Page 67 of Expecting an Argument
I choked down a sob, but that didn’t stop a tear from falling. Slowly, he reached forward. He wiped away the tear on my cheek with his thumb and tucked a stray hair behind my ear.
“I’m sick of soaking in my own misery,” I whispered, choosing not to add that I was sure Beau was tired of my misery too. “I want to…I want to do something fun. I think we’ve spent so much time surviving that we forgot how to live.”
His hand lingered by my ear, his fingertips lightly smoothing my hair back. A soft smile played on his lips and I had to calm the fluttering in my stomach.
“You’re right,” he said softly. “I’ve worried about you for months, but maybe hiding in the house wasn’t good for either of us.”
I chewed on my lip and bashfully looked away. “I…I liked being in the house, that’s not it.” I glanced down at my belly peeking out of my nursing top. “It might sound silly, but…I want to get dressed up again. Living in lounge wear hasn’t been great for my morale.”
Beau lowered his hand and let out a hum of consideration. I glanced up to find him chewing on his tongue, his eyes fixed on a nondescript point on the floor.
Whatever decision he was making, it wasn’t an easy one.
After a heartbeat, he looked up and gave me a half smile. “All right, it’s a date. You’d better brush up on your dancing skills, sugar.”
All I wanted was one day to dress up and feel like a person again.
Beau, of course, took that to mean a night at the ritziest gala in the city.
My old firm had purchased a table at a gala a year ago and I was over the moon when they asked me to attend. Though I expected a night of glamour, I instead got to saw through an unseasoned chicken breast as the partners got drunk and schmoozed with wealthy potential clients. I wasn’t even sure what charity we were even supporting.
So, when Beau handed me the embossed invitation for the April Showers gala, I was a little skeptical that he would deliver on the fun time he had promised.
But then my dress came in.
I was always a “buy a gown off the rack at the mall” kind of woman, so I doubted that anyone could secure a dress for abody that was thirty-one weeks pregnant with twins.
I should have known better than to doubt Beau Fontaine.
My dress shipped to Fontaine Manor in a large white box that I gleefully opened like it was Christmas morning. I had only told Beau that I wanted my dress to be comfortable, but I squealed when I unwrapped the tissue paper to find pink tulle.
The night of the gala, I slipped the dress over my head and allowed myself a few minutes to admire myself in the bathroom mirror. The dress had gauzy flutter sleeves, a bodice embroidered with large pink and tiny phthalo green flowers, and a tulle skirt that flowed over my belly. Lines of varying lengths of rose gold sequins sparkled throughout the skirt and bodice, catching my eye each time I moved.
I ran my hands over my bump to smooth the tulle and cradled my belly. I rocked my babies side-to-side as I smiled at my reflection in the mirror. I might have been enormous, butdamnI was pretty.
Beau knocked on my bedroom door as I was putting on my last coat of candy pink lip gloss. I smelled his cologne before I caught a glimpse of him in my bathroom mirror.
He wore a simple black tuxedo with a pink carnation pinned to his lapel. His hair was perfectly combed and gelled, but his neat composure broke when his pretty blue eyes widened. A muscle in his jaw ticked, but otherwise he kept silent.
I looked to the floor as my cheeks heated. Despite the beauty of my dress, the rest of me wasn’t up to “gala” standards. My hair was in a simple half updo and I hadn’t put on makeup other than blush and mascara since I couldn’t stand long enough to do a full face. I didn’t know who would be at the gala, but I hoped my plain appearance wouldn’t embarrass Beau.
He cleared his throat. I looked up and noticed he was carrying a stack of boxes in his hands—two flat boxes covered in blue velvet and a matte black shoe box.
Beau placed the stack of boxes on the counter.
“Turn around,” he ordered.
I brushed my hair over my shoulder and turned my exposed back to him. Though rationally I knew he was just helping me with the zipper I couldn’t reach, I still held my breath as his hands found the small of my back.
I stared at the iridescent tile floor, my hands holding my breasts in place as Beau carefully zipped my dress all the way up. His hand lingered at the top of the zipper’s track, right where my tattoo was, before releasing me.
The dress was a perfect fit, but Beau was still speechless.
Eager to break the tense silence, I glanced over my shoulder at the boxes on the counter. “What did you bring?”
He lifted the lid of the first blue velvet box, revealing an antique hair comb topped with two butterflies with marbled green glass wings. He quickly opened the second, which held an emerald pendant on a gold chain.
“Pink goes well with green!” I said with a smile. “You remembered!”
