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The ceremony was shorter than expected, but perfect. And unlike the name indicated, we had to go inside because even in Vegas, there is a butt-ton of paperwork.
I waddled in because I was at that stage of pregnancy. Not one person batted an eye because, let’s face it, if you work at a drive-thru chapel, a pregnant omega is probably one of the more normal things you see on a typical day.
“Mr. Dahl?” Porter asked after we finally got everything signed, witnessed, and paid for. Something about the way he said my new name gave me shivers of the very best kind.
“Yes, Mr. Dahl?”
“You look dead on your feet.” He was probably right. Getting up to be here at three a.m. was not the easiest thing I’d done this month. Not by a mile.
“It’s a little before dawn, and I’m growing a human.”
“Which was your idea, why? Why three in the morning?”
“Promise not to laugh?” He crossed his heart with his finger. “We did everything so ass-backward and it somehow worked. I figured this was as far as you could get from a typical wedding.”
“And therefore, by default, it would work.” And that is why I loved him. He got me.
“Exactly.” He took my hand, and we worked our way to the parking lot, which was surprisingly full, given the time of night.
“Your logic is flawed.” It took me a moment to catch up to our conversation.
“How is that, dear husband?”
He twirled me around, pushing me gently against the side of the car and kissing me soundly. “Say it again.” He spoke millimeters from my lips.
“Husband— Alpha— Mine— I could go on.” My belly was in the way, but there was no part of me that didn’t believe he was hard just from that word.
“Everything we do works because it is filled with love.” He sealed his words with a kiss, slow and leisurely and filled with so much promise. God, I loved this man.
“You are a romantic one.”
“The ideas I have running through my head right now are far from romantic.” As if to prove his point, he whispered things I dared not repeat aloud. Damn, he had a good imagination.
“I think we can make one, two, and four work. Three might have to wait.”
“Too kinky for you, Mr. Dahl?”
“Yeah, that’s it. It has nothing to do with my ginormous belly getting in the way.” And just then, Betsy decided to add in her two cents and kick her daddy. We both laughed at her timing.
“Your beautiful belly, you mean.” He ducked down, kissing my belly before sliding his hands up my pants to the horrible elastic waist. That was so not going to happen in a parking lot full of drunks. I batted his hands away, and he let out a belly laugh. The man was messing with me. Had I mentioned he was the perfect man for me? Not perfect, but perfectly mine.
“Yeah, that one.” Because arguing with him over my looks had led to more than one spanking, and tonight I was not in a spanking mood. That could very easily change over time, but for now, I wanted to go with door number one, two, and four for the orgasm.
“Fine.” He feigned disappointment. “One, two, and four it is.”
“And why are we not in the car already?”
He remedied that right quick.
“You, Michael, are the perfect omega.” He kissed me soundly before closing my door and making his way to the driver’s side. I was far from the perfect omega, but I planned to be the best omega and father I could be for the man who taught me that mapping out your life might lead to achieving your goals, but it was the detours in life that led to living.
And detours we had, even on our wedding night—technically morning. My contractions started, or intensified, as we drove from the place where we gave our vows of forever. Turned out the nervous belly I’d had all day wasn’t nerves at all, but stage-one contractions. So instead of driving off to make love until dawn, we drove straight to the nearest hospital.
The looks we got, walking in all dressed up, my name on the insurance card not matching the name I gave them. I was Mr. Dahl and wasn’t going to wait for some silly name change papers to start to use it. They quickly put away their side-eye when my water broke in triage, the poor couple pacing behind us looking panicked, as if water breaking meant the baby was about to fall out. Wouldn’t that have been nice.
Instead, I spent fourteen hours in labor, Porter by my side the entire time, holding my hands, encouraging me, yelling at the nurses to make me not be in so much pain—all the things a good alpha did, including sneaking me a granola bar when Nurse Jerkface said no food in case I needed a C-section. But I didn’t need a C-section, and when I finally pushed my dear sweet daughter out and heard her cries for the first time, all of that slipped away and all that was there was Betsy—Porter—and me. My family.
“She’s beautiful.” I spoke in awe as the nurse set her upon my chest, her body instantly turning in the direction of my breast.
