Say Forever (7 page)

"Andrés, stop." I try to swat him away, but he's too fast. He lifts my shirt before I can stop him.

He gapes at the angry purple and red bull's-eye. "Fuck!"

I turn up my chin and put on my best big girl smile. "It doesn't even hurt."

Actually, that's a lie. It hurts like hell, but the pain is bearable as long as I don't breathe too much. All night I had to envision myself breathing through a straw just to manage the pain. I'd thought about asking Doc for a painkiller, but I'm not risking my baby's health with drugs.

"Liar." He courses his fingers through his thick hair, clenching the roots. "I'm sleeping on the sofa from now on."

I suck in a sharp breath. "Andrés, no!"

"Yes. What if next time it's not your ribcage?" Andrés squeezes my shoulders, and the pain reflected in his eyes breaks my heart. "What if it's your stomach? What if I hurt the baby?"

"For how long?" I ask, though my throat is constricted with emotion. Tears well in the backs of my eyes, and it takes all of my willpower to hold them at bay.

Andrés fixes me with a determined expression. "Until these dreams stop."

"You need to go back to that doctor." I hate the whine that slips into my voice. I know Andrés needs me to be strong right now. I do my best to put on a straight face, but my emotions are like a ping pong ball pinging all over the place, and I don't know if I want to scream, swear, or fall to pieces.

"I plan on it."

Andrés wipes a tear off my cheek. Damn tear. I didn't mean for it to fall.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Stay with me."

The hard angles of his face soften, then sadden.

I cup his face in my hands, imploring him to read the sincerity in my gaze. I hate seeing him like this—vulnerable, scared, broken.

"Forever," I manage to choke out before more traitorous tears spill over my eyelids. "I love you."

***

After browsing the sites of several bridal shops in Austin, I've convinced my mom we don't need to fly to New York for my dress. Considering how sick I was yesterday, I don't think I could tolerate the flight, anyway. We're looking through a site and I'm floored by all the pretty dresses. Now comes the hard part, finding one to fit a petite woman who's five foot three, basically a child.

When we'd started searching for bridal gowns, Andrés made a few jokes about first communion dresses before my mom talked him and Doc into taking my brothers outside for a game of tag. Sadly, Andrés wasn't far off the mark. Some of the flower girl dresses looked like they'd fit me.

I've found several styles I like, but I wonder how long a dress would take to hem.

"Can they have the dress ready in two weeks?" I ask my mom.

She pulls away from her laptop monitor and gapes at me. "Two weeks? That's not enough time to plan a wedding. Now, if we waited until the spring... ."

"I'll be as big as a house." I laugh. "Andrés and all of his cousins were big babies. He was ten pounds!"

Mom taps her chin with the end of a pencil as she pulls up a calendar on her monitor. "What about February first? That gives me six weeks to plan, and you'll only be nine weeks pregnant."

I know Andrés wanted to get married sooner, but my mom is right. Two weeks isn't much time to plan a wedding.

I look down at my stomach, which is flat at the moment, despite the fact that I ate four wedges of toast and two servings of scrambled eggs. I wanted bacon, but Doc said I shouldn't eat anything greasy. Andrés had the nerve to agree with him.

I smooth a hand over my abdomen. "I shouldn't be showing at nine weeks, right?"

"Not too much. You won't be able to wear a form fitting dress." Mom clicks on the mouse and exits out of all the screens with the hip hugging dresses I've selected. "I've always preferred the traditional gowns, anyway."

She pulls up this big, puffy thing with sequins that looks like a cotton ball on steroids.

My head starts to spin, and I'm afraid it has nothing to do with morning sickness. There is no way I'm wearing that monstrosity to my wedding.

My mom is apparently oblivious to my horrified expression as she adds the page with the puffy gown to her favorites. "This might work if I hire the right wedding planner."

I still don't see why my mom needs a planner. They are expensive, and they take care of things that we could do ourselves, like hiring the caterer and venue. If we had the wedding at Tio's ranch, we wouldn't need a wedding planner.

I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Why don't I speak up for myself? What's wrong with me?

And though I want to deny the truth, I already know the answer. I've only known my birth mother for three weeks. She's missed so many of my milestones already. If I take away my wedding from her, I know she'd be disappointed. Maybe she'll think I'm ungrateful. Considering the hellish upbringing I went through with my adoptive mother, I'm not willing to risk anything that would jeopardize my relationship with my new mom.

