I guess that’s what happens when you propose to an artist.
She designed her wedding gown down to the tiny flower ribbon things she wanted sewn onto it. As long as Lia is happy with everything, I will be. I am ready to start our forever; the details are minor to me. It seems like the past six months have been nothing but wedding plans, and I’m glad that today means I don’t have to answer another question about which type of fork I like better or what pattern I want on the plates we are renting from the catering company. There are reasons I give a theme to a planning committee and then let them have their way with the parties at work.
We were up until almost midnight—Lia, Tasha, Chris, and me—finishing the party favors Lia wanted to give all the guests. There were homemade bubble wands that curved to make our initials, glass vials of bubble solution, and little fabric bags of flower petals. Lia claimed they were sachets to make everything smell pretty. I’m fairly certain they were originally intended for a different project that she knew we didn’t have time for and turned them into potpourri as a last minute gift.
“How is Lia?” Paul is sitting on the arm of my favorite chair in my study, nervously rubbing his hands on his knees. He has been here since shortly after breakfast time, vacillating between being unsure if he’s ready to walk his daughter down the aisle or if he’s excited to see Lia in her dress. She’s let me see her through all the fittings, wanting my opinion every step of the way, but she wanted it to be a surprise for everyone else. After the rocky start we had thanks to her former step-mother, Lia and I have worked hard at communicating. We talk until we think we’re done talking, then clarify our positions one more time. Usually, our conversations end with us sweaty, sticky, and exhausted from great sex. After being interrupted while outside near the pool, Tasha and Lia developed a series of colored scarves that they’d leave around the house as warnings.
“Lia is not puking, which she’s grateful for,” I answer him. “She is pretty tired and sore, though.” Her bouts of morning sickness and all day sickness subsided as she reached the third trimester, but our little one’s constant movement is keeping Lia up at night. As much as I hate seeing her so miserable, the entire process of the pregnancy amazes me. “I think she got up to pee at least three times last night.” I managed to stay awake through two of them, trying to be supportive.
Paul snorts and tries not to smile. “It’s practice for the sleepless nights to come.” He goes silent as he counts on his fingers. “She has what, three weeks left?”
I nod and fasten the cuff links Lia made me as a wedding gift. They look like miniature versions of the sculpture hanging in my office. The mirrored surfaces are so tiny they could be disco balls in a doll house. I really don’t know how she could capture so many details in such a small form. “The weeks are going to go so quickly. We have our staycation sort of honeymoon with maternity spa specialists coming up to the house daily to give massages and otherwise pamper Lia.” With the pregnancy so far along at this point, Lia’s doctor doesn’t want her traveling outside of the city in case she goes into labor. We planned some day trips around town, but nothing that exhausts her. I know we both need to rest up in the days to come in preparation for the little one’s arrival.
Paul grins, his reflection visible in the over the door mirror I’m using for adjusting my tie and cuffs. “So, Beck, do you think you can tell me what you’re having? Lia still refuses.”
With all the drama surrounding the reveal of our relationship and pregnancy, Lia wanted something that was just ours. As much as I wanted to scream the news from the top of Huntsworth Industries and put it in our company newsletter as soon as we found out at the ultrasound appointment, I knew that it was important to Lia. With so much out of our control, she wanted just a tidbit of news that only we were aware of.
I bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop from smiling. “Your daughter threatened my family jewels if I even consider it. I’m sorry, Paul. You’ll know in less than a month,” I offer.
No one except Tasha knows that we’re having a little girl, and that’s how Lia wants to keep it. With my own grand-daughter due to be born just three days after my daughter, the OB/GYN is joking that she will do a two-for-one deal on the delivery room if Lia and Tasha deliver on the same day. Given how close they have been for most of their lives, it’s half-expected that they’ll go into labor together. Lia claims it’s hormones, and I say it is their sheer stubborn determination to stay the same. If one broke a bone or got a sprain as a child, we could practically set the clock by when the other would start screaming about having fallen and hurt herself, too.
