Heartbeats

Chapter 11

Him...

The decision to go public with our relationship isn't an easy one, but it's necessary. We can't hide in our little bubble forever, and considering we both have very public careers, it was only a matter of time before someone leaked the latest gossip anyway.

"I backed out of my contract today," she casually observes as we pack up what's left in the apartment in preparation for our move back to L.A.

"How'd it go?"

She sighs and shrugs. "I was vague, just told them I could no longer fulfill the parameters of the agreement. They were generous enough, but there's still a hefty payout."

I wish I could encourage her, tell her she could have made it work, but she's almost five months pregnant with twins and, phenomenal acting skills aside, there's no way she could pass for the single, nomadic hippie she signed on to play.

"Hey, it's okay." She's by my side before I can formulate a helpful response, smoothing the palm of her hand across my cheek. "Don't think for a second that isn't the most important thing in my life, that this isn't what I want most. More opportunities will arise soon enough and I'm actually looking forward to some time off to incubate your children."

Her smile warms something deep inside of me that I didn't realize had gone cold. "Fair enough," I echo in return, burying my fingers in her hair and drawing her lips up to meet mine because I simply can't resist anymore.

After a thorough exploration of her mouth, she detaches herself from me mid-thought. "But we should probably break the news to the world soon..."

She's right, of course, but the vulnerability terrifies me. For every well wish, there will be a put-down, for every salutation, scrutiny. We've been through this all before and she's too precious to be wounded for the sake of public interest in the process.

The words are out of my mouth before I've even thought about the magnitude of them, before I've even considered the risk of repeating history.

"Then we'll tell the world, but so help me, I want to put a ring on your finger first so they get the story straight."

It's a pathetic proposal, entirely on brand with the first one. I'm not down on one knee. There's no eloquent speech planned. Hell, I don't even have a ring to offer her.

"Marry me," she whispers, and it's half question, half clarification.

"Yes..." We collectively release our devotion in the same breath. And it's enough to shock my heart back into rhythm.

~*~

I spare no expense purchasing the ring of her dreams and having it overnighted to Atlanta, making a ceremony out of slipping it onto her finger over our last dinner in the apartment as my daughter screams about her mac and cheese. It isn't the slightest bit romantic, but she laughs until she cries and neither of us complain. It doesn't take much to beat the first time around.

We brainstorm ideas for sharing our secret that night as I massage her swollen feet in the candlelight of our bedroom. I suggest releasing a simple statement to the press and leaving it at that, but the sly smile on her face tells me that her flair for the dramatic won't stand for such a mundane revelation.

"Let's really give them something to talk about..." Her voice trails off as she climbs up my body, admiring the rock on her hand absentmindedly before sinking onto my lap.

The photo that hits the front page of TMZ several days later sends Hollywood (and the rest of the world) reeling. We're stepping out of LAX onto the main thoroughfare hand-in-hand—her bump and her diamond equally on display with my daughter slung over her hip. It's the kiss, though, that sets off the camera shutters of the throng of paparazzi we tipped off.

We hole ourselves up in the new house and laugh about it for a week.

Her...

Sometimes I love him so much that it scares me a little bit. Like on the morning of the gender reveal party when I waltz into the kitchen of our new home sporting my new set of maternity lingerie and he's elbow deep in a pile of sudsy dishes, stopping only long enough to ogle me from head to toe.

"What?" I grin innocently, walking up behind him and pressing my chest against the planes of his bare back, wiggling my hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

He's always loved my body, but the curves I've begun to develop are a far cry from the lanky teenager he first fell in love with, and I use the shock factor to my full advantage.

"You know exactly what..." He carries on about his business like he isn't affected, but I can feel his pulse pummel beneath my fingertips and I call his bluff, placing an open-mouthed kiss just below his shoulder blade.

He turns around immediately, bedroom eyes on full display. "As much as you know I'd like to rail you on this counter right now, we have a whole host of family and friends who will be here in t-minus 30 minutes, and somehow I don't believe this is what you had in mind to wear to the party."

I give him a gentle shove and full-on pout, withdrawing myself from his arms and sauntering up the stairs to our bedroom with a hidden smirk.

~*~

He finds me while everyone is milling about the backyard, sipping punch and catching up with one another. I smile when I catch a glimpse of our moms laughing brazenly by the pool, thinking to myself about how this reconciliation has healed so many more broken relationships than just ours.

"What are you thinking about?" He whispers against the column of my neck, pulling me back against the plane of his chest.

"I'm just overwhelmed with it all," I smile. "I never could've written a happy ending this perfect. What about you?"

"Nothing so pure..." His voice trails off as he breathes against the shell of my ear, sending my pulse through the roof. "If you want my honest answer, I've been thinking about the lace pattern on that lingerie set for the past hour and I can't seem to shake it."

"Hmmmm..." I giggle, feeling the evidence of exactly what he can't seem to shake against my backside. "That sounds like quite the problem."

Against my better judgment, I allow him to pull me back into the house and press me up against the wall of the pantry, sliding his tongue into my mouth roughly as he fumbles with the hem of my dress.

"We're crazy, you know that, right?" I manage to observe as he palms my sensitive breasts, turning my question into a stifled groan.

We make out against the wall for what feels like hours, but we're both too worked up to care. I'm seconds from unbuttoning his pants when a knock at the door sends us both scrambling to compose ourselves.

"Listen," our suave best friend and former co-star chuckles from the other side of the door, "No one is under the impression that you two aren't thoroughly enjoying yourselves, and I hate to spoil the fun, but we came here for the babies..."

Several awkward moments later, blue confetti is raining down on us, not once, but twice, and my heart swells to three times its capacity as I watch him dance around the room, celebrating with the rest of the characters that make up our real life melodrama. It's hard to imagine how something so perfect is even possible.