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Like a stereotypical high-born Englishman, Xavier made a particular face at the idea of becoming a Catholic. “If I must. But don’t expect me to believe any of it.” Another thought seemed to strike him. “How long does it take? A few weeks?”
I snorted. “Try six months to a year. You’re lucky you’re not a kid. I had to attend confirmation classes for two years.”
Xavier’s expression morphed into outright horror.
“A year?” He shook his head emphatically. “Absolutely not. I’m not waiting a year to marry you. Honestly, I don’t even want to wait more than a month or two. I’d do it next week if you were willing, but I figured you’d need a bit longer to plan something you’d like.”
“You want to elope?” I asked. “Why? You know I’m going to weigh approximately two tons in a matter of months, right? I’m not walking down the aisle looking like the Pillsbury Doughgirl in white lace. No.”
“The fuck is the Pillsbury—you know what? Never mind. Ces, I don’t want to wait long, though. Please. It’s important.”
“But why?” I pressed. “We know we’re going to get married. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a done deal, whether it happens next week or in ten years. I don’t know why we have to hurry. And it’s my wedding day, you know? I’d like to look and feel my best. In part for you.”
He looked at me tenderly. “Fuck, all right. It’s only…”
“What?” I asked.
Then the answer occurred to me.
“Oh,” I said. “This isn’t about us at all, is it? It’s…” I looked down at my stomach, then back to him. “It’s about him. You want him…to be your heir. Your real heir.”
The very tips of his ears pinked where they poked through the inky black of his hair as something like shame, then indignation crossed his face.
“No, Ces,” he insisted. “No. I told you yesterday, I don’t want either of my children to have my life. I honestly don’t care if the title dies with me. I don’t. Sofia and this little peanut are both my children, and they’ll inherit the money and anything else that really matters.”
“Then why?” I pushed a little more. “Why do you care so much that we get married quickly?”
“Because I know what it’s like to grow up with people calling you a bastard,” he sputtered. “And no matter what I say, they’ll always throw that word around if we wait.” He shook his head. “It hurt more growing up than I can explain. I acted like I didn’t care. But I did.”
“Oh, Xavi…” I cupped his chin, begging him to turn his face my way. “Of course you cared.”
He looked at me hopefully. “Then you understand.”
I wanted to say I didn’t, but part of me was sympathetic. I didn’t care for the suggestions about Sofia’s origins in the papers when we were there. I could only imagine they would be worse with a son in tow.
“You care about it that much?” I asked.
“I only want them to have better than me,” Xavier replied. “The rest is up to you. Big wedding, small. Registry office or church, I don’t care. I just want you, our babies, and that’s it.” He swallowed. “Please, Ces. Before he’s born. That’s all I ask.”
I tried to come up with reasons against it and found I couldn’t. Not really. Not with him. Deep down, I didn’t just want to be engaged to Xavier Parker. I wanted him to belong to me and me to him. I wanted to be his wife. I wanted us all to be a proper family.
“All right.”
I grinned as he leaned in to kiss me.
“All right?” he repeated into my lips.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s get married now.”
“You fucking got it.” He practically dove to the other side of the bed to grab his phone. “I’ll call Els. She’ll get everything ready. Find us a planner. We’ll be married by the end of the month and—”
He stopped suddenly as he looked at his phone. The glow of joy on his face had all but extinguished.
Dread lodged itself in my stomach.
“What is it?” I asked. “Xavi, what’s wrong?”
“This.” He tossed his phone to me, where the screen bore the text of an email.
