Claim My Baby (Crescent Cove 2)

He kissed my knuckles. “You look magnificent.”

“I’m not fishing for compliments. I just feel very large. Not in a bad way, because baby girl needs room. But you know, when everyone is looking at me—”

He stopped us a few feet away from the entrance to Hunk O’ Burning Love. “Every single man who sees you is going to wish you were his. Every woman is going to envy your beauty.”

My throat grew tight and hot. “It’s like you’re trying to get me to marry you or something.”

He chuckled and dipped his forehead against mine. “Let’s just say I’m looking forward to the honeymoon.”

All at once, I realized how awkward this must be for him. He really hated stuff like this. Anything embarrassing or showy.

Then again, I had a tendency to be both of those things, often inadvertently. And he still loved me. I didn’t doubt that anymore. Every time he touched me, it was obvious. Just as it was clear he adored our little girl.

I was so very lucky.

“We can do this again at home. Have a nice, regular ceremony, very normal. In a church even if you want. Assuming they don’t cast me out with brimstone because I’m way pregnant.”

He laughed and gripped my hand that much harder. “Are you kidding me? I’ll skip that circus. This one suits me just fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want your wedding to be the stuff of nightmares for you. Since you’re not divorcing me ever or I will probably kill you.” He laughed, but I did not. “I’m not even joking, Hamilton. You’ll be dead as a doornail. Ally will help me bury your body. We already discussed it.”

“There’s a cheery thought. Remind me to scale back her Christmas gift this year.” He grinned. “We aren’t getting divorced. Ever. Okay?”

“Do you promise?”

Yes, I needed extra reassurance. I blamed that on pregnancy too. It would suck when I couldn’t use gestating a human as an excuse anymore.

Maybe Oliver’s idea of keeping me pregnant had a bright side. If one forgot about swelling, fatigue, morning sickness, weight gain, and hemorrhoids.

Yeah, not going there. There had been enough bathroom-related talk for one day already.

“Cross my heart. Now let’s go.” Oliver gave me a quick kiss and tugged on my hand. “Fake Elvis is waiting.”

Taking a deep breath, I nodded. And together, we walked into chaos.

Within a matter of moments, I’d been hugged and oohed and aahed over by my parents, Seth and Ally, Oliver’s father, Jean from the diner, Dare, Moose, Kelsey, and even Rob from the plane, who seemed unsurprised Oliver had knocked me up the very same weekend he’d met us. Probably because I’d crawled all over Oliver on the plane out of fear.

And smell lust. And just general lust, though that had taken at least a few hours.

Hey, a girl had her standards.

Laurie was zooming around like a kid on sugar, and baby Alexander was happily asleep where he was strapped to Ally’s chest. The only one who looked put out was fake Elvis, who was not pleased with all the delays, since they had a full slate of marriages on the docket.

On the other hand, the blue-haired receptionist seemed positively sunny. She’d taken one look at my belly and one look at Oliver and remarked that “the King doesn’t judge.”

Thank heavens for that.

Then it was time for the last few preparations. Ally offered me a pair of pearl earrings as my something borrowed, Oliver’s father presented to me the prettiest rose gold bracelet as my something new, my mom offered me Dad’s handkerchief to tuck in my bra as my something old—because c’mon, I was so going to cry—and Kelsey came through with something blue.

“I found the perfect thing!” she exclaimed, whipping out a royal-blue belt-slash-sash that proclaimed, “made in Vegas,” which she wrapped around my basketball-sized belly.

Everyone laughed at that, even Oli

ver.

“Look at nuts lady, coming through in the clutch,” Dare said with a smirk.

Kelsey turned a few shades of pink. “Offer a guy nuts one time and he never lets you forget it,” she whispered as she adjusted my sash.