My excitement over having a second daughter is hard to keep to myself, and anything pink we’ve bought was smuggled into the locked nursery where wedding attendees won’t be able to see it. The fact that I haven’t spilled the news by accident to even our housekeeper has been miraculous. I’m lucky that technology was not so far advanced when Carrie was pregnant with Tasha. I don’t think the younger me had the willpower to keep such a secret.
Paul glowers at me, trying to force the knowledge out of me with a sulk. He doesn’t have even a quarter of the effect Lia does. “She already told me you’re having a girl, so you can stuff the silent treatment, Beck.”
I know she wouldn’t have told her dad, especially without my knowing, so I just shrug. “Then you’ll have to see if you’re right when the baby’s here.” I hope he won’t call my bluff, and I fix my hair as he seethes behind me. While we have chosen a handful of names, we haven’t picked the one yet. We want to meet our daughter and get to know her before settling on a name, and we know we would both slip up beyond calling her “the baby.”
“You and my daughter are so damned stubborn!” Paul stands up and stomps his way over to the window. “I just want to know if I’m having a grandson or granddaughter. Is that too much to ask?”
“Has the wedding planner gotten the floral arch up?” It’s not a smooth segue, but I hope the distraction will work. I value my friendship with Paul, and he has been upset over the secrecy for a few months now. We’ve known since our sixteen-week checkup, and Lia had even considered us not finding out.
Paul hums in response to my question, tapping the window. “Yeah. They have some kid up on a ladder attaching the rest of the flowers. It looks like they’re purple or blue, maybe. Dark is all I can tell from here. I don’t know. Lia would know the right name for them.”
The florist is right on schedule. Hiring a wedding planner to take care of everything except the actual designing was my best idea for our union. I know Lia is an amazing artist and she is fully capable of creating everything we had made for our wedding. However, I wanted her to be able to relax and enjoy our day without unnecessary worries. It took some convincing, but she willingly handed over her sketchbooks and photos of what she wanted, and I wrote the check. Even with me begging for more from Lia and the designer pushing for a larger budget on what we decided, we only spent half of what Carrie and I had on my first wedding. I did not have the job then I do now. The most extravagant expense was having fabric designed especially for us. The midnight blue accent on Lia’s gown had strands of silver woven into it while mine had an even deeper indigo shade that bordered on being black. The pattern was subtle, and I only knew that Lia was pleased with the fabric. I was happy with how the tux fit, but my tailor always did a great job.
A chirping tweet goes off in Paul’s pocket, and he swears while pulling out his phone. “This thing has been blowing up today. Oh, good, it’s just Donna.” As soon as his divorce was finalized, Lia and I set her father up on a date with the finance secretary. While it was still too early in his rebound phase for them to settle down, they had been going out on dates regularly. “Donna wrote that Lia has closed herself in the bedroom, refusing to come out or let them in. She wants to know if you can go do something?”
Paul is still talking behind me as I exit the room and sprint down the hall for the stairs. Any excuse to see Lia is a good one, but if she
needs me there isn’t a force that can stop me. I take the steps two at a time and see Tasha and Donna leaning against my bedroom door. Their voices are soft and cajoling, the way one might talk to a wounded animal instead of a pregnant bride.
“What’s wrong?” I ask them. Tasha is in her bathrobe cinched tight at the waist, though her stage of pregnancy has the edges just barely meeting over her stomach. “The baby?”
Tasha holds her hands up, stopping me in my tracks. “She’s just having an emotional moment. You know pregnancy and sh-tuff. Yeah, stuff.” Tasha checks her watch and sighs. “I need to get dressed, so you go deal with my step-mom.” She stands on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. “Do not mess up her hair, Dad. The stylist spent like an hour getting it just right.”
“I would never!” I protest.
She arches an eyebrow and looks at me, hands on hips. “I think there have been exactly three days the two of you haven’t been at each other when you’ve both been home. One of those involved Lia going to the hospital for IV fluids because of dehydration. Spare me the ‘I would never’ routine.” Tasha turns and begins walking down the hallway toward her bedroom. “Chris and I can hear you guys every night!”