I look over at her. She looks blissfully happy as she hums to herself while doing a search on wedding planners.

I slouch in my seat as I get this sinking feeling in my gut, like our wedding is turning into a runaway train with my mom at the helm, and I'm an unwilling passenger.

Chapter Six

Christina

"Are you better, Sissy?"

"For the most part." I look down at my brother, Gio, as he tugs on my shirt sleeve. Gio's shadow, my youngest brother, Manny, is right behind him. They are only three and four years old, and I'm not being biased when I say they are the cutest brothers ever.

They have golden brown skin, thick dark hair, and chubby cheeks like my stepfather and my mom's bright green eyes and wide smile—my eyes and smile.

I'm not quite sure who they inherited their naughtiness from. I was always an obedient child. Although it was mostly because I was raised under my adoptive mother's cloud of manipulation and degradation.My real mom, Jenny, was just a teen when she gave birth to me and was forced to give me up. I'm thankful we found each other, and that I found my new brothers. In the few short weeks I've known them, I honestly don't know how I could live without them.

Gio bats thick lashes and give me his best pleading gaze. "Because you promised you'd play tag with us."

I groan as I look across the sofa at Andrés. Shit. I was hoping my brother would have forgotten about tag. Though I would ordinarily love to play with them, my body is so sore, it feels like I ran a marathon. Andrés and I have been relaxing together for the past half hour. Actually, I've been enjoying a nice foot rub and a good book while he answers work emails and texts with his free hand.

"I know," I say as I set it down and rest my hand against my temple. I heave an exaggerated sigh. "I'm still a little dizzy."

I feel a pang of guilt at the look of disappointment in my brother's eyes.

Gio scrunches his face and plants both fists on his hips. "But Doc said you had morning sickness, and we've already had lunch."

"Yeah." Manny wags a finger at me. "Peanut butter and jelly and celery sticks."

Gio looks over at Manny and makes a face. "I hate celery."

I laugh when I see the bulge protruding from Gio's pocket. "Is that what I saw you stuffing down your pants?"

His eyes go wide and he shakes his head a little too hard. "No."

"Don't lie to me." I point as the head of the stalk. "You've got one hanging out of your pants."

Gio gapes at the celery and shoves it back down. "I was saving it for later," he says as he averts his gaze.

I roll my eyes as I hold out my hand. "Give me the celery."

Gio pulls the stalk out of his pocket, and that's when I notice a bulge in the front of his pants. I impatiently wag my fingers. "All of them."

If his lip hung any lower, it would hit the floor. "Do I have to eat them?" He pulls out three more celery sticks and places them in my hand.

"No." I laugh. "I'm not going to make you eat underwear food. Go throw them in the garbage and wash your hands."

Gio marches toward the downstairs bathroom, his feet stomping loudly across the wood floor.

I arch a brow at my suspiciously quiet youngest brother. "You, too, Manny."

He shields his butt with his hands and takes a step back. "I don't have no celery."

I pull my feet out of Andrés's grip and stand up. Andrés doesn't say a word. He's been too preoccupied with work to pay any attention to us.

I take a step toward my brother, who takes another step back, but not before I get a good look at the bulge extending from his butt. "So are you growing a tail, then?"

He flashes the most adorable, sheepish grin, and my heart sighs. These boys really know how to work me over.

I point a finger at him and do my best to keep a straight face. "Just because your brother does something naughty, doesn't mean you need to do it, too."

Manny solemnly nods before hobbling toward the bathroom like his shoes are ten sizes too big. I look over at Andrés, who has finally set down his phone. "That celery must be wedged up there pretty high." I laugh.

He folds his arm behind his head, smirking. "Welcome to parenthood, mija."

I arch my neck back, looking at him through slitted eyes. "Our kid's not going to be like that."

Andrés's smirk turns into all-out laughter. "You think underwear celery is bad, you haven't seen nothing." He lifts the front of his thick, wavy hair and points to a small scar at the base of his temple. Then he holds out his right hand and taps the scar running down his thumb. Finally, he cranes his neck, showing me the little nick on his beautiful bronze skin.

"These are from my cousins," he says with a knowing look in his dark eyes. "Rusty screwdriver, sharp pencil, and broken glass."

