* * *

Reid, Roman, and my father are all outside the bed and breakfast throwing horse shoes. I sit on the porch, hands pressed gently to the tight curve of my belly where our baby is growing. Our baby. My fiancé’s baby. It all still feels surreal. Reid is wearing jeans and a simple gray t-shirt, but he makes it look like a million dollars. I bite my lip as I watch his biceps flex and strain as he picks up Roman, spinning him around while they both laugh. Even my father is laughing. That is something I still can’t get used to. My parents came down a week ago to help us get ready for the wedding

The wedding… Just thinking about it makes me want to laugh. Shopping for a wedding dress while my belly is growing by the day has been stressful, to say the least. I’ve spent more time than I’d like to admit looking at pictures of women’s pregnant bellies at various stages to try to predict how much extra room I need to plan for in my dress. Either way, it’s a good problem to have. I’ll happily sacrifice my figure for the little baby growing inside me.

“You’re positively glowing, sweetheart,” says my mother. She sets down a glass of lemonade beside me on the porch and takes a seat.

I’m still not used to this from her. Part of me wonders if it’s all an act, if my parents being here is all just some elaborate prank to try to get me to let my guard down. Maybe they’re going to kidnap me and drag me to some ivy-encrusted tower where they’ll lock me away until they find an appropriately nauseating man to marry me off to. Instead of the normal bitterness and panic a thought like that would bring, I just find myself smiling at the silliness of it.

A weight I never knew I carried is gone. I don’t know when it happened, and I don’t know how, but I can feel the absence. It’s like my thoughts aren’t as heavy anymore. They don’t have the power to hurt me like they once could. All I have to do is look at Reid, Roman, or feel the growing life inside me to know that nothing else really matters. Even if Mark comes back in two years and tries to take another shot at tearing down my bakery and everything else. I’ve finally started to feel enough of an identity outside the bakery that I could live with it. I could survive and go on and be happy even if it was taken from me.

“Mom,” I say, feeling slightly odd not calling her ‘mother’. But calling her mother and calling my dad father was a subtle way of emotionally distancing myself from them. It was my way of saying they were still at arm’s length. Now I don’t feel like I need that anymore. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, dear.”

“What changed? Between us? I’m not complaining, I just don’t think I really get it yet.”

She folds her fingers in her lap and rocks back in the chair, looking out over the lawn and at the boys playing horseshoes. “I’d like to say your father and I realized we had made a mistake and wanted to start fixing it. I’d like to say something like that. The truth is that man of yours happened. He showed you to us like we’ve never seen you. Just hearing how he sees you was enough for us to know it’s true.” She reaches across to squeeze my hand. “Darling, I know this isn’t noble of me, but I can’t apologize for the way your father and I raised you. We raised you the way we knew how, and we did our best to instill the same values we hold in you. You just, well, you were made from a different mold. I’m only sorry we didn’t realize it sooner.”

I smile, looking down. I don’t think I’m ever going to get the perfect apology from them. I don’t need that. I can accept the imperfect. They are trying to do better now, and that’s what counts. “Is Vanessa going to come?” I ask. “To the wedding, I mean.”

My mom makes a face that says not to count on it, shaking her head. “Your sister is very busy, dear. I wasn’t able to get an answer one way or another out of her. I just wouldn’t go getting your hopes up.”

I spend the second half of my day at the bakery. Lauren and Jennifer have been training my two new employees for me, and things seem to be going well so far. After the day we had selling shortcake at the Francis farm, I learned a famous TV chef had been one of my customers that day. She apparently talked about my bakery on national television, and I’ve barely been able to keep up ever since. I’ve gone from two employees to four, and if business keeps up, I’m going to have to think about expanding the shop.

Again. Good problems. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that the ultimate good problem of them all, Reid Riggins, started a sort of chain reaction as soon as he came into my life.

After I helped the girls get caught up and set the orders up for the day, I head across the street to Reid’s brand new garage. When he rented it out last month, it was an abandoned fire station. He has spent a lot of long nights, when I let him out of bed with me, working on converting it into a fully functional repair shop. He started taking customers again last week. The new garage has the added benefit of being directly across the street from the bakery, so when I have a rare down moment, I can stare through the windows at my fiancé while he works.

Reid is standing on a ladder and whacking at something with a hammer. Plaster and fragments of brick rain down, spreading white dust across his broad, tanned shoulders. I bite my lip and watch the way his tight ass moves every time he swings the hammer. When I can’t take it anymore, I help myself to a handful.

He smirks down at me. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

“You know I can’t focus when you point this at me,” I say, giving his ass another squeeze for emphasis.

“I’m not complaining.”

“Get down from there so I can kiss you,” I demand.

He obliges, hopping down and pulling me into his arms, letting me bask in the perfect smell of him. “You know you saved me,” I say, letting my forehead fall to his chest. “You swept in and saved me.”

He tilts my chin up and looks down into my eyes. “You saved yourself. I was just along for the ride.”

