Zac's POV
Kolby is officially in my baby and I's custody.
I still can't stop rereading the judge's ruling. Like it might change if I blink too long. But it's real. It's done. My daughter's got the home she deserves, and my woman — my soon-to-be wife, the mother of my children — stood beside me through it all.
So yeah... we gotta celebrate.
And not just a toast-with-orange-juice-in-the-living-room type thing. Nah. We need a real celebration. Something that says, this was a battle, and we won it with love.
But I know it's already a lot on Tima. She's pregnant, we're about to start a press run for the new season of LA Love, and her energy has been up and down. I can't just throw something without running it by her.
She's the planner. The organized one. The "theme, guest list, color palette, and catering" one.
Me? I'm the "buy the champagne and make sure the music's right" one
So before I get too ahead of myself, I walked upstairs, peeked into the bathroom where she was moisturizing that beautiful belly of hers, and leaned on the doorframe with a grin.
"Babe..." I said slowly.
She looked at me through the mirror with that suspicious what are you up to face.
"Yes, Zachary?"
I chuckled. "Now don't hit me with the full government. I come in peace."
She raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."
"So... I was thinking," I said, walking in and wrapping my arms around her from behind, "Kolby is officially ours now. That's big. That's huge. I know we've got a lot going on with the baby and press stuff coming up, but I was thinking we should celebrate. Like, really celebrate."
She paused, then smiled a little. "A party?"
"Yeah," I said, kissing her shoulder. "Nothing too crazy. Just family, friends. Good vibes. Something to mark this moment for us — for Kolby. Something she'll look back at in pictures and know how loved she was from day one."
She turned around in my arms, her hands resting on my chest. "You want me to plan it?"
"I mean... I trust you more than anybody. I just do decorations and vibes," I smirked. "You're the one who makes the magic happen."
She laughed and rolled her eyes playfully. "Alright. Let me think on it. If we do it, we do it right — simple, sweet, and for Kolby
"That's why I came to you first," I said, kissing her forehead. "'Cause we got a whole lot to celebrate, and nobody makes a celebration feel like home the way you do."
Fatima agreed to the party.
Of course she did — I never really doubted she would. She tried to play it cool at first, talking about "simple" and "intimate" and "just a few people." But I know my woman.
Simple in her language usually means, "Give me a budget I'm going to ignore."
So now I'm bracing myself.
Because what started as a little celebration for Kolby becoming officially ours... is about to turn into a full-blown Pinterest-inspired, balloon-garland-wrapped, customized-cupcake-level event with specialty mocktails, a photographer, and probably a mini bounce house just because Kolby likes to jump.
And that's fine.
I mean... it's not fine for my credit card, but it's fine for my family.
Because I'd swipe it again and again for the smile I saw on Tima's face when she pulled out her iPad and started scribbling ideas, and the way Kolby lit up when she overheard "party" and ran around yelling "Me party?! I wear dress?!"
