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  He crooks his finger, signaling for me to come closer. When I’m a step away, he sends his hands to my waist to pull me closer still. Effortlessly, he lifts me to perch on his desk before him. He gazes up at me in solemn concentration. I return his gaze with equal intensity. His hands find my thighs, and he jerks me closer to the edge of the mahogany surface. Daniel pushes the fabric of my loose skirt up exposing my thighs. He leans his face in to leave a kiss on both. Slowly, his mouth makes its way up, leaving my skin burning in its wake. Three more kisses and he drops his forehead to rest on my stomach. I thread my fingers through his hair, waiting. Daniel inches to sit straight, stern hazel eyes unblinking for a few moments.

  I clear my throat. “So what’s the sentence for my misdemeanor?”

  “Hayley . . .” His mouth remains slightly agape as though calibrating a response, and he snaps it shut.

  “Daniel?” His name on my lips is a cautious question. A soft and concerned question.

  “Forget it. It’s nothing.” He takes a generous breath.

  Oh, how I wish he’d confront me. I even prefer him snapping at me than this reaction. This loaded silence. I shake my head. “No.”

  His eyes narrow at me, and his jaw clutches.

  “Talk to me.”

  “What about?”

  “Daniel . . .”

  “What do you want me to say, Hales? I’ve said everything I had to say. Clearly, I cannot do anything more if you simply chose not to listen.”

  Ouch. The wedding. Setting a date has been, and apparently still is, a moot subject.

  “Well.” Daniel rises to stand. He holds his hand for me and helps me jump off the table. “I need to get some work done for tomorrow.”

  “I love you,” I say before leaving, still harboring the leaden feeling in my belly.

  “Love you too, Hales,” he says with a sigh, giving me a look that makes my stomach twinge once again.

  Chapter 3

  Grand Gesture

  I’m used to waking up alone in the middle of the night. What with Daniel’s nocturnal tendencies to burn the midnight oil. He claims he’s a night person and most productive in the wee hours of the night. I can vouch for that. He’s definitely exceedingly productive at night. You’d never hear me complain. But somehow, with how we left things this time, his absence in our bed niggles me. I call for him, but no answer comes in return. Shrugging on one of his tees, I make my way to the office then to the gym.

  “Daniel?” I call out as I take a few groggy steps into the kitchen. I hug myself and move on to the living room. A soft, chilly breeze coming from the open balcony door brushes against my skin, making my stare wander toward the patio. Toward where Daniel lounges on one of the recliners, focused on the notebook on his thighs. “Hey,” I say in a supple voice, nearing him. “I missed you in bed,” I add, studying his serious expression under the screen’s glow. Daniel sets the notebook to the wooden floor. Turning to me, he holds out his hand. I take it and plant my knee next to his hip, slowly lowering to straddle his thighs.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” His tone is low and caressing. His hand comes up to my neck, brushing my hair over my shoulder.

  “Yes.” I bob my head and bring my hand to his face. “Easier when you’re next to me.” With the pads of two fingers, I gently trace over the fresh scar sitting high on his right cheekbone. The one he got just a couple of months ago on that notorious trip to Thailand. The one I can’t think about without the horrific feeling it brings along.

  “Does it still hurt?” I ask. Really meaning does it still haunt you?

  He shakes his head from side to side, his eyes hovering over my face.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He shakes his head again and covers my hand with his. He brings our joined hands to rest on his chest. I lean in closer and press a feathery kiss on the scar. Though the event in which he got said mark of injury is nothing but terrifying, I can’t get over how sexy it is. Daniel’s scars are the most attractive marks I’ve ever seen, and in equal part so are his non-physical ones. His well-ingrained emotional scars; these imperfections that just make him all the more perfect to me. Daniel’s hand trails to cradle my rear, pulling me closer against him. He leans back on the recliner and looks up at me for a silent beat. Slowly, he inches forward, slowly till his mouth finds mine.

  My eyes flicker to his as we ease back. “Why won’t you talk about it?” I ask in a dainty voice.

  “There’s nothing to talk about. What happened, happened, and now, it’s history.” And in his very unique Daniel way of “pouring his heart out,” he kisses me again. This time with greater vigor.

