“Could be, but when was the last time you engaged in intercourse?”
“Well, five minutes ago.”
“What’s going on?” Belmont whispers.
I lift a finger, asking him to give me a second. What she’s saying sounds insane. “How can you guess it’s pregnancy this soon?”
“Have you had intercourse in the last two or three days?” she asks snippily. I think I’ve offended her with my doubt.
“Have I had sex in the last two or three days…” I repeat absentmindedly. “Um, yeah but—”
“Well, your hCG levels increase significantly only two or three days after implantation, ma’am. So yes, the blood test can detect pregnancy, which means you can be pregnant.”
“Me, pregnant?” It feels as if I’m having an out of body experience.
“Yes!” Belmont pumps his fist victoriously, but I widen my eyes in horror.
“Um, and you said re-test in thirteen days?” I ask.
He flips me on my back, takes his brand-new erection, and stuffs me with it. He takes the phone from me. “Hi, this is Belmont Lord.” He pauses. “How are you, Betty?” He pauses. “Yes, I’m the father. Yes, we’ll come in two weeks. How’s Douglas?” He pauses. “Glad to hear it. Okay then, see you in two.” He hangs up and starts thrusting me.
“What are you doing?” I stiff-arm him in the chest, but it doesn’t slow his hips down.
“You’re not happy?” he whispers.
He feels so good inside of me. It’s messing with my clarity. “No, yes, no. We haven’t even known each other for a week! I cannot be pregnant. Not this fast. Don’t get your hopes up, Belmont.”
He smashes his mouth on mine, kissing me greedily. “I know you are, baby. I can feel the difference. Don’t worry, Daisy, having a baby isn’t going to slow us down. And you won’t be alone. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
I sigh. “I have been hungrier than usual, but I thought it was because Thelma’s always cooking. She’s a great cook. But still, there may not be a baby,” I caution him.
“There’s a baby,” he insists.
“Maybe not,” I insist.
“There is.”
“We’ll see in two weeks.”
“Until then, no more wine, but I prescribe tons of sex.” I snicker. He kisses me. “I still want to know how you really feel about marrying me. Take your time and tell me the truth.”
“You remember I told you that I didn’t want to be married?”
“Very much so.” He sighs.
“I changed my mind after talking to Sidney.”
He lets out a sigh of relief. “What did she say?”
“She said that when I marry you, our souls will become one–and that’s what I want.” I lift my head to kiss him, and since I start, he finishes. I can hardly breathe, he kisses me so hard.
“Hey,” I breathe when I’m finally able to get a word out.
“What is it?” He’s smooching on my neck. Goodness, he’s so dang good at that.
“What’s Maya’s secret? You can tell me now that we’re going to be wife and husband.”
“What secret?” He takes a break to ask.
“What was she doing in Las Vegas every weekend?”
“Oh,” he says casually, “she was an escort.”
“Like hooker escort?”
“Yes,” he says. He spreads my legs, puts his face in my crotch, and commences to dine.
For the next four days, we only leave the bed to bathe in my favorite tub—where we end up having sex—and to go into the kitchen to eat—where we also end up having sex.
And this is my life now.
It’s taken such a drastic change from the day I stepped foot on the island. Tomorrow, we’re flying to California to get my house packed up and to officially announce our very short engagement to my parents. Belmont promised to not mention anything about the possibility of me being pregnant until it’s confirmed. I’m still hoping that I’m not. Charlie didn’t want to hear anything about it. Thelma did a dance once she heard. Next Thursday night, Belmont and I are joining her at the big table for a do-over. The same guests will be present, except Mandy and Pete, and we’ve promised to behave.
I’ve just finished submitting my article to Dusty. Belmont’s been out most of the morning giving final instructions, or something like that, to the construction crew before our flight in the morning.
I’m packing when I feel a lump stab me in the rear end. Two familiar hands spin me around, and I’m face to face with the sexiest man on the planet.
“I’ve been thinking about you all morning,” he croons and lifts my shirt over my head.
Yeah… his sexual appetite hasn’t diminished one bit. I’m starting to think it never will. He lowers me onto the bed and, well… You know the rest.
THE END
You are cordially invited to the wedding of Belmont Jaxson Lord and Daisy Louise Blanchard.
Be a guest in “There’s Something About Her: A New York L.O.V.E. Story,” the next book in the L.O.V.E. in the USA series.
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There’s Something About Her: A Manhattan Love. Story
Excerpt
Dear Patty Welch,
Thank you for–everything. I appreciate learning what I have under your tutelage.
I hereby resign effective immediately.
Sincerely,
Magnolia Conroy
What I really want to say is, “Thank you for teaching me that real, bona fide, mean and nasty witches exist in the world. If I ever had any doubts, well, you cured them.”
