by Lauren Rowe
I stand stock still, holding my breath, positive I’ve misunderstood him. It sounded like Josh said, “It’s all yours, baby.” But what would the “it” in that sentence be? That’s what my brain isn’t comprehending. Josh’s heart? The dress? I pull back and stare at Josh with wide eyes. “Huh?”
Josh cups my face in his large palms. “The necklace is all yours, my love—my gift to you—because I love you with all my heart and soul.”
My entire body jolts. “What?” I shriek.
The look on Josh’s face is utterly priceless—he’s a kid in a candy shop, as excited as I’ve ever seen him. He moves his hands to my shoulders. “My beautiful Kat, marriage isn’t in the cards for us, as you know.” He strokes my hair. “So I’m hoping you’ll accept this necklace as a symbol of my eternal love for you.”
My heart has truly stopped beating. Oh my God, no, wait, now it’s exploding. And, now, holy fuck, it’s bursting out of my chest and hurtling against the hotel wall.
“What?” I say, this time in a hoarse whisper, my eyes bugging out of my head.
Surely, I’m misunderstanding this conversation. The strange words coming out of Josh’s mouth sound remarkably like English, but they’re being strung together in a nonsensical way.
“You’re the great love of my life, Kat,” Josh says, still stroking my hair, gazing into my eyes. “I choose you, baby. That’s what this necklace means. Not because of a piece of paper, not because of the kumquat, but because I want you and no one else. I choose you, Kat, and I hope you choose me, too. Forever.”
I clutch my throat like I’m choking on a big-ass diamond. “Forever?” I blurt. “You choose me forever?”
Josh nods.
“You’re promising to love me forever?”
He nods again.
“And this necklace is mine?”
Josh nods again.
“To keep?”
“Yes.”
I throw my arms around his neck. “I love you, too,” I shriek, tears of joy springing from my eyes. “I choose you, too, forever and ever and ever! Yes, yes, yes. I choose you, too, baby! Yes!”
And just like that, even before I can say, “Well, color me happy!”—(which I was totally gonna say, by the way, but how the fuck could I possibly remember to say my line now?)—my beautiful gown is hiked up, my pretty lace panties are on the floor, and Josh’s donkey-dick is sliding in and out of me, filling me to the brim and making me scream. Oh, God, this is insanity. I’m not only screaming with pleasure, I’m crying and howling, too. I’m either thoroughly enraptured or possessed by a freaking demon, it’s not clear which.
After several minutes of fuckery that can only be described as “a mini-porno-version of The Exorcist,” Josh lays me down on my back on a table in the suite and fucks me with breathtaking fervor, whispering into my ear as he does about how much he loves me and how hot I am with my little baby bump and how good and wet and tight I always feel for him—and, within minutes, I’m convulsing with an orgasm that curls my effing toes and blurs my vision (and also makes my green head spin round and round on my shoulders).
When we’re both done, Josh hulks over me on the table for a long moment, catching his breath. “Holy fuck,” he says, his breathing ragged. “That wasn’t according to plan.”
I breathe deeply, trying to calm my racing heart. “Are we gonna be late now?” I gasp.
Josh straightens up, his eyebrows raised. “Late for what?”
“For the opera?”
Josh chuckles. “Oh, Kat.” He pulls me off the table and wraps me in his strong arms.
“What? That’s where Richard took Julia in the red dress—to the opera in San Francisco.”
“Yeah, I know—I’ve seen the movie,” Josh says, rolling his eyes. “But this is my fantasy, remember?—and I’d rather poke needles in my eyes than go to the fucking opera.”
I giggle. “Oh, thank God. I was gonna be a good sport about it, of course, but I’d rather poke needles in my eyes than go to the fucking opera, too.”
Josh kisses my forehead. “Don’t you worry, PG. You’re with me, remember? The Playboy—and where I’m taking you today is gonna curl your toes and soak your panties a thousand times more than any stinkin’ opera ever could.” He winks. “I guarantee it.”
Chapter 36
Kat
Our limo pulls up to a small airport displaying a sign at the entrance that says, “Boeing Field.”
“Are we flying to San Francisco?” I ask.
