Say Forever (4 page)

"What's gone?"

"N-nothing." He averts his gaze and shakes his head.

Then he lurches to the front door. I'm pretty sure my heart stops beating. I see it there on the floor—the black pouch that looks suspiciously similar to the one that holds the engagement ring he'd almost given me last month. He hastily slips it in his pocket and turns to me with a sheepish grin.

"It must have fallen out when I punched Jackson." He shoves both hands in his pockets and rocks on his feet, looking at something beyond my left shoulder. I cast a glance behind me. The microwave? Is that what's got his attention, or is he just having trouble looking me in the eye?

How long does Andrés plan on carrying that ring around in his pocket? I tell myself I should be happy he's still carrying the ring, but then I wonder why he doesn't give me the damn thing. The sting of his indecision feels an awful lot like rejection.

"Maybe you should keep it in a safe, so you don't lose it again," I say, unable to mask the hurt in my voice. I can't look at him a moment longer, so I turn my gaze to the floor. Oh, great, breadcrumbs and spaghetti sauce on the tile. Karri leaves a trail of destruction wherever she goes. I angle my toe and squish a crumb beneath my shoe, imagining that crumb is my heart being crushed under the weight of that little black pouch.

Andrés bridges the short distance between us, and before I can stop him, he takes my hand in his. "I'm sorry." His voice is barely a whisper, but when he cups my chin and turns my gaze to his, I'm struck by the intensity in his dark eyes.

And then my legs weaken when he falls to one knee and pulls that pouch back out of his pocket. He drops the ring into his palm and holds it up to the light. It's just as I remember, a beautiful circle of emeralds with a large, luminescent diamond in the center.

"I love you, mija." His deep baritone has a nervous edge to it, and though I can see he's trying to keep his composure, his hand trembles slightly. "Marry me? Be mine forever?"

"Yes!" I fall to my knees and throw my arms around him. "Yes, I'll marry you."

I'm barely aware of Andrés removing my arm from his neck and slipping the ring on my finger. But I'm very aware of him pressing into me, of his lips on mine. I grab his hair by the roots, clinging to him. We share a kiss that is so explosive, tremors take hold of me, rocking me to my core. And then he sweeps me into his arms and carries me into the bedroom.

Chapter Two

Christina

Damn! What the hell is wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with us? Andrés had to have known, too. I look over at my sleeping fiancé. It wasn't until after we'd shared mind-blowing sex and polished off a huge pot of spaghetti that I realized we'd forgotten to use a condom. I'm getting really careless. Really careless. I didn't intentionally mean to forget the condom this time. Did I? I drape my arm over my head and groan. This damn sinus infection makes my head feel like it weighs a hundred pounds. That's why it's so hard to remember to be responsible.

I think about that pregnancy test stored under my bathroom counter. I know it's too early to tell if I conceived last night. I think the directions on the box said I have to wait a week. Even if I didn't get pregnant last time I was careless, I know I could be now.

I hold my hand up and squint at the shiny emeralds and diamond as they gleam in the morning sun. It is the most exquisite ring I've ever seen. I can't believe the gems belonged to his grandma, and Andrés tore apart her ring to make this for me. I clutch my hand to my chest and sigh. This ring is a treasure, not just because of the expensive stones, but because of the meaning behind them. Considering how close he is to his family, I know the significance of this ring. When he asked me to be his forever, he meant it.

And when I told him "yes," I'd meant it, too. Though I know the girl isn't supposed to give the guy an engagement ring, I wish I had something as special to give Andrés in return.

My hand falls to my stomach as I think I may already be carrying his child. Knowing how much Andrés wants children, I'm sure that would make him happy, but would it make me happy? I'm about to start a new career. I'm only twenty-one. Am I ready for children? Andrés is five years older than me. He's been to war twice and now he's running successful businesses. I know he wants to start a family. I just hope we can wait a few more years, if it isn't already too late.

I roll over and clutch my stomach as it makes this loud rumbling noise. It feels like a hollow drum, and I swear my insides must be gnawing on each other, that's how hungry I am all of a sudden. Weird because I've kind of felt off these past few mornings. I can't put my finger on it, but it's taking me longer to get out of bed, and I've been lightheaded. It could just be my sinus infection or it could be that I'm pregnant.