I’ve read the letter in my hands a million times because I wrote it six months ago. One day, I’m going to hand it to Patty, walk out, and let my finances, and thereby my life, fall to pieces.
“What’s going on, little Magnolia bud?” my cousin Charlie says as he flops down beside me and lifts his foot on his knee. I turn up my nose because he smells like the inside of a keg and looks like an unshaven, red-eyed hobo wearing a sloppy suit.
“Charlie,” I mutter. I wish he would’ve chosen to sit elsewhere. I hate it when he calls me Magnolia, which he’s aware of.
I prefer the flower exploding through this humongous space. My other cousin, Charlie’s brother, is getting married. Belmont’s bride is named Daisy-hence, the daisies.
“Why the hell did I show up for this?” Charlie grumbles as he rolls his eyes around the room, viewing it. “Goddamn daisies everywhere.”
It’s no secret he’s in love with his brother’s soon-to-be wife. But in truth, the yellow flowers aren’t a bad touch at all.
We’re fifty-three stories high, and this room takes up the entire floor of the building. The walls are all glass, and it’s sort of like we’re sitting in a garden on a perfect early evening. Inside the huge room is a makeshift duck pond near the east windows that flows into a waterfall to the south and a field of daisies rising to the north.
They wanted to take their vows against the Manhattan sunset—at 8:20 p.m. approximately—which is twenty minutes away, and that’ll be at the west windows.
Twinkling white and yellow lights are tastefully placed throughout the room, and the frames of the chairs we’re sitting on are made of quartz. The seat and back cushions are golden silk and patterned with little daisies.
And the guest list–it’s bloated. There are at least three hundred people. Every single person looks as if they’ve stepped out of
GQ
or
Elle
magazine, all except me. I’m just a pale as ghost, limp-haired, overworked, underpaid, and underappreciated marketing assistant who works for the devil incarnate.
Belmont, who we call Jack, rented a cruise ship for the reception. He’s given all the guests rooms to sleep off the monumental celebration he’s got planned, and I’ll have to skip it. My boss wouldn’t give me the two days off that I requested. She wants me in the office tomorrow at six a.m. sharp to prepare for the Black Marble presentation.
The reception ship will sail tonight from the North River Pier in Manhattan to Vineyard Haven, and dock by seven p.m. tomorrow evening. Jack arranged to fly everyone back home from Martha’s Vineyard. Jack said there will be lots of dancing and music by popular bands. He wouldn’t tell me who they were because it’s still a surprise to Daisy. He’s gone gaga over this woman, but I’m not surprised. He’s not the douchebag that Charlie is.
“You look like shit, Magnolia,” Charlie comments, blowing his horrible breath in my face.
“Grow up, Chuck,” I snap.
“No disrespect, Mags. I’m just making an observation.”
“Whatever.” He’s such a douche.
“This is a shotgun wedding. You know she’s pregnant. What a way to trap him,” a very tall woman with a lot of bronze hair says in a dull, cynical tone. She’s talking specifically to the freakishly thin girl who came in with her, but everyone in a five-foot radius can hear her. “How long have they known each other? Five minutes?”
That’s when I realize I’m sitting with the bitter wedding day gang. I scoot to the edge of my seat to see if any empty chairs are available. There are few in the back, but I don’t want to sit that far away.
Charlie, who’s still slouched in his seat, leans forward to wave to the bitter woman next to me. “Mandy Hill!”
She grunts and rolls her eyes. “Great,” she grumbles. “It’s Charlie. You should’ve told your future sister-in-law to pull back on the daisies. Can you say Bridezilla?”
Now I recognize her. She’s Mandy Hill, the actress. I’m waiting for Charlie to correct her. He knows the explosion of daisies was Jack’s doing.
“You know, if you want to get back at him for not realizing what he lost, we can find a room and–you know…” he says instead, grinning and poking his fist back and forth.
I’m disgusted and squirm uncomfortably in my seat. This is just my luck.
“Been there, done that, doesn’t work,” Mandy replies to my utter shock.
Suddenly, I can’t believe I’m sitting between the two of them. Thank God the full ensemble band starts. They’re playing a dramatic piece that sounds like the music played during a suspenseful scene in a movie.
“Welcome to the big day!” Belmont shouts from the rear.
The entire room turns to see. In a snap, I’ve gone through three emotions. Dread from being sandwiched between Charlie and Mandy, curiosity from hearing Jack at the back of the room—isn’t the groom supposed to be at the altar?—and now I’m smiling, enthralled by the sight of Jack holding the most gorgeous bride in the world.
“Get the hell out of here,” Mandy mutters while Charlie makes a sound that’s similar to a pig snorting and whips his face forward, refusing to watch the spectacle.
The wedding has officially started.
***
Z.L. Arkadie
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