Josh grabs my hand. “No questions. Your only job today is to react—not to try to figure things out.”
“Richard took Julia to San Francisco,” I say.
“We’re not going to the opera, and we’re not going to San Francisco,” Josh says. “No more questions.”
I survey the long line of small jets lined up on the tarmac. “But we’re flying somewhere?”
Josh puts his finger to his lips.
The limo winds its way through a gate and stops at a hangar about fifty yards from a small jet with its door opened wide and retractable staircase down.
“Are we going somewhere on that plane there?” I ask, pointing.
“God, you’re a terrible listener,” Josh says.
“Sorry. But are we going somewhere on a private plane? I’ve never been on a private plane. Oh my God.”
“Ssh.”
The limo driver opens our door and Josh gets out first.
“Don’t forget our bags in the trunk, please,” Josh instructs the driver. He bends down and peeks at me in the backseat. “You ready to make my hottest fantasy come true, Party Girl?”
I shoot Josh a look that says I don’t believe for a second we’re here to fulfill his fantasy. So far today, Josh has dressed me like Julia Roberts, slapped a beachside condo around my neck, and told me he’ll love me forever and ever. It really doesn’t take a brain surgeon to realize he’s fulfilling my top fantasies today, no matter what he says. “If you say so, PB,” I say, looking at him sideways.
“Oh, I do.” Josh pulls me out of the car and threads my arm into his. “You look incredible in that dress,” he whispers. He begins escorting me toward the nearby jet.
“Thank you. I absolutely love it. And the necklace—oh my God, Josh, it’s beyond my wildest dreams.” I touch the dazzling rocks encircling my neck, still not able to comprehend they’re mine.
“That’s good. Because you’re beyond my wildest dreams, babe.”
I abruptly stop walking. “Okay, that’s it,” I say. “What the heck is going on?”
Josh furrows his brow. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I had to lesbo-out with a bisexual supermodel and hypnotize you with a devious song to trick you into saying ‘I love you’ not too long ago, and now, suddenly, you’re watching Pretty Woman and acting like Michael Bublé on steroids?”
Josh laughs and touches my belly. “Kat, just roll with it, baby. Don’t overthink it. Your job is to react. Nothing more.”
“At first I thought maybe you’d arranged all this because you’re so happy to be having a daughter named after your mom, but then I realized you had to have arranged all this before we found out the kumquat’s gender.”
“Don’t think, babe. React.”
“But, Josh, you watched Pretty Woman, for cryin’ out loud. Have you gone completely mad?”
Josh brushes the hair out of my face and gazes into my eyes. “Yes, I have. Completely and utterly insane.” He smiles. “And I’ve never been happier.”
I bite my lip.
“Now come on, baby—we’ve got a private plane to catch.”
When we reach the jet on the tarmac, a pilot in full uniform descends the retractable stairs and greets us. Josh leads me up the stairs and directs me to a window seat.
“You need anything?” Josh asks as I settle into my seat. “Club soda? A barf bag?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m good. I haven’t barfed in a few days, actually.”
“Hey, give that girl
a salami,” Josh says, grinning. “Will you do me a favor and hang out here for a minute, PG? I’ve got to talk briefly to the pilot about the flight plan.”
“Is it okay if I send Sarah a photo of my necklace?”
“Of course,” Josh says. “It’s yours, after all.”
“Oh my God,” I breathe. “You just made my heart skip a beat.”
Josh grins. “I’ll be right back, baby.” He winks and disappears down the stairs.
I pull my phone out of my clutch bag, take a quick selfie (making sure my dazzling necklace is front and center), and shoot the photo off to Sarah, tapping out a quick message along with it. “OMFG,” I write. “I’m sitting on a PRIVATE PLANE wearing THIS!”
“Really? Wow! Amaaaaazing!” Sarah writes back instantly. “Where are you going?”
“I have no freaking clue!!!!!!” I write. “Josh dressed me in a Pretty Woman red dress and gave me this ridicky diamond necklace—TO KEEP!!!!!!—and told me he’s gonna love me ‘FOREVER’ and called me ‘MY LOVE’! And he didn’t pass out or hurl during any of it! And now we’re on a private jet heading to I DON’T CARE WHERE!”
