth in rooms full of people. We honestly do not care anymore.”
I turn to Rob, who’s trying desperately to plaster himself and their baby against the wall. “How could you? Haven’t you seen the dress she was planning to wear? Your artwork will be visible for all the cameras to capture!”
“Don’t,” Alex whispers, still chuckling. “Don’t do it. We’re Switzerland, sweetheart. We’re not getting involved.”
Rob nods manically. “I know! She’s freaking out about the cameras and the baby weight she wanted to lose, and how the dress doesn’t fit right, so I thought I’d remind her of what I think about the way she looks!”
“He’s so stupid, it’s almost a tragedy,” Alex wheezes beside me, with his back still turned on Evie.
Layla reaches for him, so he scoops her up and plants a kiss on each of her chubby cheeks.
“You’re never allowed to date a guy that stupid. I’ll kill him,” Alex swears to our daughter.
“Dada,” she agrees, happily.
The smile on Alex’s face could power all of California even in the midst of a drought. He insists getting a Superbowl ring would not make him as happy as the sound of her claiming him, too.
Evie’s shoulders slump as she lets the shirt fall down to cover herself again. “Thank you for loving me the way you do, but you can’t possibly understand how hard it is to be your wife sometimes.”
I step forward, ready to defend my sister in arms.
Alex pulls me back and commands one word, “No.”
He drags me from the room, with Layla in tow.
She waves to the boy she bit minutes ago.
My heart melts even as it pounds.
“Brawn,” I protest as he pulls me upstairs toward our bedroom. “We can’t leave them alone! They need help to work through this conflict. It’s true that as the celebrity athletes, you cannot possibly understand what it’s like for us. Evie needs another woman in the room to make Rob see reason.”
“No,” Alex commands again, pausing at the top of the stairwell to raise his finger at me. In spite of Layla chattering away in his arms, Alex wraps his hand around my neck. “Repeat after me—you are not my therapist.”
“I am not your therapist,” I reply dutifully.
“You are not Evie’s therapist.”
“I am not Evie’s therapist.” I wouldn’t ever presume to be qualified as a sexual assault counselor. I work with the athletes who are statistically more likely to engage in that crime. Hopefully, I provide them with multiple reasons not to continue the stereotype.
Blake Mayview hasn’t been in the news in the past several months. That has to be worth something, right?
“You are not Rob’s therapist.”
“I am not Rob’s therapist.”
He kisses the tip of my nose as he glides his thumb down my windpipe. He pulls back to electrify me with his deep blue gaze. “I love how much you love my family. I’ll always try to love yours the same way, even when you don’t. Mostly because I’m grateful to them for making you into the woman I get to love today, even if I don’t agree with their methods.”
I nod. Tears tighten my throat more than Alex’s grip. I had hoped that my parents would soften with the birth of their only grandchild, but thus far, they have been unwilling to sacrifice the time and money necessary to fly to the West Coast to visit us. All I can do now is hope for the future.
Alex presses his lips against mine before continuing, “No matter what we think we know, Rob and Evie have demons we can never fully understand. It took me a long time to learn that the best way we can support them is to trust that they know how to dance by themselves. They don’t need lessons from anyone else.”
I lick my lips, kiss the top of Layla’s head, then confess something I’m ashamed to admit feels very much like using Alex as my personal therapist. “I am terrified of the charity ball next week.”
He releases my throat, then pins me with only his gaze. “Why?”
“What am I supposed to say? How will you introduce me to people? Layla will not be with us.”
A slow, soft smile spreads across his face. “I haven’t seen the dress you’re planning to wear yet.”
I stifle a sigh of frustration. As expected, he doesn’t understand the pressure I’ll face because he has pressure enough of his own to contend with. “It’s nice. Evie helped me pick it out.”
“Will you try it on for me?” He raises his eyebrow and the stakes. “I’m talking about the full look. Take a long shower, shave, do your hair and makeup. While you get ready, I’ll put Layla to bed.”
I call his bluff. If he wants to bet on my life, then I aim to win. “Evie already hired a stylist for the occasion. We will not be doing our own hair and makeup. If you understood what it was like to walk a mile in our shoes, you would know that already.”
“Do you love me?” he questions. He has obviously been taking puppy dog eye lessons from the kids.
I thought his flair for the dramatic couldn’t reach new levels. I was wrong. I roll my eyes and try my best to remain unaffected. “You know I do.”
He kisses me again, slipping me just enough tongue to make me bend to his will. “Then, humor me. It was supposed to be our late night anyway.”
It’s true, so I do.
