Faster Hotter (11 page)

“Tomato, to-mah-toe,” I shrug. “So, what’s on the itinerary for the rest of the day?”

“If you’re up to it, I thought we’d start hunting for dresses today,” she grins.

At once, my jet lag is forgotten. I spring up from the bed, all energy. “Holy crap,” I cry, “Are you sure? This feels too important for me to be all tired and cranky for.”

“Siena, relax,” Bex laughs, “I’m really not feeling to precious about the whole thing. I thought we could hit a bunch of vintage shops on the Lower East Side and find a couple of things. I’m really not in the mood for designer showrooms at the moment.”

“Bex Bishop, this whole love thing is changing the shit out of you,” I say.

“I guess I’ve just got my priorities more in line lately,” she shrugs, “Now come on. Let’s get a move on, baby mama.”

We set off into the city, walking arm and arm down the boutique and cafe laden streets. It’s amazing to think how different this place must have been just a couple of decades ago. Once upon a time, a single girl in her twenties would be halfway out of her mind to traipse through my neighborhood alone. But now? Not so much.

The Lower East Side is chock full of gorgeous vintage and consignment shops overflowing with gowns. Bex and I drift from one to the next, trying on anything that suits our fancy. White, ivory, blue, yellow—in one case floral—no dress is safe from our consideration. I don’t know how most people do wedding dress shopping, but I’m quite a fan of our approach. We eventually make our way back to one shop in particular that rubbed us the right way—a small store with exposed bricks and wooden beams encasing a treasure trove of lovely vintage pieces. We each grab an armful of dresses and skirt into a single dressing room.

“So, give me the scoop,” Bex says, shimmying into a sheer white number, “What’s going on with you and the father of your child?”

“I wish you’d stop calling him that,” I tell her, “One of these days you’re going to slip in front of somebody.”

“I wouldn’t have to be careful if you just told him,” Bex reminds me.

“I want to tell him,” I sigh, struggling to zip up a baby blue pin-up dress, “But it’s complicated. Our teams are not really down for any more scandalous behavior from the two of us.”

“What’s so scandalous about two people in love having a baby?” Bex asks.

“Oh, come on,” I scoff, “That’s tabloid bait if I ever heard it. Siena Lazio’s love child with Harrison Davies?”

“It wouldn’t be a love child if you two got married, you know,” Bex says.

I look up at her sharply, my zipper forgotten. “Married?” I echo.

“Yeah,” Bex smiles, “You know, that thing Charlie and I are about to do. Tying the knot. Getting hitched. You may have heard of it.”

“I can’t really see Harrison proposing anytime soon,” I tell her.

“And why the hell not?” she shoots back, “You guys are moving in together, aren’t you? You’re carrying his child, for Christ’s sake. Are you seriously telling me you haven’t talked about getting married yet?”

“I guess it hasn’t really come up...” I say softly.

“Oh, girl,” Bex says, “You need to bring it up.”

“I just haven’t ever thought of myself as the marrying type,” I tell her, “I’ve always been so focused on my career, I figured I wouldn’t even meet someone until I was way older.”

“And yet, here you are, having met someone,” Bex points out, “Someone that you’re crazy about, last time I checked.”

I stare at my best friend, lost in thought. Marrying Harrison is something that I’ve never thought about in the present tense. Sure, in my wildest daydreams, I may have pictured us married—but never in real life. When I met Harrison, he was a freewheeling bad boy, and I know that he still is, at heart. Picturing my hard-drinking, race car driver of a love standing at an altar in a tuxedo just doesn’t compute. And yet, now that Bex mentions it, the idea doesn’t seem too outrageously crazy, all of a sudden.

“Jesus,” I breathe.

