Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I’m perched on a chair in the lounge from where I have a clear view of the party through the floor-to-ceiling windows that encase the sunroom. The women are talking and laughing while handing Anya gifts to open. The room is decorated with white and yellow flowers. As Anya doesn’t want to know the gender of the baby before the birth, her friends bought all the gifts in white. Minuscule baby clothes—also in white—hang from pegs on a potted tree. The branches are decorated with rattles, baby bottles, and soft toys. Cupcakes topped with fluffy white icing sugar are stacked on a three-tier cake stand. Platters that contain a selection of cucumber sandwiches, mini quiches, and every savory snack under the sun are laid out on a big table with an embroidered white tablecloth.
Anya sits amidst all of it, looking more gorgeous than ever in a fitted white dress that shows off her rounded belly. Her red hair hangs in glossy waves down her back. There’s a glow to her skin and a healthy color on her cheeks. The freckles that dust her nose are a paler shade of apricot, maybe because we’re in the middle of winter and haven’t seen much sun. Her honey-colored eyes sparkle with that mysterious light of women who guard a precious secret. I’ve only ever seen that look on women who are pregnant or in love. I swear she’s never looked more beautiful, but I say that with every passing month.
“She’s not going anywhere, you know,” Richard says.
I turn my face to where he sits with his legs crossed and a teacup in his hand that he balances on his knee.
A knowing smile curves his lips. “You’re besotted with her. You haven’t stopped staring since you arrived.”
I clench my jaw. Not having Anya in my sight doesn’t sit right with me. That’s why I drove her here and invited myself to stay. I have enough men stationed around the house to ward off an army in the unlikely event of an attack. For the sake of the guests, I ordered them to stay out of sight. I don’t want to freak out a whole lot of pregnant women.
My reply is dry. “I like what I see.”
Richard chuckles. “You can’t make that more obvious. You do realize it’s generally considered that a baby shower is for women only.”
I put my cup aside, the Earl Grey with a slice of lemon untouched. “Why should it discriminate?” As far as I’m concerned, men are just as invested in whatever the fuck the purpose of a baby shower is.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe for the same reason we don’t invite our wives to a stag night.”
That’s bullshit too. What’s the point of being together if you’re going to do things separately? When I go out, I always want Anya with me. I’d rather be home with her than getting shitfaced with a group of guys I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about.
“You may be one of those men who advocate for healthy space and all that shit, but I’m with Anya because I want to be with her. I don’t need excuses to escape her presence.”
“Touché,” Richard says, swinging his leg. “If it makes you feel better, we’re all pussy-wacked in the beginning. It wears off over time. You’ll get to that point where you need a little breather. Trust me.”
I don’t fucking think so. I’ll never get enough of Anya. Unable to stand another minute of the meaningless conversation, I push to my feet.
He follows the action with his gaze, craning his neck to meet my eyes. “It doesn’t mean you love her less.”
When has love even entered the equation? Most men don’t know what the word means. This is bigger than a short-lived infatuation that wears off like a favorite T-shirt eventually loses its color.
“Balance is important,” he continues, measuring me with that smirk on his face as if he finds my obsession interesting or entertaining.
Whatever. I let him think what he wants. The only reason I don’t smash that dainty teacup in his face is because I don’t want to spoil the day for Anya. She deserves the fuss everyone makes about her. It’s about time she’s the center of attention, and I don’t mean my attention. Despite my urge to walk into that room and pull her onto my lap, I want her to have what her mother never gave her. Every girl needs to be fussed over a little in her life. Livy is good at that. Women in general are. They’re natural nurturers. Well, some of them at least. The fact that Anya’s mother isn’t here speaks volumes. The woman did never ask to see her daughter after the day I left her with my threats. Just as well. Anya is better off without her.