Chris is outside with the wedding planner, trying to be useful. My son-in-law chose not to be in the wedding despite our invitation, but he is going to be in attendance. He feels uncomfortable around me even after living in my home for four months. I have been nice to him for Tasha and the baby’s sake, but it is difficult knowing my baby girl is married and down the hall. I try not to think of what they’re doing… It must be even more awkward for her to know that Lia and I are together.
I offered to pay for a wedding for them or to have them share our day, but they had declined. Tasha and Chris wanted a small service at the courthouse followed by a reception at the bowling alley where they’d had their first date. Tasha and Lia were barely showing at that point, and now both appear ready to go into labor at any moment.
“Paul is downstairs,” I tell Donna. “Second door on the left when you go down the stairs behind me. The room just beyond the kitchen.” Taking my hint, she leaves me to try and help Lia. I knock on the door. “Honey, it’s me. Just me.”
I listen as there are several sounds of struggling and frustrated tears. Turning the door, it doesn’t open; Lia has locked it. “Can I come in, Lia? Please let me in. It’s my bedroom, too,” I remind her.
A minute passes, and when no footsteps near the door, I decide to take matters into my own hands. She may be having my baby and about to become my wife, and I may have made sure she knew this is as much her home as mine, but I will not be locked out of my bedroom without reason. I reach up to the top of the door frame and fumble for the small metal key. Opening the door slowly, I peer into my bedroom.
Lia is on the bed, struggling with what looks like an inverted cupcake of fluff. She doesn’t answer right away when I ask what’s wrong, continuing to wriggle. “I can’t get it up!” she wails at last. Lia rolls side to side, pulling on the band of fabric as she tries to get it under her dress. “I was stupid and took off the hoop skirt so I could pee, thinking I could get it up again without help.”
Lia starts crying, laughing as she does so. “Stupid hormones! I’m fine, really. Just embarrassed.”
I close and relock the door behind me. “Let me help you, Lia.” Taking my bride-to-be in my arms, I lift her to her feet and help her get the waistband up in place, then smooth down her skirt. Lia looks like a goddess. The bodice is snug across her chest, and then it flares out into a bell shape with small blue roses embroidered at the waist. The midnight blue panel matching the shade of my tux is an accent over her stomach and down to her feet with the white coming in on either side. It does not hide the beautiful curve where our baby is growing, but it also doesn’t make it the centerpiece of the look. Her dress is exactly what she designed.
She takes my breath away. I don’t think I could imagine a more perfect bride. My body longs for it to be nightfall and the end of our reception, when I can sweep Lia off her feet, out of that gown, and into bed to be worshipped properly.
“Oh, fuck, my hair!” Lia has long since stopped worrying about swearing in front of me, and the further our pregnancy has progressed, the more the irritated words flow into her vocabulary and out of her mouth. Lia runs to the walk-in closet with its full-length mirror and starts fixing imaginary out of place curls. The stylist put enough hair gel in them that I don’t think a bomb could mess up the hair. Half the curls are pulled up with a clip covered in metal flowers she made; the rest bounce on her shoulders.
She doesn’t notice me staring. “You are beyond gorgeous, my love.” I toy with one curl, wrapping it around my finger and tugging before it coils back and swings to a stop on her collarbone. “You are the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”
She starts crying in earnest, and I look around for tissues, only to see her pulling one out of her bodice. “Tasha made sure I’m prepared,” she laughs. “And the design included a secret pocket for tissues between my boobs, because… Pockets.” Lia reaches down her side and shows me a hidden pocket in the side of her skirt.
“Will you be upset if I’m barefoot all night? I can’t get my shoes on. I can’t even see my feet to get them on anyway!” Crying and laughing at the same time, I don’t know what she needs from me. Smoothing my hands up and down her arms, I look at our reflection. Our image belongs in a wedding magazine. Her being pregnant doesn’t detract from the image at all; if anything, it makes her that much more amazing. Lia glows despite the scowl she’s giving our reflections.
“At least Tasha’s dress is flattering. I look like a medieval cow.” Lia adjusts her waistband and the front of her skirt. “When I drew this I didn’t know I was going to swallow a beach ball before our wedding day.”