“I know,” Bex says, “The second you think of it, it’s like the most obvious thing in the world. That’s what happened for me and Charlie anyway. We just sort of looked up at each other one day and realized we’d be crazy not to get married. We’re nuts about each other, we want the same things out of the life, and having good sex whenever I want is pretty high up on my list of priorities. I’m not saying that it’s the only route through life, but I know it’s the one that makes the most sense for us. And given your baby on board, it might make sense for you guys to at least talk about it.”

“But how could I ever bring it up?” I ask her.

“How about, ‘Hey honey—I’m going to have our baby in six months or so! Let’s talk about whether or not we want to get married. Also, I was thinking of yellow and green for the nursery. What do you think?’”

“No, that won’t work,” I tell her.

“And why not?” she replies.

“Because I don’t want him to feel pressured into marrying me just because I happen to be pregnant,” I tell her.

“Ah...” she says, her brow furrowing.

“If Harrison and I get married, I want it to be because we both want to get married. Not because we feel like we have to,” I explain, “Isn’t that how it should be?”

“There’s no one way things should be, when it comes to love,” she tells me, “But you’re right. You have to trust your gut on this one. I just think you should consider the option, that’s all. Plus that way, we can be old married ladies together. It’d be...”

Her voice trails off as she looks at herself in the mirror. I let my eyes fall on her reflection and feel my breath catch in my throat. Bex is wearing an airy, high-waisted gown of tulle and silk—a perfectly-fitted, spotless dress. It looks like something a prima ballerina would wear to a royal ball. There are no extra frills, just simple and elegant glamour. If I were trying to imagine Bex’s perfect wedding dress, it would pale in comparison to the one she’s wearing now.

“I think this is it...” she breathes.

“I think you’re right,” I smile.

An elated cry rings out through the dressing room as Bex takes in the sight of her wedding dress. Warm, ecstatic joy fills me up from the inside out. It hits me hard that in a couple weeks’ time, we’ll be celebrating Bex’s wedding day. Watching her and Charlie become husband and wife is going to be the happiest thing I can imagine. They suit each other so perfectly, and I just know that they’ll always be good to each other.

But as I imagine what their wedding would look like, I try and shift my focus to my own wedding to Harrison. Suddenly, it doesn’t seem like a crazy, outlandish idea. It sounds like something...I want.

“What’s that gleam in your eye about?” Bex asks mischievously.

“You’ve just...made some pretty good points,” I smile, “About the whole getting-married thing, I mean.”

“Well, now I know where to aim the bouquet toss!” she cries, elated.

We wrap our arms around each other, laughing and sniffling and beside ourselves with happiness. I can’t say that I’m not a little overwhelmed by the idea of marriage and babies all at once, but it’s a good, excited kind of overwhelmed.

Now, I just need to figure out how to fill Harrison in on all of this...

CHAPTER NINE

By the end of the day, Bex seems to have the last loose ends of her wedding planning all tied up. I have to admit, I was skeptical about planning such an important day in so little time, but my best friend is on top of it. I guess that when the essential details are all in line—like marrying someone you adore, for example—the rest can fall into place as it will. I’ve officially lost the capacity to think about Bex and Charlie’s nuptials without getting all misty-eyed.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come stay at my place?” Bex asks, as we stand on the stoop of my Alphabet City walkup.

“Don’t worry about me,” I tell her, “I like my little shoebox just fine.”

“But won’t you be lonely without your soon-to-be-husband?” she teases me.

“Oh my god,” I blush, “You can’t start with that already—”

“Sorry, sorry,” she says, “I’m just so excited for you two, is all.”

“Let’s just focus on your wedding for the time being, OK?” I grin, giving Bex a big hug, “I’m gonna go hit the hay. This jet lag is about to sink its claws right into me.”

We say goodbye and I hike up the six flights of stairs to my apartment. I’d forgotten what a workout living in New York City can be. Between the endless walking and the stairs upon stairs, it’s no wonder New Yorkers are so slim and gorgeous. I love a nice long run or a yoga session as much as anyone, but incidental exercise? Yes, please.

