Page 260 of Wait for Him

I run both hands over my belly, and another wave of tears threatens.

“I just didn’t think I’d look like this when I married him.”

There.

The stupid thing I’ve been trying not to say because even thinking it makes me feel like an asshole.

This baby is wanted. So fucking wanted. I love every kick, every weird little roll beneath my skin, every reminder that there is an actual person growing inside me. I could live without the heartburn, the swollen ankles and the fact that putting on shoes now requires either assistance or a level of athleticism I no longer possess, but the baby? Never.

Still, when I imagined marrying Jackson, I imagined looking a certain way. And I’m the one who refused to move the date. I was fine with it when we decided. I am still fine with it.

My hormones, however, have other ideas.

Blaire takes my face between both hands.

“Listen to me. Do you honestly think Jackson is going to see you walking toward him and think anything other than how fucking lucky he is?”

My chin wobbles.

“He’s going to see you in that dress, carrying his baby, about to become his wife, and we’re probably going to have to sedate the man before you reach the altar.”

A laugh slips out through my tears.

Blaire smiles. “There she is.”

“I still feel huge.”

“You are huge.”

My mouth falls open.

Behind her, somebody chokes on a laugh.

“Blaire!”

“What?” She gestures toward my stomach. “I’m not going to lie to you on your wedding day. There’s a whole-ass person in there. They’ve been baking for seven months. You’re supposed to be huge.”

“You could’ve phrased that with a little more compassion.”

“I’m postpartum. Compassion reserves are low.”

I laugh harder, which naturally produces more tears because my body has become an unreliable fucking faucet. Blaire catches them with her thumbs.

“You’re also gorgeous,” she says. “Both things can be true. You’re glowing, your tits look phenomenal, this dress is magnificent, and Jackson is going to lose whatever tiny amount of sense he has left when he sees you.”

“That’s your pep talk?”

“Is it working?”

I look at myself in the mirror again.

Everything I said is still true. There is absolutely no hiding the fact that I am very, very pregnant.

But I also look happy.

Really fucking happy.

“Yeah,” I admit.