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And that broke my barriers completely. Because how many airlines get sold every day? How many men love their woman so much, that they’re willing to part with a prized asset?
But that’s what the billionaires were saying. They adored me to the point where Elite Air was now nothing but junk metal with wings. Without their favorite stewardess, the girl who made them happy inside and out, the company was zilch.
So half-crying and half-laughing, I threw myself into their arms.
“Damien, Charlie, Aaron,” was my emotional sob. “Andrew, Tom and Nick. I’ve missed you so much, you can’t imagine. I love you and miss you.”
The billionaires cuddled me, stroking my hair, my breasts, and my thighs. But suddenly they stopped, the air quivering with suspense.
“What?” I mewled, lifting my head. “What is it?”
I was cradled in Nick’s arms now, already splayed open for their touch. But suddenly, realization returned and my cheeks flushed.
“Oh, I forgot,” my voice came, small and meek. “I’m pregnant. You’re going to be daddies soon.”
The men looked thunderstruck.
“Are you for real?” rasped Damien, eyes on fire, hand shaking a bit as it crept to rest lightly against my tummy. “Is this our son or daughter?”
“Daughter,” I nodded, biting my lip. “And I’ve decided to call her Elita, to remind me of how we met. Or to remind us,” I said tearfully. “Because I thought I’d never see you again.”
And with that, the billionaires descended, hands caressing my bump, kissing my forehead tenderly, while worshipping my form.
“Yes sweetheart,” they breathed. “Yes, this is what we want.”
“It’s a dream come true,” they marveled. “Finding our girl again, and with a baby on the way too.”
And finally, the last sentence before we fell into ecstasy:
“A miracle,” they rasped in unison. “A baby. Elita. Yes, it’s right.”
I cried then, but they were tears of joy and happiness. Because against all odds, I’d overcome our sordid beginnings. I started as an innocent stewardess, a girl out to serve drinks and warm nuts as she flew over the United States. But on the way, I met six men who swept me off my feet. Yes, there were trials and tribulations, mix-ups that seemed ridiculous now, fights and spats that were the product of ego.
But that was over now. Because we’d endured three months apart, and in those three months, several truths became evident. I loved them. They loved me. And with a baby on the way, nothing would stop us now. We’d form a family, somehow, someway, even if it was spread across six different cities with six different fathers.
So no, I don’t know how this is going to work, not exactly. I don’t have all the answers. Because there are logistical issues, geographic issues, as well as the sheer complexity of navigating a relationship with seven people. But our love will persevere because that’s what love does … and with six men, it’s six times stronger.
EPILOGUE
Joanie
Eighteen months later …
“Elita, be good,” I admonished gently. “Be good and eat your cake with a fork.”
But did my little girl listen? Of course not. The blonde cherub grasped greedily with one hand, stuffing cupcake into her mouth.
“Mama!” she chortled gleefully. “Mama!”
The billionaires and I shared a knowing glance. Elita calls everything and everyone Mama. It could be a footstool, the doorman or one of her dads. She would still call them Mama.
But Tom came up behind me then, pressing two hands on my waist.
“Sweetheart, this is Elita’s birthday party, but you wanna come to the back with us? Because we got you a present too. For being such a good mother,” he rumbled into my ear, discreetly so that only I could hear.
My cheeks blushed. Looking around, I surveyed the shindig. There were kids and guests everywhere, presents scattered on the floor with dozens of balloons floating.
“Are you sure?” I whispered. “It’s the middle of Elita’s birthday! People will notice.”