“No way! That’s so exciting! WOWZERCATS!”
Even in text, something about Sarah’s reply feels canned to me. I shoot a snarky look at my display screen. “Oh, Sarah Cruz,” I write. “You’re the worst liar ever, even in text. I hope when you’re a lawyer you wind up defending only innocent people because, otherwise, your guilty clients are all going straight to prison.”
“LOL,” Sarah writes. “First off, I’m not gonna practice criminal law—I’ll be working for Gloria’s House helping women get restraining orders and stuff. Second off, I like the fact that I’m a horrible liar. It’s one of my best qualities.” She attaches a scared-face emoji to the end of her message.
“You already knew about the necklace, didn’t you?” I write.
“Of course. Do you really think I would have chosen working with my mom today over celebrating the big reveal of Gracie Louise Faraday? Come on, girl!”
“Yeah, I thought it was weird you were turning down an opportunity to drink champagne,” I write. “So, hey, will you go shopping with me when I get back? I’m suddenly feeling the urge to buy lots and lots of PINK!!!!! Woohooooooo!”
“Hellz yeah!!!” Sarah writes. “I’m already planning to buy my sweet little niece a pair of her very own pink, sparkly boots! Yeehaw!”
I laugh out loud and begin tapping out a reply, but before I can finish my message, a text notification comes in from Josh.
“Raise the blind on your window and look outside,” Josh’s text says.
“Gotta go,” I quickly type to Sarah. “The director of our mini-porno just told me to take my mark. Teehee. I’ll give you a full report later, girlio.”
“You better,” Sarah writes. “Have fun, Kitty Kat!” She attaches a cat emoji and a heart.
“Meow,” I write, followed by a salsa dancer (the emoji I always use to symbolize Sarah), plus a heart of my own.
I put my phone back into my sparkling clutch and then, as instructed, slowly raise the window blind and peek outside.
No.
Impossible.
Joshua William Faraday has just killed me. I’m officially dead. RIP Katherine Ulla Morgan. It’s been a great life.
Josh is standing below me on the tarmac in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, staring up with a smoldering expression on his handsome face—and with his arm in a freakin’ sling!
“Stop!” I yell toward the cockpit, even though the airplane isn’t moving (and the engines aren’t even on). “Stop!” I shriek again, leaping dramatically up from my chair. My brain isn’t processing coherent thought right now, it’s true, but I don’t need conscious thought to know what I’m supposed to do in this scene—I’ve seen it in The Bodyguard twenty times, after all.
I burst down the stairs of the plane as fast as I can manage in my tight-fitting dress and towering heels and sprint (sort of) to Josh. And when I reach him, I throw my arms around his neck, hyperventilating. “Josh,” I gasp. “I love you, I love you, I love—”
Josh’s tongue slides into my mouth, shutting me up, while his free hand caresses my back—and when he pulls away from our kiss, his eyes are on fire. “Katherine Ulla Morgan,” he says, his voice intense. “I. Will. Always. Love. You.”
I squeal loudly, completely enthralled.
“I know marriage isn’t in the cards for us,” Josh says, “since neither of us wants that kind of hoopla, as we’ve discussed.” One side of his mouth hitches up. “But I hope you’ll accept this gift as a symbol of my eternal love for you.” He pulls a skinny, rectangular jewelry box out of his pocket.
“Oh my effing God,” I blurt, even before Josh has opened the box. “No, Josh. No. Whatever that is, it’s too much, honey. No.”
“There’s no such thing as ‘too much’ when it comes to you, babe,” Josh says.
“No,” I breathe. “Baby, no. You can’t. Too much.”
“Ssh. You can forbid me to give extravagant gifts to your parents,” Josh says. “But when it comes to giving gifts to you, I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.”
I clutch my stomach. “Oh God, I feel like I’m gonna hurl,” I say.
Josh flinches. “Not quite the reaction I was going for, babe.”
I feel myself turning green.
“Well, shit,” Josh says, crinkling his nose. “Maybe take a deep breath? Fuck, Kat. Seriously?”
I take a deep breath, but my nausea doesn’t subside.
Josh’s scowl intensifies. “I haven’t even opened the box yet, Kat.”
“Sorry.”