I kiss her shoulder, move some curls out of my way, and I work my way up to the spot on Lia’s neck that always turns her on. She shudders in my arms, temporarily stopping her self-deprecation. “You are beautiful, Lia. I know being pregnant is not fun, especially at this stage, but see your reflection? You are glowing, even more beautiful than ever. You look every bit a goddess. I can only hope that when we look back on our wedding photos, that you’ll think me even half as handsome as I find you breath-taking.” She smells like my soap as I kiss the spot on her neck again, and I lap at a spot behind her ear where I can feel her pulse.
“Beck, look at me. Just look!”
I meet her eyes through the mirror. “I’m looking. I haven’t stopped looking at you, and I won’t ever.” Starting at her forehead, I fan out my fingers and lightly skim them over her face. “You are always so beautiful, whether it’s when you’re waking up without any make up on or right now.. It’s just you. The beauty you have inside is so radiant that it can’t help but accent your features. Your smile brightens up any room you walk into. And those eyes…” I trail off as I lightly stroke beneath her lower lids. “You can drop me to my knees with just one glance from your sparkling eyes.”
Moving down, I gently cup her breasts, lifting them so that I’m supporting their heaviness and giving her shoulders and chest some relief. Many an evening has been spent these past months with me lightly rubbing her décolletage to release the tension in the muscles there. “And these… Oh how I’d love to pull your tits out of your dress so I can suckle on them. Bury my face between them. Fuck them.” I can feel my cock throbbing inside my pants, and I know I should feel awful about wanting to fuck her like this right before our wedding. I can’t help it though, not with her looking so hot. “Is it bad, Lia, that I’m hard as a rock from thinking about titty fucking you while you’re in your wedding dress?”
Her breath catches, and her lids close partway. “Beck,” she pleads. “Our ceremony starts in less than an hour!” Her chastisement doesn’t matter—not when she needs to know just how beautiful she is.
My fingers move down to her stomach. “I’ll have you downstairs and ready to walk down the aisle before then
,” I promise her. “You already know how sexy I think you are, Lia. Anytime I look at you, even when you’re asleep in my sweatpants and a t-shirt, you make my stomach clench with desire. I love knowing that I made you pregnant, that this little girl growing inside you is mine, is ours. That we made this.” I grind my cock against her ass to emphasize my words. “Do you remember when we were fucking out by the pool and I pulled out and came all over your beautiful belly?” She whimpers and nods, watching our reflection. “I could do that now, rubbing it into your skin so that all through our wedding you know that my come is coating you…” I start to pull up her skirt showing me her gorgeous legs.
“And your pussy, love… How I love your gorgeous pussy. And with you pregnant, everything is that much more sensitive.” I stroke her once through the satiny shorts style underwear she has on beneath the dress. They stretch across her ass and hips like they were made just for her. “Are you wet for me, Lia? Do you want me to fuck you and remind you that you are the most desirable woman I have ever seen?” We’re both panting as I shove her panties down and slip my middle finger between her pussy lips. I groan as my finger finds the wetness near her entrance, and I rub it over her cleft.
I drop down to my knees and worship her the best way I can. “Keep watching yourself, Lia. I want you to see how beautiful you are when I make you come.” Pulling her hands down so that she can keep her skirt up out of my way, I press my lips above her mound and kiss her there. She is satiny smooth, and I am amused that she used her time at the salon yesterday to get waxed instead of having something relaxing done.
My tongue goes into her; I know exactly what she likes. Flicks across her clit change into teasing thrusts into her cunt, and between those I lick her as if my life depends on it. Over and over again I lick, sucking on her pussy lips before seeking out the nubbin. Her knees buckle, and I catch Lia around her thighs with my hands, holding her up.
I chance looking up at her and see her watching through barely open eyes. “Beck!” she begs. The way she’s holding up her skirt looks so wanton, delicious, and I almost come in my pants from how she’s looking at me. I fuck her with my tongue, fluttering it until she cries out, and her hands grab my hair, flailing for purchase. The world goes dark as her skirt falls over my face, but she won’t let go of my head. I continue to lick her through the climax, even as her pussy juices coat my face. I could die a happy man suffocating on her cunt.
Happily Ever After with My Dad’s Best Friend Page 21
