"I have a dress picked out." She points to the closet. "It's the blue one from Arilia that you gave me for my birthday."
It's the dress I'd seen her wearing in the photograph on her phone shortly after we'd met. I had gone to the boutique the next day and had taken it, guessing her size. I'd kept it here, in our apartment for months until I gave it to her on her twenty-second birthday. She was touched. She's worn it often since, even now that it's not fitting as it once did.
"Are you going to tell your mother today?" She slides her legs to the side of the bed. "I think we should wait. Today is for Caleb and Rowan. Their little boy is having his first birthday."
"We'll wait," I agree as I kneel on the floor in front of her. "We can tell her in a few days, or next week."
"Tomorrow," she counters with a kiss to my forehead. "Can we tell her tomorrow?"
"She's going to be as excited as the day you were accepted to Julliard and the day of our wedding."
That day had been the best of my life. It was a simple wedding, at Isla's request, here in our penthouse. It was my family, some of my friends, and her friends, Cassia and Nigel. She'd worn a dress my mother helped design and as she said her vows to me, I cried. The words were so tender and giving.
"She'll be happy about it, yes?" Her finger traces over my left eyebrow. "I want her to be as happy as we are."
I place both my hands on the bed, next to her naked thighs. I lean forward resting my lips over her small, swollen belly. "My mother will love that we are naming our daughter, Ella Gianna Foster."
She lowers her hands to my hair, stroking it gently as I kiss her stomach. "We will have her in only four months. I'll be a mom in four months."
"I'll be a dad," I whisper into her skin. "I'll have everything any man can ever want and I'll never, ever let it go."
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Preview of TORN
The Standalone
Featuring Asher Foster
"Are they low enough?"
"Pull them up." I wave my arm in the air towards one of the three female assistants he walked in with. "I need them higher."
He pushes their eager hands away as he adjusts the waistband of his button-fly jeans. I'd told him to strip down to just his pants as soon as he stepped foot into my studio. He had done that effortlessly. His hands tugging the white sweater he was wearing over his head to reveal a toned chest and stomach covered by the expected tattoos.
I'd walked closer to ask him to remove the bracelets and necklaces he had on. His eyes had been glued to mine the entire time.
I admit he's much more attractive than most of the men who traipse through here. His hair may be a tousled mess of brown but his eyes more than make up for that. They're framed by long lashes, the irises a shade of chestnut I haven't seen before.
It's no surprise that he warrants the attention he does in the media.
Asher Foster has the number one song in the country right now. On top of that, he wrote it. I listened to it on my phone before he arrived. It's moody, soulful and surprisingly brilliant.
I look through the lens of my camera. "I need that light moved to the left."