I’m happy for the city noise outside my window as I settle into my little home. If it was too quiet, I fear that I’d feel even lonelier for my other half. I’ll always remember being single in New York as an intensely lonesome time. There’s something heartbreaking about knowing that an entire city full of people is bustling around you, yet you’re still on your own. But now that there’s someone out there who I love more than anything, the rowdy noise of New York is just a good distraction as I wait for a week to pass so I can see him again.

My need for indulgence gets the best of me as my appetite tugs at my stomach. This whole eating-for-two thing is a blessing and a curse, that’s for sure. A check in the plus column, though, is not feeling guilty about ordering far too much food from my favorite Italian restaurant, as I do the moment I get home.

I’ve been getting more careful with each passing day, where taking care of my changing body is concerned. The morning sickness comes in fits and spurts, and my breasts are pretty consistently sore. But other than that, I haven’t noticed too many changes yet. I observe myself in the bedroom mirror, turning this way and that, looking for evidence of the new addition to my little family. What am I going to look like in three months’ time? Or six? Will my body ever be the same after it takes on this incredible challenge?

The enormity of what’s about to happen to me takes hold, unexpectedly. I have to lower myself down onto the floor below my bedroom window, my back pressed firmly against the wall. In six months’ time, I’m going to be a mother. There will be a tiny little person in my life who I’ll have to care for with everything I have. I’m suddenly beset with a new, unwelcome worry...what if I’m just not ready? What if I don’t know what to do when the baby comes? What if I’m just not very good at being a mom?

A rush of butterflies moves through me, and my hands fly to my stomach. I stare down at myself in wonder. I know it’s too early for the baby to be kicking, but I could have sworn I just felt...No. It’s only in my mind, I’m sure. Still, there’s a connection between us, me and this unknown little person, that’s growing stronger with every passing day.

“Who are you going to be?” I whisper, rubbing my hands along my belly. Is it going to be a boy or girl? Will it have my olive skin and chestnut curls or Harrison’s blue eyes and sandy locks? Will it want a big wheel on the double or will its life’s passion be something completely outside the realm that Harrison and I know so well?

Will it love me as much as I already love it?

The door buzzer rings out, scaring me half to death. That food got here right quick, didn’t it? I hoist myself up and buzz open the front door, waiting patiently as the poor delivery man climbs all six flights. I always overtip the brave men and women who come bearing treats, here. After a slog like that, they deserve it. After a few moments, there’s an eager knock on the door, and I swing it open excitedly, already imagining my delicious bounty.

“Thank you so...” I trail off, staring up into my visitor’s face.

“Thank you?” Harrison laughs, standing before my door in all his beautiful glory, “I was expecting a ‘Hello, lover’ but I’ll take it.”

I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms tightly around his shoulders. At once, my world comes back into alignment. At once, everything makes sense again.

“What are you doing here?” I ask breathlessly, “You weren’t supposed to come for another week!”

“I hope you don’t mind too terribly,” he smiles, taking my face in his hands, “There was just no way I could stay away from you for that long.”

“But what about your training?” I ask, pulling him inside and closing the door.

“McClain will just have to understand,” he shrugs, “Racing is important to me, but you’re my priority, Siena. I hope you know that.”

“Do I,” I laugh, reaching up to tousle his dirty blonde hair. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I can’t believe that this is your place,” he laughs, looking around my unthinkably tiny apartment, “I think this is the size of my guest bathroom back home.”

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in,” I drawl, “It’s served its purpose well enough. It just looks tiny because you’re eight feet tall, or something.”

“Ah,” he says, placing his hands on my hips, “So this place isn’t used to accommodating big, strong men, is it?”

“You know my dating record,” I say, cocking an eyebrow, “So you know the answer to that, full well.”

“I suppose I do,” he says, “I just like knowing that I stand out from all the men clamoring for your attention.”

“I guess,” I sigh, jokingly, as his arms circle around my waist.