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“I was dabbling with the idea then.”
“And now?”
“I’m ready. A partner would help with the workload and increase the capacity to take on more cases. But there’s another reason.”
“What’s that?”
“Us. It would free me up to travel with you, to spend more quality time together, to…” She pauses. “Start a family.”
I go still. A lump the size of a basketball forms in my throat. “I want that. Children with you.”
Her expression suddenly fills with sadness. “I wish I could give you a baby that we make together.”
“Dee,” I say quietly. “Any child we have together, however that happens, will be ours.”
“I know. Adoption is a great choice. So many children out there are in need of love and a family.”
“We can do both. Adopt and try to have a baby.”
“The chances of the latter are slim at best.”
“You don’t know that for certain.”
“Pretty much. A doctor told me years ago that with the amount of scar tissue from my miscarriage, my chances were negligible.”
“There are second opinions, specialists, new procedures…”
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up.” But I hear the wistfulness in her voice, see it in her eyes.
“When I say it doesn’t matter to me how we make a family, I mean that.” My lips graze her brow. “I just don’t want you to give up on the potential of having a baby, if there’s any possibility.”
“What if we try and it doesn’t happen or I miscarry again?”
“If for whatever reason it’s not meant to be, beauty, we’ll survive it.”
“You seem so sure.”
“I am.” I take her left hand in mine, our wedding bands clicking as I interlock our fingers. “I’ve never been as sure of anything as I am of us.”
ChapterThirty-Six
Dee
“Zip me?”
“A husband’s privilege.” Mick slips the cherished pocket watch from Papa T into his jacket pocket, and crosses from the dresser to come up behind me.
I hold up the front of my strapless evening gown. A gift from Mick. Custom made by a haute couture designer, it’s the most exquisite and expensive item of clothing I have ever worn.
His knuckles drift against my bare back as he reaches for the tab of the invisible zipper. There is something about Mick helping me dress that simultaneously melts my heart and turns me on. I suppose because, like making love, the intimacy of it belongs only to us.
I stand in front of my first full-length mirror—a recent purchase that marked a major milestone for me. I don’t have to work so hard to see past my perceived flaws anymore. Instead I’m coming to accept my thick curves as just being a part of me.
As Mick raises the zipper, I watch the bodice tighten against my waist and breasts in an hourglass. The dress is stunning—pale gold and sequined with a split skirt that cascades to the floor like a champagne waterfall. Together with the sweeping train, dramatic eye makeup, and my hair styled in Jessica Rabbit waves, I feel glamorous.
Our reflections lock on to each other. Then Mick’s gaze, in that slow burning motion of his, rakes me from head to toe and back up again. Pausing at my plump cleavage, red painted lips, and finally my gold and brown smokey eyes. “You look spectacular.”
“Glad you like it.”