By the time I emerge from the en suite bathroom fully dressed in my planned charity ball gown, he’s waiting on the bed with Layla in his arms. While she’s dressed for sleep in her pajamas, he’s wearing his tuxedo.
“Do we have a date I didn’t know about?”
His jaw drops. He quickly picks it up off the floor before responding, “We didn’t, but I couldn’t wait another day.”
I have no idea what that means, but my most pressing concern is the gown
I’m holding onto myself with my arms twisted in awkward positions behind my back. “I need a little help, actually.”
He rises slowly from the mattress before gently settling a sleeping Layla in the middle. He places our pillows on either side of her before stalking toward me with a grin. “It seems like a waste of time to zip you into it when I want to rip it off you.”
“You were the one who insisted on this waste of time,” I respond. “We could have just as easily gone to sleep.”
His smile is softer and a little less lusty, sadly. “I did insist. Turn around, so I can get the full view before the big day.”
I do as he requests. His hands are slow and deliberate as he raises the zipper tine by tine up my back. I hope he doesn’t renege on his innuendo for what will happen after he helps me out of it. I also hope he doesn’t make good on his promise to rip it off me. This dress was expensive.
Once I’m facing him in an approximation of how I want to face our first public outing, he takes his time to peruse my appearance from top to bottom.
“Why are you so nervous about this? You’re fucking gorgeous.”
“So are you.” I wrap my hands around the lapels of his tuxedo jacket.
“No,” he commands as he uncurls my fingers, one by one. He takes a step back from me to reinforce the idea of distance between us. “You said I can’t understand what it’s like to be in your shoes. Help me understand. Tell me why you’re nervous.”
I gesture at him then at myself. “It took you, what? Ten minutes to look like you could be on the cover of a magazine? Alex. You’re the face and the eight-pack of men’s luxury underwear. Your image is already in magazines. It took me over an hour to look my best, and my best won’t be considered nearly good enough to be on your arm.”
“Do you need a Sharpie marker lesson, too?” He crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow.
“I will break your hand,” I hiss before explaining what he and Rob don’t comprehend. “You are sexy all the time. For me? The media and your fans will focus on all my flaws. On my hips that are too wide, my stomach that will never be as flat as it was again, my breasts that aren’t quite the same size. They might call me exotic-looking, but that’s still a subtle insult. Because I’m not the all-American version of blond hair, blue eyes, and an hourglass figure, I won’t be good enough to be with you. There will still be whispers that I trapped you because of her.” I gesture to our sleeping girl in the middle of the bed.
He steps toward me again and wraps either side of my face in his big hands. His gaze darts between my eyes. “You have never been this kind of woman. Even in college when you convinced yourself you needed my help, you didn’t. Not really. You knew exactly how to make a man sit up and take notice of you. So, don’t try to tell me now that your bigger tits and your wider hips and everything that makes a man drool aren’t pros instead of cons. I think you know damn well that you’re still every man’s wet dream. You use your black eyes like weapons to turn me on with a single glance. Even when I’m holding a baby,” he hisses the last part.
I can’t help but laugh and confirm my guilt. I do so enjoy toying with him.
His eyes laugh, too. He glides his thumb over my lower lip, undoubtedly smearing my carefully applied lipstick. Somehow, that only makes me burn hotter for him. He presses slowly into my mouth, leaving me no choice but to flick my tongue against the rough pad of his thumb. Laughter turns to a strangled moan. From both of us. He leans forward and whispers, “No. This isn’t the problem. This has always been perfect between us. You’re nervous about something else.”
I don’t typically talk with my mouthful. “I do not know what to tell people about our relationship.”
He smirks, then removes his thumb from my mouth. “What do you want to tell people about us?”
“The truth would be the easiest.”
His gaze roams slowly over my face. “You don’t like the truth as it stands right now.”
He’s not asking. He knows. He always knows.
“I don’t particularly care for the phrase baby mama, no,” I admit. “If I introduce myself at the charity ball that way, people will wonder if those social media posts were true. About me trapping you into a relationship with an unplanned pregnancy,” I clarify.
He cages me in against the wall with his arms braced on either side of my head. His gaze grows sharper as he brings his face closer to mine, only to divert at the last minute and glide his nose along my collarbone then up my neck. “I can always tell people I trapped myself. Willingly. I think the choice of how you introduce yourself should be up to you.”
“Obviously, I’ll introduce myself as Dr. Deep. It’s the questions about our relationship I don’t know how to answer,” I supply.
He chuckles, sending a rush of his warm breath against my neck. The sensation makes me shiver. “I still say Dr. Deep sounds like a comic book villain.” He raises his gaze to mine. There’s a hint of fear dulling his blue eyes that isn’t normally present. “You could choose something else.”