  When we pull back to catch our breath, I say, “About earlier, what Tasha said . . .”

  “Hales.” It’s a frustrated warning.

  “Okay, let’s talk about it.” Determination lines my voice. It’s time we ironed out this impasse of ours. The “setting a date” plight. We can have an attempt at reason. Though it has proven to crash and burn before takeoff each and every time in the past, there’s always hope. Heck, if Scientology is a legit religion, most likely the sky is indeed the limit. And before I’m about to state my case, Daniel’s gaze turns hard. Yet brimming with something that twists my insides.

  “When you get engaged and enter the most significant relationship of your life, it comes with an impending debt to your partner,” he says in his husky voice. “A promise you make to each other that you’ll eventually have to live up to by committing to the ‘till death do you part’ phase of your life. By fulfilling your partner’s expectations, you grant them a growing old together pledge. For worse or for better. Just like I promise you that I’ll always be there for you, have your best interest at heart, do everything in my power to keep you safe, worriless, and mostly, happy, Hales, I do expect you to do the same for me. And this sort of promise essentially gets its official stamp in a goddamn ceremony with a priest.”

  Counterargument by my side? The defense has no plausible counterargument. No, your honor, the defense is sort of dumbstruck. “It’s so important to you,” I state rather than question.

  He nods. His eyes blaze into mine a grave hazel.

  I worry my lips. “It’s just something about the ceremony. I don’t know. I don’t like what people tend to make of it. Somehow, it always turns into a circus. When all it’s really supposed to be about is two people certifying their . . . relationship. Their love. Daniel, I’m not trying to . . .” I huff.

  Creases pile up between his brows. “Hales, it was never about the ceremony. Besides finally wearing your engagement ring, nothing on your part has proved to me just how serious you were, are.”

  I gape at him. His words jarring me. How can you even imply that, D? You are and you’ve always been my everything.

  “Give me something. Prove me wrong, Hales. Show me that you feel the same way. That we’re heading in the same direction.”

  A tumultuous whirlwind of contradicting emotions joins forces inside my chest, twisting in my belly, causing my heartbeat to accelerate. I’m confused, affected, and somewhat riled that he doesn’t know just how much he means to me by now.

  I rise up to my feet. “Fine.” It’s an irritated breath. “You want me to show you just how much you mean to me. How I see our future together?” I shake my head. “Fine!” I stride toward the house. I storm through the quiet landing till I reach the bedroom’s en suite. Yanking open the cabinet above the sink, I rummage through the contents till I find what I’m looking for. My journey back to the deck is no less spiked. “Here.” I toss the little package in my hand into the pool.

  Daniel’s face is a display of utter dismay as he watches my not so well balanced act. It’s night. The skies are dark. Dark but clear enough to illuminate the aluminum pack now lamely swimming in the water. I watch Daniel as he scratches his lip with his thumb. His eyes hone in on the little container floating amid little circles formed in the clammy water. He brings his attention back to me, head tilted to the side
, one scarred brow arched in question.

  “My pills,” I say. “You wanted me to show you just how much you mean to me and where we’re heading?” My hand falls to my waist, the other gesturing at the pool. “Birth control pills,” I add just to make sure my message is clear.

  His lips pull up into a grin as he waits for me to go on.

  “This is where I see us heading. I want the same thing I wanted before. You. You as my fiancé, you as my husband, you as the father of my children.” That grin of his turns into a full-on Daniel Stark smile. Crooked, mirthful, brimming sin.

  “So?” he asks.

  Pardon? My eyes widen. “So?” My head slightly jerks back in bewilderment. “Wasn’t this graphic enough for you.”

  “Oh, it was.” He tries to calm his smile with not much success. In a small gesture, he motions with his hand toward the pool. “What does it really mean, though, Hales? Is it effective . . . immediately?” His eyes dance with joy.

  “As of tomorrow morning when I need to take one, I guess.” I can’t keep my lips from stretching wildly in response to his expression.

  Daniel rises to stand, and in three confident steps, he is by my side. He grabs me by my hips and lifts me to straddle him. His lips grinning against mine. Over a smile, he presses a kiss to my no less grinning ones. “So no wedding? You’re just gonna be my baby momma?”