Josh exhales in frustration. “Maybe bend over and breathe deeply? I’ll hold onto you so you don’t fall over.”
I bend over and breathe for a long moment as Josh holds me and rubs my back and, soon, thankfully, I’ve regained my equilibrium. “Okay,” I say, standing upright again. “I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Yep. I’m fine. I’m ready.”
“You gonna barf if I open this box?”
I shake my head.
“I really like these shoes, Kat,” Josh warns. “These are Stefano Bemer shoes, babe—please don’t barf on them.”
“Ooh la la—Stefano Bemers,” I say, even though I’ve never heard that name in my entire life. “I’d never barf on Stefano Bemer shoes, baby. I respect Mr. Bemer too freaking much.”
Josh laughs. “Okay. Here we go.” He opens the box, and, instantly, I’m a goddamned fucking wreck. If my necklace is a beachside condo, then the behemoth of a diamond bracelet sitting inside that velvet box is at least a convertible Porsche.
“Oh my God!” I shriek, tears pricking my eyes.
Josh pulls the bracelet out of the box and clasps it to my wrist. “I love you, Kat,” he whispers. He wraps me in a huge hug and kisses my tear-soaked cheeks.
“It’s too much,” I mumble into Josh’s lips. “Oh my God, Josh. You can’t do this. I’m not worthy.”
Josh pulls back sharply from me, his eyes on fire. “Don’t say that,” he grits out, his voice spiking with sudden intensity. “Never, ever say that—do you understand me?”
My breath catches in my throat. I’d only meant that phrase as a figure of speech, kind of like from Wayne’s World—“We’re not worthy! We’re not worthy!” Although, of course, I’m truly not worthy. Who could possibly be worthy of this kind of extravagance?
Josh cups my face in his large hands, heat wafting off him, his eyes burning. “You’re my Pretty Woman and I’m your Bodyguard, Kat. You’re the great love of my life and the mother of my future daughter.” He presses himself into me and the hard bulge between us feels like it was forged in a steel factory. “Babe, have you been listening to me at all? You’re mine now. Forever. Mine, all mine. And I’m not just some normal, boring guy—I’m Josh Fucking Faraday. And that means you gotta be dripping in fucking diamonds when you’re on my arm.” He slaps my ass, making me jump. “Now, come on,
babe. Time to get your tight little ass onto that plane. I’m hard as a rock and ready to initiate my Party Girl with a Hyphen into the mile-high club.”
Chapter 37
Josh
“Oooooh, a white limo,” Kat says, settling herself into the backseat. She shoots me a snarky smile. “Just like in the final scene of Pretty Woman.”
“Ssh,” I say, pulling the skirt of Kat’s gown out from under my thigh as I scoot closer to her in the back seat. “This is my top fantasy—not yours, baby. You’re here to react, not to try to figure things out.”
“Okay, well, my reaction is, ‘Hey, you arranged a white limo just like that awesome final scene in Pretty Woman.’”
I roll my eyes. “Smart-ass.”
Kat grins.
I glance through the rear window of the limo just in time to see our driver closing the trunk. My stomach somersaults with excitement. This is it.
The driver walks along the length of the limo and settles into his seat up front.
“You got everything into the trunk?” I ask, referring to more than just our overnight bags.
“Yes, sir,” the driver says. “Everything’s there.” He winks.
“Fantastic,” I say. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
The limo begins to pull away.
“Where are we going?” Kat asks, looking out the car window at the small airport we’re leaving behind.
“Are you hungry, Party Girl?” I ask, completely ignoring her question. “There’s a platter here—fruit, cheese, tapenade, crackers, prosciutto.”
“Oh, God, yes. Thank you. I’m starving.” Kat begins literally stuffing food into her mouth like her very life depends on it. After a moment, she giggles at herself. “Dude, I’m in full Homer-Simpson mode,” she says. “Nom nom nom. I can’t control myself.”
“The kumquat’s really hungry, huh?” I ask.
“Pretty much all the time these days. She’s a demanding little thing.”
I open my mouth to make a snarky comment but Kat holds up her hand.
“Don’t say it,” she says, mock-glaring at me.
I smash my lips together and we both laugh.
