Dishing Up Love

“I buy a lot of my stuff from farmer’s markets or make it myself,” he explains, confirming my suspicion he probably churned the butter himself. Maybe that’s why everything he makes me tastes so much better than anything else I’ve ever tasted before.

“So anyway, what happens after we pick out our dresses?”

“Then our team will do everyone’s hair and makeup and all that crap, and then we’ll head to the awards show. After the awards, we’ll go on to our after party, which we’ll have whether we win or lose.”

“Oh my God, Rin! This will be the first party you’ve ever been to where you didn’t drink you-call-its,” Emmy says, nudging me with her elbow, and I stick my tongue out at her.

“I will make you whatever virgin drink your heart desires,” Curtis counters, and I blow him a kiss.

Dean comes downstairs then, stopping next to Emmy to kiss her on top of her head before circling the island, standing next to Curtis. “Your protein pancakes?” he asks, and at Curtis’s nod, he whoops. “Hell yeah, man. I’ll take three.”

“Coming right up,” Curtis replies and pours more batter into the skillet.

“How you feeling, Rin?” Dean asks, taking the stool on the other side of his wife.

“Good so far. The doctor said I have to take this medication with food, so I’m hoping to keep a little bit of this down,” I reply.

“Curt, you’ll have to get her some of those sea bands they use on cruises for sea sickness. They have this little bead that pushes on a pressure point in the wrist that helps with nausea. Oh, and what was that stuff that worked for you, love?” Dean prompts.

“Oh, Unisom Sleep Tabs. I would ask Dr. McNealy if it’s okay to mix those medications, but it’s just an antihistamine that has a side effect of curing nausea. It’s the only thing that got me through the first trimester. And then later on, when you start having pregnancy insomnia, it’ll help you sleep a little better,” Emmy explains.

“Are you getting all this?” I asked Curtis, and he uses his pointer finger to tap the side of his head, letting me know he’s making mental notes, and I smile.

Knowing what a crazy-busy night we’re going to have, we decide to have a day of lounging around Curtis’s house—well, I guess it’s our house now—until the team of stylists arrive later that afternoon. We binge watch the entire first season of Schitt’s Creek, the four of us laughing our asses off at the Rose family’s antics.

Several hours later, I look at myself in the mirror and can’t believe the woman staring back at me from the reflection. There’s no denying I look damn hot whenever I dress up for Comic Cons as Khaleesi. But even that doesn’t compare to the way I feel in this cobalt blue gown. It hugs me in all the right places with a sweetheart neckline that does amazing things for my cleavage, chiffon crisscrossing over the bodice, and an intricate beaded pattern makes a thick belt around my waist. The skirt is straight but flowy, and the strappy pumps hugging my feet make my legs look they go on for days as I stick one out through the slit in my dress.

I have never looked better in my life, and as Curtis walks up behind me and I see the reflection of him in his tux, I can’t help but think we are one damn fine-looking couple. While the thought of all the paparazzi taking our pictures gives me anxiety, there’s no doubt in my mind we’ll be in the tabloids as one of the best dressed couples.

Curtis wraps his arms around me, one hand resting low on my belly. “You’re absolutely stunning,” he tells me. “And all mine,” he adds.

I spin in his arms, my heels making me a little taller, but he still towers over me. But when I tug on the lapels of his tux, he gives me what I want and bends down, his lips pressing to mine gently so he doesn’t smudge my lipstick. When he pulls back, I smile and use my thumb to wipe away the color left behind on his lips.

“You ready to do this?” He lifts a brow.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” I shrug, and we make our way down the stairs.

Chapter 27

Erin

IN THE LIMO on the ride there, worry fills my gut and I look over at Curtis. “Can I ask a favor?”

“Anything,” he replies.

“If you win, do you promise not to say anything about the baby in your acceptance speech? I don’t want to jinx anything, and it’s bad luck to announce a pregnancy before the ten-week mark,” I explain.

“Of course, sugar. We won’t say anything until you’re ready,” he tells me, and I give him a relieved smile and nod just as we pull up to the curb at the end of the red carpet.