“How does it take this long? It’s crazy,” I muttered.
“I know,” Rosie put in from where she was trying to balance her soda on her belly. “Mine is going to be quick, in and out. Like a hair appointment. Two weeks from today.”
Luke caught the soda can as it toppled, resting his hand on her large bump.
“The birth of our child is nothing like a hair appointment,” he clipped.
She smiled. “Of course not.”
He frowned and glanced at his phone.
“It totally is,” she mouthed over his head.
I giggled.
Then Keltan burst into the room.
I held my breath. Because even though this was a joyous occasion, my mind was taunting me with all the things that could go wrong. Now I knew that the worst could happen, I kept bracing.
But Keltan was beaming, his eyes red. “We’ve got a daughter,” he said, voice somehow a yell and a whisper at the same time.
And then I let the joy chase away the dread.
“Sunshine.” Heath snatched me into his arms as I left the room, my arms were still heavy from the weight of my niece in them.
My heart still full from the sight of her and Lucy and Heath.
I leaned until Heath’s arms and he kissed my head, searched my eyes. “You okay?” he asked gently.
I knew why he was asking.
Because he was worried about what this was doing to my barren and empty womb. Seeing all the beautiful things that my sister had that I wouldn’t have. And though I did feel a pang of pain in the spot where I’d lost my child, it wasn’t as much as I’d expected.
Because I’d lost something precious and irreplaceable. But I hadn’t lost everything. I had my sister. My family.
Heath.
And just because I couldn’t grow a child inside me didn’t mean I couldn’t be a mother.
My father taught me that.
That there were plenty of children out there that needed love. And it didn’t matter whether that love was born in blood or not. I did have to discuss the idea of adoption with Heath first since being a part of a couple meant talking about things like adopting babies before you actually did one.
I had something more important to say first.
“I think we should get married,” I said in answer to his question.
He jerked.
He was silent for the longest time, long enough to think I might have to repeat myself.
I wasn’t scared he’d disagree. The man had just brought a house for me, for goodness sake. He’d stuck with me through everything. Loved me since I was eighteen.
But before I spoke, he moved. Out of my arms and down onto one knee.
And he retrieved a small box.
I gasped when he opened it.
“Are you psychic too?” I whispered, looking at the white gold, antique, oval cut diamond ring.
It was the ring. The exact ring. My ring. It was simple and beautiful. It was bursting with personality. With a story.
And there was no way Heath could’ve known I’d say what I just said. So the only reasonable possibility was that he was psychic.
It would explain a lot of things.
He grinned. “No, Sunshine, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not psychic. I’ve been carrying this around for months. Waiting. For you.” He grabbed my hand. “’Cause I knew you’d decide you’d be ready. And you’d declare it at an unexpected moment, because you’re you. And I wanted to be prepared.”
A tear trailed down my cheek. “How long were you going to carry that around for?” I asked.
“Forever if need be.”
Another tear trickled out.
“But thanks for not making me wait forever,” he murmured. “My beautiful Polly, will you marry me?”
It was simple. No poetry. But he didn’t need it.
“Yes,” I choked out.
It was only then that he slipped the ring on my finger.
Rosie went in to have her baby as scheduled two weeks later.
And she was sure there wouldn’t be drama.
But she was Rosie.
So there was drama.
Drama that nearly broke Luke.
That nearly broke the entire club, who were sitting in the waiting room.
Luke had first emerged, in full scrubs, telling everyone about his son, grinning from ear to ear. There was a low roar from the men in leather who had taken over the entire waiting room. But then a doctor rushed to Luke, pulled him aside and murmured something.
Then Luke froze.
Then all color, all joy drained from Luke’s face.
I wasn’t the only one who saw it.
Cade, Rosie’s brother, had all but tackled the doctor.
And then the joy drained from his face.
We waited in that room for three more hours. There were no more smiles, no more roars. Nothing but ugly and painful silence.
Something had happened.
Complications.
Rosie had to be rushed into surgery.
“This can’t be happening,” I whispered, Heath’s arms tight around me. “She’s had enough. We’ve had enough. It’s time for peace. She deserves it.”
Heath kissed my head. “I know, baby.”
He didn’t placate me then either.
Because it was bad.
Really bad.
But she was Rosie.
And she pulled through.
And there was a fragile, chaotic peace once more.
Eight Months Later
We didn’t rush into the wedding like everyone thought we might.
I didn’t want to rush.
I wanted to enjoy it.
Plan it.
Just live for a little.
And we did.
We moved into our house.
Into our home.
I opened my yoga studio ‘The Problem With Peace’ where I helped people find peace, but I also encouraged them to find it in chaos.
I babysat when my sister was going out of her mind. Treasured and spoiled my niece and nephew.
I healed. Slowly. But surely.
And now I was getting married.
In a church.
Heath hadn’t even blinked when I told him I wanted to, despite the fact I knew he wasn’t religious. Not one word was said about it as we did weekly meetings with the priest, who was kind and easy to talk to.
He hadn’t had one single opinion on a dress, the flowers, the location.
“I’m marrying you for you,” he murmured when I’d asked him if it bothered him, all of the plans that he wasn’t in control of. “Don’t care about the wedding. As long as it involves you in a dress, promising forever and then me taking off that dress and fucking you all night.”
Then we hadn’t talked about the wedding. We were intent on recreating the wedding night.
I smoothed my dress.
Though it didn’t work since the dress wasn’t exactly smooth. It was white, hand-beaded silk.
Sheer organza covered my collarbone and turned into long flowing sleeves. Tiny lace flowers were scattered atop the organza, heavy at my shoulders and then fading down my arms. The organza was draped across a tight, strapless, beaded bodice, with more flowers stitched atop.
It flowed down from my waist, long and whimsical, with a long train behind me.
It was the dress.
My dress.
“Holy fuck.”
I turned around.
“Sunshine,” Heath ground out, eyes feasting on me. “Never in my life have I seen a more beautiful woman.”