“You’re full of it, but you’re wise to give me the credit. Maybe you’ll survive married life after all.”

He chuckles. “You bet your ass I’ll survive. As long as these lips are mine,” he says, leaning down to kiss me softly. “As long as these tits are mine,” He says, bending his neck to kiss my cleavage, despite the fact that we’re in the middle of the street. My cheeks redden, but I don’t stop him. Let everyone see. Let them see I’m his.

“You’re worth it. Whatever it takes to keep you. You’re mine, and I’ll fight to keep it that way. Do you understand me? Whatever it takes.”

Roman rings the full-sized wedding bell my parents insisted on having delivered. I turned them down on so many aspects of the wedding planning that I had to give in at least in some ways. After all, this may be my day, but letting them feel like they’ve contributed is part of the healing. I’m wearing a wedding dress with a deep V neck and white lace sleeves. The dress is cinched just below my breasts and flows elegantly over my swollen belly. It’s one of the few things I’ve worn lately that doesn’t make me feel like a bloated cow, which is a big plus on my wedding day.

I make a last minute check of my hair, which I had straightened.

“You look perfect, darling,” says my mom.

I smile, squeezing her hand and taking a deep breath. “I think I’m ready.”

As if on cue, Roman rings the wedding bell again. I laugh. “Isn’t he just supposed to ring it once?”

“I don’t even know,” says Collete, waving away the question. “It’s your time, darling. Don’t blink or you’ll miss it. Savor every moment.”

“I will,” I say, kissing her cheek. “Thank you for being here.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she says, voice growing thick. She dabs at the corner of her eye with a tissue. “Not for the world.” The regret and pain I can see in her face is hard to see, but it tells me she really does want to change. She wants to make things better between us, and when I walk out of the dressing room I can’t stop smiling, because for the first time I really and truly believe things are going to be different now, and not just temporarily. My parents are finally accept me.

When I step outside, Vanessa is waiting for me. I invited her as a bridesmaid, but never thought she would actually come. Yet there she is, blonde hair perfectly straight, white teeth, big brown eyes, and ridiculously manicured nails. One look at her and you would know she has never worked a day in her life, but she’s my sister, and she’s here. She’s even wearing the purple bridesmaid dress I asked the girls to wear, despite the fact that it probably seemed like a dirty rag compared to what she normally wears.

She hugs me tightly. “Hey sis,” she says lightly.

“Thank you,” I say, squeezing her hard. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

She laughs. “Well, you know. I was in the area, and I figured there might be some clubs around or something.” She pauses, pulling me back and grinning. “Just kidding, sis. I wanted to be here for you.”

I hug her one more time before heading toward the sound of Roman on the wedding bell, which he must have rung ten times by now.

I step outside into the backyard of my new place, which we spent the last few weeks turning into a beautiful site for the wedding. Practically the whole town is outside, and there’s a collective gasp when I step outside.

* * *

When I see Sandra, my breath catches. She’s standing beneath a terraced archway and her brown hair is perfectly straight, catching the gold of the mid-afternoon sun and casting it off in a bright blur. Her smile is brilliant as she starts to walk toward me, arm in arm with her father. Our eyes are locked. I don’t see the huge crowd gathered. I don’t see the rose petals scattered in the grass that mark the path she will walk. I don’t even see Roman, who is still going to town on the wedding bell.

The next few minutes pass in a blur. I mutter some words as the urging of Pastor Morris, I clasp Sandra’s hand. I’m handed the wedding band and I slide it on her finger and she slides a band on mine. Time only slows down when Pastor Morris says, “You may kiss the bride.”

“Finally,” I growl, pulling her close and kissing her harder and deeper than I should in front of all these people. But fuck it. She’s my wife now, and I’ll kiss her however I want to.

I hear a few snickers from the crowd as the kiss drags on, but I barely notice. When we finally pull apart I hold her close, wondering how long I have to sit through the reception before I can take her to bed.

It turns out I have to sit through exactly two hours and forty five minutes of hand shaking, music, dancing, and eating before I’m allowed to take my bride home and consummate the marriage. Roman is staying with Lyla at the bed and breakfast, and Sandra and I end up at her place.

“Damn it,” I growl. “Getting into this dress is like trying to break into a fucking bank vault.”

She bites her lip, reaching back to help me by pulling a hidden strap that loosens everything enough for me to get her out of the dress. She’s wearing the sexiest fucking white lace lingerie and stockings I’ve ever seen. I push her down on the bed, working my belt open and tossing it to the ground. I strip off my shirt and undershirt and then let my pants fall.

“I’ve got the sexiest fucking wife on the planet,” I say.

“You just remember that if you ever get any ideas about being unfaithful,” she says, grinning up at me.

I plant my hands on either side of her, climbing atop her and looking down into her eyes. “There’s no woman on this Earth that could tempt me away from you, Sandra. Not a single fucking one. Don’t you ever doubt that for a second. You’re mine, sweetheart. Body and soul.” I smirk, biting my lip. “Especially body.”