far. You can take it from here.”
ANOTHER DEPRESSING day at the office was over. Oliver had slept like shit the night before, the scene with Mia replaying over and over again.
He drove but had no desire to go home. But where else to go? Any of his usual after-work hangouts would only bring him face to face with friends and colleagues. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. As if on autopilot, the car headed toward The Red Brick Inn, the dingy bar he’d met Mia in, the place he’d gone several nights just hoping she’d walk in. Was he hoping for that again?
Even if that did happen, she’d just give him more of the same. And he deserved it.
He pulled into a parking lot and turned around, heading back toward his condo.
“What took you so long?” Alexiana barked the second he opened the door. “We have dinner ressies in half an hour.”
Fuck. What boring get-together was she dragging him to now? “What for?”
“I told you last night. We’re taste-testing entrée selections for the wedding. Mommy and Daddy will be there, and the wedding coordinator, too. Go change. I laid out your Gucci suit and a new shirt and tie I bought today.”
Oliver would rather take the new tie and make a noose out of it, but trudged to the bedroom anyway. He flopped onto the bed next to his suit.
The click-clack of designer shoes on hardwood echoed in his ears.
“Get up! You’re going to wrinkle your suit.”
Alexiana went to her vanity, searching out her signature scent and spritzed. “Oh, I wanted to ask.” She released a snorted giggle. “Have you heard about that job yet?”
“No.” He lied. He’d received a very brief, very polite message from Bryn earlier that day, telling him they would not be needing his services.
“Whatever. Even if they hire you, there’s no way I’m letting my husband be some underwear model. That’s just disgusting and degrading.”
“You may be my fiancée, but you don’t tell me what I can and cannot do.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, let me just call your mother then. See what she thinks about this little side job of yours.”
“These threats are old.”
“Trust me, it’s not a threat.”
“You know what? Go ahead. Tell her.”
She huffed and crossed her arms across her chest. “I don’t have time for this now. You’ve got five minutes to change and be ready.”
She stepped toward the full-length mirror, smoothing a skin-tight dress, not one bump, lump, or ripple. He didn’t know much about being pregnant, but he assumed by now there would be some evidence of a growing life.
“Hey. When’s your next prenatal appointment?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“I want to go with you.”
He thought he saw a brief moment of panic in her reflection. She turned to him. “Why?”
“Isn’t that something dads-to-be do?”
“Maybe, but that’s not how I’m doing it. I don’t want anyone there with me. It’s a doctor’s appointment. It’s private.”
“Okay. Fine. I get it.” He’d have to give up that idea. Maybe he could try another angle. “Have you had any cravings? What about weight gain and bloating and stuff like that. Aren’t pregnant women supposed to be tired, too?”
“I don’t know. Why do you care all of a sudden? Not all pregnant women are the same, you know. I’m handling it my own way. Now get ready. We have to go.” She headed for the door.
“Nah. Go without me,” he said, trying not to smirk. “I’m tired and my stomach hurts.”
She spun around, the fire of hell in her eyes. “You’re lying. You look fine.”
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. I’m handling it in my own way.”
“I can’t go alone. How will it look if the groom can’t be bothered to show up for the food tasting for his own wedding?”
“I don’t care how it looks.”
Alexiana clenched her jaw. There was more she wanted to say, but she kept it in. Thankfully. She stomped to the bathroom and when she returned, Oliver was in cotton lounge pants and a T-shirt. He’d neatly
ANOTHER DEPRESSING day at the office was over. Oliver had slept like shit the night before, the scene with Mia replaying over and over again.
He drove but had no desire to go home. But where else to go? Any of his usual after-work hangouts would only bring him face to face with friends and colleagues. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. As if on autopilot, the car headed toward The Red Brick Inn, the dingy bar he’d met Mia in, the place he’d gone several nights just hoping she’d walk in. Was he hoping for that again?
Even if that did happen, she’d just give him more of the same. And he deserved it.
He pulled into a parking lot and turned around, heading back toward his condo.
“What took you so long?” Alexiana barked the second he opened the door. “We have dinner ressies in half an hour.”
Fuck. What boring get-together was she dragging him to now? “What for?”
“I told you last night. We’re taste-testing entrée selections for the wedding. Mommy and Daddy will be there, and the wedding coordinator, too. Go change. I laid out your Gucci suit and a new shirt and tie I bought today.”
Oliver would rather take the new tie and make a noose out of it, but trudged to the bedroom anyway. He flopped onto the bed next to his suit.
The click-clack of designer shoes on hardwood echoed in his ears.
“Get up! You’re going to wrinkle your suit.”
Alexiana went to her vanity, searching out her signature scent and spritzed. “Oh, I wanted to ask.” She released a snorted giggle. “Have you heard about that job yet?”
“No.” He lied. He’d received a very brief, very polite message from Bryn earlier that day, telling him they would not be needing his services.
“Whatever. Even if they hire you, there’s no way I’m letting my husband be some underwear model. That’s just disgusting and degrading.”
“You may be my fiancée, but you don’t tell me what I can and cannot do.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, let me just call your mother then. See what she thinks about this little side job of yours.”
“These threats are old.”
“Trust me, it’s not a threat.”
“You know what? Go ahead. Tell her.”
She huffed and crossed her arms across her chest. “I don’t have time for this now. You’ve got five minutes to change and be ready.”
She stepped toward the full-length mirror, smoothing a skin-tight dress, not one bump, lump, or ripple. He didn’t know much about being pregnant, but he assumed by now there would be some evidence of a growing life.
“Hey. When’s your next prenatal appointment?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“I want to go with you.”
He thought he saw a brief moment of panic in her reflection. She turned to him. “Why?”
“Isn’t that something dads-to-be do?”
“Maybe, but that’s not how I’m doing it. I don’t want anyone there with me. It’s a doctor’s appointment. It’s private.”
“Okay. Fine. I get it.” He’d have to give up that idea. Maybe he could try another angle. “Have you had any cravings? What about weight gain and bloating and stuff like that. Aren’t pregnant women supposed to be tired, too?”
“I don’t know. Why do you care all of a sudden? Not all pregnant women are the same, you know. I’m handling it my own way. Now get ready. We have to go.” She headed for the door.
“Nah. Go without me,” he said, trying not to smirk. “I’m tired and my stomach hurts.”
She spun around, the fire of hell in her eyes. “You’re lying. You look fine.”
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. I’m handling it in my own way.”
“I can’t go alone. How will it look if the groom can’t be bothered to show up for the food tasting for his own wedding?”
“I don’t care how it looks.”
Alexiana clenched her jaw. There was more she wanted to say, but she kept it in. Thankfully. She stomped to the bathroom and when she returned, Oliver was in cotton lounge pants and a T-shirt. He’d neatly
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