Goddamn, I'm taking that test!

I throw the covers off me and rush to the bathroom. I've got to pee anyway. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.

***

Two lines. Two fucking lines.

I check the words on the box for at least the tenth time and make sure I've read the directions carefully. Two lines means positive, and positive means pregnant.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

I fling that stupid stick across the floor and slide off the toilet in a sobbing heap. This cannot be happening.

"What's wrong, mija?"

Andrés is poking his head through the door, looking down at me with a crease marring his brow. I don't know what to say, and honestly, I'm too choked up to speak, but then his gaze settles on the empty pregnancy kit box and he steps inside the bathroom and picks it up. He looks from the box and back to me with wide eyes.

I still can't speak, so I answer him with a nod.

"
Aye Dios Mio
," he breathes as he sits on the floor beside me. He pulls me into his lap, kissing my forehead and stroking my back.

That's when I really lose it and start bawling like a baby. He holds me like this for a long while. I still haven't regained my composure, but then a shiver steals up my spine, and I shudder in his arms. There's a draft on the floor, and I'm not wearing a stitch of clothing. Without saying a word, Andrés carries me to bed and we snuggle beneath the comforter. He leans over me and rubs warmth into my arms while kissing my temple.

That feels kind of good, and damn my stupid hormones, I'm turned on. What's wrong with my body? I thought I wasn't supposed to get horny after getting knocked up. But now's not the time for sex. My fiancé and I have some talking to do.

I can feel Andrés's gaze on me, but I can't face him, so I turn on my back and stare at a crack in our ceiling. "The night we made up, I forgot my pills at my mom's house. I didn't even realize it until the next morning. I'm sorry."

He's leaning over me, tracing his fingers up and down my arm. "It's okay." There's not even a hint of panic in his voice. This should comfort me, but it doesn't. An uneasy feeling settles over me when I realize it's because Andrés wants this. He wants to settle down and have babies.

"No, it's not," I groan. "I'm not ready."

Ugh. I drape my arm over my eyes as a wave of nausea hits me. Thinking about all my new responsibilities is making me queasy.

"We'll get through it," he says. "We can do this."

What is he, my coach? Is this some kind of unplanned pregnancy pep talk?

It's like he's not seeing the bigger picture. We're not just going to be responsible for feeding and clothing a child: we've got to be role models. My parents never taught me values. The only thing they taught me was to fend for myself, and I don't even do that well half the time. If it wasn't for Andrés keeping me sane, I don't know where I'd be. And though he's been my rock these past six months, this situation is totally different, because it doesn't just involve me and him. It involves our child, too.

"We're going to get married, anyway," he's saying, "plus we've both got good jobs."

"I haven't even started my new job." Another wave of dizziness washes over me, and I close my eyes because the room tilts to one side.

"You think your mom is going to fire you?" Andrés asks with laughter in his voice.

So glad someone thinks this is funny. "How can I be a wedding designer and raise a baby?"

It all seems too daunting. My mom and I haven't even gotten this design company off the ground yet, and I'm pregnant. I remember Karri's pregnancy. She was always rushing to the OB for stomach cramping. She threw up about every meal, even through the last trimester. More than once, we thought she was going to miscarry. I'm already starting to feel sick, really sick. What if I'm too sick to work?

"Your mom is raising two kids," he says, lacing his fingers through mine, squeezing my hand. "And designing furniture, and managing galleries."

"Yeah," I argue, "but my mom is almost forty, and she's had years of practice being a responsible adult."

Andrés leans closer to me, so close I can feel his breath on the nape of my neck. I don't dare open my eyes because I'm afraid this queasy feeling will return. He strokes my face with the tips of his fingers. "It's my baby, too. You think I won't help you? Your mom will help us, and my cousins, and don't forget Tio and Tia. We'll be lucky if Tia lets us see our baby at all."

I resist the urge to melt beneath his touch. I love it when Andrés caresses me.

"I love you, mija." He feathers soft kisses on my earlobe and down my neck. "It will all work out. I promise."