My hands fly to my mouth. "Shit, Andrés!" Why would kids do that to each other?"

"Don't worry." He flashes a mischievous grin. "They've got bigger scars."

I slowly sit back down on the sofa as I gape at the scar on his hand. It's the worst of the three, raised and jagged. I wonder if it was caused by the screwdriver, pencil, or glass. Either way, it had to have hurt. I don't know why I'd never asked him. I assumed he'd gotten his scars during his tours in Afghanistan.

A sinking feeling twists a knot in my stomach. After this baby, Andrés will probably want more. In fact, I know he will. He's always said he wanted a big family. I hope our kids don't turn out like Andrés and his cousins. I don't think I could handle them.

"I hope we have a girl," I say through a shaky breath.

Andrés snickers while turning over his hand. "My cousin Marie gave me this one."

My stomach sours, and my chest tightens, and I try my best to keep my expression impassive. I don't want Andrés to see me on the verge of a meltdown, because I'm not ready to have a baby.

***

After playing all day with my brothers, I'm exhausted by the time we get home that night, although I shouldn't be, considering I slept most of the way. We were supposed to drive to his aunt and uncle's house tonight and tell them about the wedding, but we've decided to hold off until Christmas Eve in two more days. I can tell Andrés is tired by the slump of his shoulders, and I wonder how well he slept on that couch. Andrés helps me out of the car and refuses to let go of my elbow until I'm lying on the sofa.

Even though my head feels fuzzy, it's not nearly as bad as it was this morning. When I see Andrés come inside with our bags, I rise on shaky legs. I need to help him unpack.

He comes over to the sofa and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Relax , mija. Those bags can wait until tomorrow. I'll make you a virgin sangria."

I reach for him before he can turn away. "I don't want anything to drink. I want you." I nuzzle his hand, kissing his palms and the tips of his fingers.

Andrés responds with a groan and then he sits on the sofa, pulling me into his lap.

I sigh into his warm embrace. "I love it when you hold me."

His lips linger on my forehead. "I love holding you."

I run my fingers through his thick hair. I pull his head down to mine until our mouths are nearly touching. "Then sleep with me tonight."

Andrés pushes me back with a hand on my collarbone. The softness in his gaze is gone, replaced by a look as hard as granite. "I'm not arguing with you on this. I'm not hurting you again."

I don't know why, but my throat constricts, and my eyes water. I swear my hormones turn me into a crying baby for the stupidest reasons. I'm not normally so weepy, and I can't stand myself for it, which, unfortunately, makes me even sadder.

"Don't cry, mija." Andrés strokes the side of my face with the tips of his fingers. "Please don't do this."

I want to tell him I can't help it, that my body is changing, and I have no control over these unruly pregnancy outbursts. But at the feeling of his heated skin on mine, desire shifts my body in the opposite direction, and I feel like a ship being tossed about in a hormonal storm.

Damn. I'm turned on, and there's nothing I can do about it now. I come up on my knees and lower myself onto him, straddling his waist as he wraps his hands around my hips. I reach between us, stroking my hand up the length of his erection. Just the feel of his desire causes the moisture to pool between my legs.

Licking my lips, I look into his smoky gaze. "Will you still make love to me?"

He responds by grabbing my hair by the roots and pulling my lips down on his. I sigh into him as his tongue delves deep into my mouth, thrusting, teasing, torturing.

His hands are underneath my shirt and then beneath my bra. He squeezes my breasts and pinches my nipples so hard they burn. I don't know whether I should push him away or beg him for more.

Chests heaving, we pull away from each other. One look in his smoldering eyes, and I know he's as aroused as I am. The currents of desire that shoot through me are more powerful than anything I've ever felt before. I briefly wonder if my lust is another side effect of pregnancy, but I'm too damn horny to care.

We can't get each other naked fast enough. I'm pulling down his jeans and he's ripping off my shirt like our clothes are on fire. I kick the rest of our discarded clothes to the floor and wrap my hand around his magnificent erection as it springs from his underwear. Then his mouth is on my bare breasts, suckling one nipple, then swirling his tongue around the other. I clench his hair while he continues to trace kisses downward. His mouth lingers on my abdomen, and he strokes and kisses it with such tenderness, I nearly weep all over again.