The Rock Star's Baby Bargain - The Bangover

“Fernando asked me to marry him five times,” she says, drawing my hand into her lap and cradling it in both of hers. “And as much as I cared about him and thought I wanted to share my life with him, it was easy to say no. I thought that meant I just wasn’t a ‘getting married’ kind of girl. But now…” She presses her lips together, and I hold my breath. “Honestly, Zack, I’m dying to say yes, but—”

“Then say yes,” I jump in, making her laugh.

“Let me finish,” she says, laying a hand on my bare chest, her fingers cool against my sun-kissed skin. “I’m dying to say yes, but I can’t help feeling…” Tension tightens her features. “Well, like I’m the only one winning here.”

A scowl knits my forehead. “What? Why on earth would you think that?”

“Because I’m an out of work swimsuit designer with a couple thousand dollars in savings and no burning desire to do anything but have a family. Yes, I’d love to find a creatively fulfilling job, but I don’t have a fire in my belly about it. Meanwhile, you’re a famous rock star who’s done very well for himself and has a fire in his belly about almost everything. You’ve got big dreams and goals and visions for the future and…” She trails off, smiling fondly albeit a little sadly as she glances down at the blanket. “I guess I’m just worried that I’ll slow you down. And that you might come to resent me for it someday and regret jumping into this so quickly.”

“Look at me,” I command.

Her shoulders hunch, but finally, she lifts her chin. When her gaze locks with mine, I insist in a soft but firm voice, “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I knew you’d say that, but…” Her breath rushes out. “I know you don’t judge me for any of those things, and I know we love each other, but what if we’re too different to make it work long term?”

“What if we’re just different enough?” I challenge. “Different enough to make the perfect team?” I watch her consider that for a moment before I add, “And as for the other stuff, I don’t know when people decided that having a family wasn’t as fiery a dream as having a career, but I don’t believe that. I see how passionate you are about becoming a mother.”

She gives a little nod, her eyes still fixed on mine, searching for answers I hope she finds. I want her to see and to know, without a doubt, that I’m as excited about her dreams—our dreams—as she is.

“And I don’t think my career is any better than anyone else’s,” I continue. “I love what I do, but at the end of the day, it’s just music. It’s entertainment. It’s not food or water or clean air or the trash taken away from the curb so that humanity doesn’t end up drowning in its own filth.”

Her lips quirk up at the edges. “Bless the garbage men?”

“Bless the garbage men. And the doctors and the nurses and the teachers and the cooks like Theo, who serve amazing food. And all the people raising good humans who are going to grow up and make the world a better place for all of us.”

Her eyes start to shine again. “I think it’s possible, don’t you? That we can learn from our mistakes and do better by our kids from now on?”

“I don’t know if everyone can,” I admit. I always want to be honest with her, even when it’s hard. “But I know you can.” I lean in, resting my forehead against hers as I whisper, “I believe in you, Cee. You can do anything you set your mind to. And your dreams are more than enough. You are more than enough. You’re the best person I’ve ever met, and no matter what shape our forever takes, I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

She sniffs and grabs the hem of her sundress, lifting it to her face. “Now I’m really going to cry. Ugly, snotty cry. There’s no stopping it.”

“I don’t care.” Sliding the ring onto my little finger, I gather her into my lap, hugging her tight. “I like you snotty, and you couldn’t be ugly if you tried.”

Laughter bursts from her lips as she leans her head on my chest. “You haven’t seen me at my worst yet, buddy. Wait until January, when I’m pale and bloated from holiday feasting and recovering from a head cold. I’ll look like something the gravedigger forgot to bury.”

“Lies,” I murmur, rocking her back and forth, keeping watch on a seagull who is considering joining us on the blanket to investigate what goodies we might have hidden in our beach bag. “You’re always beautiful.”