“You think Dr. Fossoway sounds better?” My heart hammers inside my chest. At this close range, surely, he must be able to feel it, too.
He does. He places his hand over my breast bone with enough pressure to calm me. “That’s another choice only you can make.”
A smile pulls at the corner of my mouth, no matter how stern I try to keep my expression. “What if I want you to be Alex Deep?”
He considers it for a moment. “I do like being deep inside you,” he agrees.
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss his luscious mouth. I don’t care about my makeup, and I’d really like to get to the point where he takes this dress off of me before Layla wakes for her middle of the night feeding. “I also like that. Perhaps we could do that now that you’ve seen my outfit for the charity ball, and we’ve discussed everything we need to discuss for the time being.”
“Have we?” He pulls back to stare at me with a furrowed brow. “I don’t feel like we actually agreed on anything yet. You still have to make a choice.”
“Fine.” I roll my eyes. “I’ll be Dr. Fossoway, and you can go deep. There. Agreed. Can you take this off of me now? We only have an hour or so until she wakes.”
He chuckles against my lips. “So eager.”
I pout when he pulls away again.
“Hang on a sec. I think I know exactly what this outfit needs to really pull everything together.”
I really pout when he strides to the bed to lift Layla into his arms. There go my plans for the night. “I cannot accessorize this outfit with our baby. She’s not attending the ball with us.”
He grins. “She’s the ultimate accessory. She makes anyone look better. Even me.”
I roll my eyes. “You look good all the time as I’ve already said. You look even better when you’re holding her.”
He chuckles. “Sweetheart, I know you love arguing with me, but you just proved my point.” He kneels on the floor in front of me, still clutching Layla close to his chest. “I have another point I’d like to make, and I really hope you don’t argue this one.” He kisses Layla’s forehead then takes a deep breath before glancing up at me. “Will you let me marry you?”
I blow out a controlled breath. Several emotions swirl in my chest that compete with the thoughts pummeling my brain. Perhaps this is all my fault. I haven’t been clear enough about where I believe our relationship should go from here, so Alex still feels relegated to the practice makes perfect way of doing things.
Still, I don’t want to hurt his feelings. This is a big moment for a man who once never saw himself trapped in the bonds of marriage. If I’m not as gentle as possible, then he may never gain the courage to truly ask me again.
“Aren’t you supposed to ask me to marry you?” I suggest on a light whisper. I smile to show my reception to the question.
His expression remains serious. Determined, even. “That’s the traditional way, sure, but you and I have never done things the tradi
tional way. I don’t ever want you to feel trapped with me, so I’m not asking you to give me a single thing. You already gave me a daughter. What more could I ask for? I’m asking to tie my life to yours. I’m asking to be your husband. I’m asking for the chance to love, honor, and cherish you for the rest of my life. I’m asking to marry you, but if that’s not what you want, then I’m begging to be allowed to be with you. Always.”
This gown doesn’t make it easy, but somehow, I manage to sit on the floor. I smile at Layla and smooth her hair back from her forehead as she blinks sleepily up at her father. She feels safe and secure enough in the strong arms that cradle her to close her eyes again. “It is a Wednesday, Brawn.”
He winces. “Are Wednesdays bad luck in Lebanese culture? I didn’t know.”
“I don’t know if they are either.” I laugh. Shared laughter is one of the major markers of deep, abiding love. People who laugh together are safe, secure, and happy. We laugh together all the time. “We are in our shared bedroom in a home that other people have graciously provided for us.”
“I—” He blows out a breath. “Okay, I confess. I have no idea where you’re going with this.”
“Wouldn’t you rather at least ask in a nice restaurant?” I hint as I stroke Layla’s cheek.
Alex furrows his brow. Deeply. “Why would I do that?”
“It is…traditional.” That’s likely not the best argument after his lovely speech about us not doing anything the traditional way.
“Sure, but you hate public proposals,” Alex answers easily.
“I do?”
“Yes,” Alex draws out. “Don’t you remember calling to tell me about the UCLA player who proposed to his girlfriend after a big win? In the middle of the field? You spent an hour telling me how embarrassed you were for her, and how badly you felt for him when she refused. Then, the following year it happened again. You couldn’t believe the second guy hadn’t learned his lesson from the first one. You said it was just as cringe worthy, even though that one had a happier ending. You went on a two-hour long rant about how public marriage proposals are archaic and a desperate cry for attention.” He pops his eyebrows. “That was all new information to me. I honestly thought women liked big, romantic, public displays.”
