“Speaking of the baby, I have a surprise for you.” He took my hand and looked over at Ash. “Do you mind if I borrow her?” he called out.
“Go ahead,” Ash said. “So long as I can stay here.”
“Stay as long as you like,” Dean said and pulled me along back to the house.
“You didn’t get another car, did you?” I asked, frowning. “You know I don’t care about cars as much as you do.”
“No, this is about the baby.” He pushed open the door and led me upstairs. The house was like a maze, and even though I’d lived in it for the past two years and spent considerable sums of money renovating and redecorating, it still felt a little strange and foreign to me.
There were traces of his father all of the place, even though I painted, got rid of most of the creepy old art, ripped out the tacky wood paneling, and basically modernized the whole place.
Bea said she liked it, although I had a feeling she missed the way it used to be. Dean seemed ambivalent and really only cared that I liked it, which worked for me.
He took me down the hall, past our room, and stopped in front of the nursery. The door was shut and I smelled paint fumes in the air.
“What did you do?” I asked, eyes wide.
He laughed and pushed open the door.
The floor was covered in a drop cloth. There was painter’s tape around the edges. The walls were pained sky-blue, and on the far wall, right where the crib would be, was an incredible mural. I gasped and covered my mouth with both hands.
It was a hot air balloon floating over a little forest. There was so much detail: deer stood drinking from a river, birds chirped in the trees, squirrels ran around in the grass. The balloon’s basket was empty, but the colors were incredible, a dazzling rainbow array.
“What do you think?” he asked. “We can cover it up if you don’t like it, but I wanted to surprise you.”
“It’s amazing,” I whispered.
“The guy who did it is a local artist,” he said. “He’ll come back and add the kids into the basket.”
I stepped inside then turned to him. “Kids? You mean we’re doing this more than once?”
He came in after me and kissed my lips gently. “If I have my way, you’ll be pregnant for the next ten years straight.”
I groaned. “Please, god, no. I’ll give you four, but reserve the right to have way fewer.”
“There will be nannies,” he said. “Lots and lots of nannies.”
I touched his cheek. “Maybe five then. If you’re lucky.”
He laughed and kissed me again, then we stood there holding hands, staring at the mural on the nursery wall.
My man, my Dean, my Don. He was a ruthless killer and would soon be the father of my child. Sometimes I thought about what life would be like if I had taken him up on his offer and run away from all this. I’d be rich, but I’d be alone.
This was perfect. Right here in this room, with my man, my monster, my love, this was more than I ever dreamed of.
“Come on,” I said and kissed his cheek. “You just earned a whole lot of good will from me.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asked. “And how do I cash that in?”
“By sitting down at the pool and rubbing my feet,” I said.
He laughed and hugged me close. “Sounds like you’re getting the better end of this deal.”
“I’m carrying your baby. Less talking, more foot rubbing.”
“All right then,” he said and took my hand. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”
I took one last look at the mural and pictured my babies in that basket—and followed him back outside with a smile on my face.
* * *
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BONUS: Dean
The sound of the plane was deafening. I leaned back against the cold metal seat and strained against the belt to look out the glass window as the runway disappeared below. The plane climbed up toward the clouds above, buzzing and thumping in the choppy turbulence, surrounded by blue and cut across by sharp sunlight, my stomach a feather jostling around, my heart a stone about to tear down through my guts.
Mags looked pale but her face was stricken in a huge grin.
“You look like you’re about to scream!” I shouted over the noise, leaning closer to speak right into her ear.
Her hand scrambled for more and grabbed it. “I’m fine!”
“You’re definitely not fine.” Still yelling. Still close to my beautiful wife.
“Look, this was your idea, okay?” she said. “I’m only here because you said it would be fun. And you know what? It’s not fun!”
I laughed and squeezed her hand. “Come on, darling. We’re not even at the fun part yet.”
“Ten minutes!” the instructor shouted. He was a young guy in his twenties, scraggly beard, lean build of a long-distance runner, Adam’s apple the size of a howitzer.
“Oh, god,” Mags groaned. “I’m having some serious second thoughts.”
“We’re here,” I said, moving closer. My leg pressed against hers and the seatbelt bit into my midsection tightly. “We’ve come this far.”
“You want me to jump out of a freaking plane!” she yelled, eyes wild. “You want me to jump!”
“Damn right I do,” I said, grinning viciously.
She moaned and leaned forward, head between her knees. Her back was a massive hump, the parachute a