  “Yes to the wedding, just not necessarily in the near future. And certainly positive on the baby momma part.”

  Daniel chuckles and brings his mouth to cover mine. And then there’s just our mouths, hands, the warmth we’re transferring into each other, and little needy, breathy sounds of want. When we pull back, Daniel dips his head, leveling our stare. “Are we really doing this?” It’s a quiet question, yet carries so much.

  My answer comes out even suppler. “Yes.”

  The tender warmness of his hands frames my cheeks. His voice lightly vibrates between us. “Christ, I love you.” His warm, manly scent. The heat of his breath tunneling to my mouth. Some moments are small but hold such great significance.

  In response, I tilt my head to feast on his delectable taste. I can feel a smile crawl up Daniel’s lips as our lazy kiss subsides.

  “What?” I smile at him. I give his mouth a chaste brush.

  His lips pull up higher on the side. “Who’s gonna clean the pool now that you’ve littered it?”

  I roll my eyes. His smile becomes radiant. And before I know it, he pushes us both into the pool. I yelp at the chilled bite of the water. The “litter” is our last concern as we start peeling clothes off each other in a lustful, hurried pace.

  Chapter 4

  Good for Your Soul

  “There are so many things out there better than monogamy,” Ian says to the strawberry daiquiri in his hand.

  “Such as?” Tasha asks, leaning back onto the sunbed by the indoor pool, round cucumber slices covering her eyes.

  “Um . . . happiness?”

  “What’s wrong now?” I say, gazing at Ian with mild frustration.

  “Oh, those dear, dear days. The good ol’ days are gone.” Ian sighs a tad too theatrical.

  “What’s up with the drama? Which old days?” Tasha says drily.

  “The ‘I saw, I conquered, I came.’ Hard, days. I feel old.”

  “So much therapy in that,” I murmur.

  “Best time to feel this way, uh, Ian? How does Josh feel about you mourning your good old days of debauchery? Bet he’s stoked,” Tasha says, blunt disapproval coloring her words.

  “Fucked-up timing.” Ian shakes his head. “Just when I’m surrounded by all these yummy, free-spirited entertainment world individuals. I swear I must have been conceived on a full moon. It’s the only explanation for my rotten luck.”

  “You know what? Even just talking about it is disrespectful to your boyfriend.” It’s my turn to scold.

  “Whateves . . .” Typical Ian dismissal. “So, Tash, dish out. Why have we gathered here today in this fine pampering establishment?”

  Now that the most indulging massages have mellowed the three of us to our bones, we can finally attempt to remedy Tasha’s current “mid-life” crisis sprawled in this scenic spa resort.

  In succession, Tasha peels the cucumber circles from her eyes. She straightens in her seat and turns to us. “I felt like taking a breather from, um, everything.”

  Ian sends me a sidelong glance. I shrug in return.

  “For starters, work has taken over my life lately. But the funny part is, I couldn’t be more relieved being so tied up with work. I don’t have to come up with excuses not to see Rafa.”

  Ian’s brows furrow. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

  “I think we’ve reached the ‘too comfortable with each other’ phase too soon. Feels like we’re living together and we’ve been seeing each other for only a few months. The new and exciting stage no longer exists. To me, it feels like I’m with you.” Tasha jerks her chin Ian’s way. “I feel too comfortable with him. Which in a way is a bit of a turn-off.”

  I contemplate Tasha’s words, not sure she’d be pleased with my finding. And just as I’m about to speak up, Ian beats me to it.

  “Honestly, gorgeous, sounds like you’re looking for excuses. I’ve seen you guys together. You can’t take your hands off each other. It’s been a while since I saw you so into someone. Too good scares you?”

  Hey pot, you’re sorta calling the kettle black.

  Tasha opens her mouth to respond but closes it right back when I add the clincher to Ian’s dogma.

  “Tash, you said it yourself, you had a lot on your mind lately. No wonder you weren’t fully into your relationship. Yet in the middle of all your stress and crazy, Rafa was there for you. As I see it, you’re judging whatever it is you’re feeling from the wrong angle.”

