Page 143 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
This is my wedding day for fuck’s sake. Of course I’m going to be emotional. I didn’t want to get married. I don’t really believe in marriage. Yet, I’m not entirely displeased by the idea of committing to Beast. Committing to Sin. To … Grainger. Crown, if he’ll have me. Hard to say, based on his melancholy mood this morning and yesterday.
“And if I’m not pregnant,” I start, the reality of that so heavy that it nearly staggers me. Would I get an abortion? Would I keep it? What would the guys think? Whose baby would it even be? “You’ll let me go?”
Grainger releases me suddenly, drawing back and turning away with a curse that sounds a bit like a prayer. That, or a dark spell. Yeah, more likely that. We’re all heretics here.
“I told you that I knew the night you walked into the clubhouse bathroom that you were meant to be mine.” He turns away from me, grabbing his own coffee and then moving over to the window to stare out at the bare dirt of Crown’s front yard.
Mm. A non-answer, but an acceptable one. I’ll take it.
I finish my coffee, set the mug aside, and head into the downstairs bathroom. Déjà vu is hitting me hard today. Not just because this is my second wedding in as many months, but also because it reminds me of the last time I did this.
Unlike last time however, I don’t look at the two tests I take. Instead, I grab them off the counter and head back into the kitchen, waiting for Grainger to turn around and look at me.
“I can’t do this right now,” I tell him, emotion making me feel dizzy and lightheaded. I slip the two tests in his pocket (sure, I peed on them, but whatever) and put my forehead against his chest. “You keep them and tell me after the wedding. I don’t want to know right now.”
I turn away and Grainger lets me go, but I can feel his eyes as I flee down the hall.
I know exactly where I’m going and what I need to do.
Beast doesn’t seem surprised when I burst into his room and find him in the bathroom. But I sure as hell am.
“What … what are you doing?” I choke out, staring at the clean-shaven man standing before me. Beast takes a wet cloth and swipes it over his chin, glancing my way with a slight smile on his unbelievably gorgeous mouth. I mean, I liked it before, but I can see it so much better now.
“This is a one-time thing, Gidge,” he drawls, tossing the towel over his shoulder and moving over to stand in front of me. He rests his forearms on either side of the jamb, leaning down to look at me. “Don’t get too used to it.”
My throat constricts because even this wedding, which seemed so certain, now feels impossible.
“We’re getting married today,” I whisper, and he nods.
“That we are.”
I gather my resolve together, an ironclad force that pushes the words from my mouth that I really, really don’t want to fucking say. It’d be easier, maybe, if I just looked at the damn tests now. But only if they’re negative. If they’re not, this whole situation becomes even more tangled, even more twisted.
“Would you still want to marry me if I were pregnant with another guy’s baby?” The question is bold, forthright, direct. Because we’re club, right? Not the mafia. Although, the advice on honesty did come from a mafia brat’s lips.
Beast taps his fingers on the wall as I gape up at him, still trying to come to terms with the fact that his beard is gone. I mean, I liked it; he wears it well, short and well-kempt. But this is … this is nice, too.
“I told you before that I was on your side,” he says, and then he steps forward and I’m scrambling out of the way. He gives me a bit of a warning look, but I can’t touch him right now. I just can’t. I’ve waited years for this; he’s been teasing me for weeks. I’m explosive. Beast opens the nightstand drawer where he’s stashed some of his personal things.
One of the items buried in there is the pregnancy test that he put in his pocket, two long years ago.
“I don’t care who fathered your baby,” he says, tossing the old test onto the bed and giving me a look. “You’ll be my wife after today; that child is mine.”
He moves toward the bathroom, pausing in front of me just long enough that my skin begins to ache at his nearness, and then steps inside and closes the door behind him.
I’m only standing there for a minute or two when I hear footsteps behind me.
“Are you really pregnant?” Sin asks, maybe wondering if the kid could be his. If I am, it might be. You never know.