A soft moan escapes my lips. Andrés's touch is exquisite, and so enticing. If I didn't know any better, I'd say Andrés was trying to distract me from the ugly reality that I'm going to be a parent and I'm not ready.

I jerk, and my eyes fly open at the sound of the rumble coming from my mid-section.

"Was that your stomach?" Andrés asks.

"I'm hungry." I shrug apologetically. I had a huge dinner last night, but I'm famished. I realize this is probably one of those wonderful side-effects of being pregnant. I wish Andrés would take me out to eat. Though I normally crave chorizo and egg tacos, I can't get my mind off a heaping plate of pancakes with blueberries and whipped cream. Plus, crispy bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs and a big cup of coffee would be nice. I'm eating for two, but I'll probably gain enough weight for three.

"Do you want to go to IHOP?" he asks.

Andrés is either a mind reader or an angel from heaven.

I struggle to sit up and will the dizziness to subside. Worrying over my pregnancy isn't going to solve my hunger issue. We'll go discuss our doomed future over pancakes.

***

I normally don't like sweets for breakfast, but after I practically inhale blueberry pancakes loaded with extra whipped cream, scrambled eggs and two sides of bacon, I sit back and sip my coffee while dabbing the sides of my mouth with a napkin. Andrés is in the booth across from me, smirking at my empty plate.

"You sure you got enough, mija? Should I ask them to bring out the whole pig?"

"You're funny," I say, snatching a leftover wedge of toast from his tray. "I haven't had an appetite all week with this sinus infection. I'm just making up for lost time." I sniffle loudly, as if to prove my point, although I'm feeling a lot better today. The antibiotics must finally be working.

I slather the toast with strawberry spread and take a bite. Mmmmm. I can't believe I'm still hungry.

Andrés's smile widens as he nods at my pilfered toast. "Who said I was finished?"

I give him a sharp look: after all, he's partially responsible for my appetite. "I did, that's who." He pushes aside our plates and pulls out his iPad. "We need to set a date." He opens a calendar on his screen.

I frown when I notice how much work shit is on his calendar. I can't believe he's got time left over for me.

"I wanted a spring wedding." I lean back and groan as I settle a hand on my full belly, "but I'll be as big as a house by then. Maybe we should wait until after the baby."

Andrés's shoulders tense and panic flashes in his wide eyes. "You know my family's old-fashioned, mija."

"So you want to get married soon? Do you know how long weddings take to plan?" When he asked me to marry him, I thought we could still have a lengthy engagement, time enough for me to figure out what kind of wedding I want and plan our honeymoon.

Andrés shrugs, scrolling through the dates on his calendar. "You don't have to plan it. We can get married at Tio's ranch. My family will take care of it."

I lean forward, eyeing him intently. Does Andrés think our wedding is going to be another backyard barbeque? "Are you serious?"

I've got to pick out a dress, arrange a caterer, and since I'm supposed to be a wedding designer, I've got to decide on a theme.

"Yeah," he says casually, as if planning a wedding is no big deal. "My cousin Rosario got married at Tio's house a few years ago. We had a Tejano band. My family made all the food. Uncle Arturo made the cake and tamales."

I perk up like a dog with a new bone. "Tamales?"

His smile widens. "Of course."

Andrés found my weak spot. He knows how much I love tamales. But tamales at a wedding? I haven't been to many weddings, other than the few my parents brought me to at the country club, and I'm fairly certain tamales weren't on the menu. But this isn't going to be a country club wedding. Those rich snobs are part of my old life. Andrés is my life now, and so is tasty Mexican food. I take another sip of coffee while I think long and hard about what I want my wedding— our wedding—to be about, and the more I think about it, the more I like the idea of saying our vows at Andrés's uncle's ranch. We'd be surrounded by people who love us, with the awesome Texas Hill Country as a backdrop. Plus, we'd get to eat great food. What's not to love?

"Your Uncle Arturo is the baker, right?"

"Yeah. He owns restaurants and a bakery in San Antonio." He nods as his eyes light up. "He makes the cakes for all our parties."

I smile. I remember his uncle's cakes. He made this amazing chocolate layer cake for Tio's sixtieth birthday party. It had whipped, creamy frosting and a gooey, fudgy center.