  Tasha pouts first, wrinkles her nose, and only then seems to consider what we’ve just told her. She shrugs. “I don’t know. You guys might be right. Maybe.” Ian and I trade pleased glances. “Anywho, glad we’re here. I really needed this break. The distance.”

  For some long, silent moments, we each wander off to our own thoughts.

  “So.” I break the silence. “Could be that the next time we hang out, I might be carrying a little human inside me.” Both my friends dart their gaze my way and freeze. Their stunned expressions are almost comical. As if they’d masterfully synchronized their unified shock.

  After what seems like the longest stupefied mini-coma, their words crash. The collision sounds like something along the line of, “Wha-yley-Grace-uh? Hayley!”

  I can’t help but classily snort. In a blink, Ian is sitting, squeezed next to my right thigh, and Tasha almost identically scoots closer to my left.

  “What in the literal fuck, Hales?” Ian finally manages to utter a coherent question. Language choice aside.

  When I finish recounting the night of my theatrical grand gesture tale, Tweedledum and Tweedledee are on the verge of hysterics.

  “No. You didn’t just throw the pills into the pool. Gorgeous, you’re killing me.” Ian chuckles viciously.

  “You’re such a moron.” Tasha cracks up yet again. As her laughter finally winds down, she says, “Wow, that’s huge, Hales. So what are you guys, like, trying now?”

  In general, I’m not too keen on discussing the intimate parts of my relationship. Though I used to be the “kiss and tell thy besties” kind of gal, with Daniel it’s always been different. Everything that happens between us, everything about him, feels deeper, special. Something I prefer to keep between the two of us.

  “We need to wait two weeks before, um, trying. I’m not going to get into the details, something about getting off the pill.”

  “Don’t you prefer to tie the knot first?” Tasha asks. “Oh, wow. Your dad is going to flip.”

  Ian tsks twice, shaking his head from side to side. “A child born out of wedlock; oh sugar, flipping is putting it wildly mildly.”

  “I don’t really mind. The
wedding part will happen eventually. And about my dad?” I sigh. “He’ll cope.”

  “What about Daniel?” It’s Ian’s turn to probe.

  “Once he understood just how committed I am to our relationship, he sort of dropped it.”

  Tasha’s brows hide under her bangs. “Really?”

  I nod. Wanting to change the subject, I say, “I want to get him something for his birthday. Something special.”

  “What, like, more special than, say, a human?” Ian asks, making Tasha laugh.

  I roll my eyes, though with a hint of a smile. “No, like an actual gift wrapped up with a bow. Something meaningful.”

  “Isn’t his birthday only in a few good months?” Tasha says.

  I nod.

  “How about an autographed guitar?” she suggests.

  I smile pensively. “Not bad.”

  “Or a car racing thingy,” she adds.

  “Oh, I got it.” Ian straightens up so he can eye us both. “This is gold.” He grins excitedly. “Why don’t you get one of those hymen reconstructions? Men dig this shit. It’s this alpha thing . . .” He lowers his voice to sound more macho, which by itself, even before hearing the rest of his idea, is pretty moronic. “Claim you, puncture your innocence away.” He pops the p in puncture.

  “How do you even come up with these things?” My tone is placid and even, just as one would speak to a child.

  Ian points at his temple and taps twice with the pad of his finger. “A wealth of brilliance.”

  Tasha, appearing a tad dazed, says, “Just when I think you’ve reached your crazy quota, you prove me wrong.”

  And just like that, the perfect idea pops into my mind. The perfect idea for a gift.

  Chapter 5

  Waiting Game

  It’s really fascinating how your perception of time varies depending on what lies at the end of the waiting tunnel. These past two weeks have given me enough time to stew over taking this huge plunge into parenthood, and it has slowed time to an achingly volatile pace full of anxiety, questions, concerns, and an undeniable thrill. Most of all, it’s made me really, truly think about marriage. About how it’s much greater than two people, especially when a child is involved. Unfortunate as it might be, “untying the knot” is not a difficult thing to do these days. A short bureaucratic process and the “till death do us part” becomes a sad poetic memory. However, a child is a completely different sonnet. It’s about tying lives together for eternity.