Holiday Wedding (Holiday Romance-Spicy Version #2)

40

Ten Months Later

Gwen

Mrs. Lawson! Mrs. Lawson! Over here.” The reporters crowd the velvet rope that separates them from the red carpet. I release Caleb’s hand, but he holds onto my fingers. He’s got that worried line between his brows. If we weren’t in front of all these people, I would run my lips over it and smooth it out with a kiss.

“Are you sure?” he asks, keeping his grip tight on me.

I move close and whisper, “I’m fine.”

A quick peck on his cheek has all the cameras flashing, from paparazzi who want the shot for tomorrow’s cover. Caleb releases me, and I walk over to the horde of microphones. Walk might be too generous of a term—at nine months pregnant, it’s more of a waddle.

Apparently, we had a little too much fun on our honeymoon, because a couple of weeks after we returned I started to feel sick. Alvina took one look at me and declared that I was pregnant. I took a test just to prove her wrong, but, much to my surprise, there were two pink lines. When I told Caleb we were pregnant, he was thrilled, happier than I’ve ever seen.

“Mrs. Lawson,” shouts a female reporter with Ariel hair, long and red. She yells louder than the rest of them. “What do you think about your husband’s return to the big screen?”

“First of all, it’s Dr. Wright, not Mrs. Lawson,” I correct, softening the words with a smile. I don’t want to be rude or pretentious. As much as I’ve accepted that there are times when Caleb’s fame overshadows our day-to-day life, I’ve learned that it’s still important for me to hold on to the pieces of me that are distinct from him. My name is symbolic of that.

“Sorry about that,” the reporter says.

“No problem,” I answer smoothly. “I’m proud of anything my husband does, whether it’s acting in a movie, performing on Broadway, singing on the radio, or cooking me a meal. He does it all well.”

“Will there be more movies?” a gray-haired man who reminds me of Wayne asks.

My mind drifts to Wayne and Alvina. They’re off on their RV adventure, going wherever the wind takes them. They send us postcards from each stop, a tradition that’s got me running to the mailbox every day. Caleb and I have a map at home, where we track their progress with a yellow highlighter. It’s fun to live vicariously through them since I won’t be traveling anytime soon. Not with the baby due any day now.

“Caleb’s decided to do one movie a year, if our schedule allows it,” I say to the man.

After the wedding, I sat Caleb down and forced him to tell me more about the project his producer friend was offering him. After a long conversation, he admitted that he wants to make movies again, but only if it works in our lives. He made this film during my second trimester but doesn’t want to do more until the baby is at least a year old.

Caleb refuses to miss out on time with this child. He’s been working on his relationship with his dad. They’ve been doing more activities alone together, but still, he wants to be a different kind of father than the one he had. More hands-on, more involved, and I love him for that.

“What designer are you wearing tonight?” asks another reporter, shoving her microphone at me.

I glance at the glittery red, wrap-style dress that flows over my bulging stomach and hangs down, brushing the floor. It’s deep cut, revealing a tantalizing flash of cleavage. When I had come down the penthouse stairs earlier, Caleb’s eyes had snapped wide. He had whistled and said, “Pregnancy looks good on you.”

I respond to the reporter, saying, “I’m not sure about the designer. I got it at the mall.”

There’s a stunned silence from the press, which I use as my excuse to retreat. I kindly thank them for their time and walk away.

Dean shadows me, chuckling. “You love to surprise them, don’t you?”

My hand covers my mouth as I giggle. “I can’t help it. It’s too fun reminding them that there are a lot more people who shop at local stores than on Rodeo Drive.” I understand what’s expected of me—to be a well-behaved princess, married to Hollywood royalty. For Caleb’s sake, I play that role, but on my own terms. That’s how I’ve learned to live with his fame. To allow it into our lives without it consuming who we are as individuals and as a couple.

I’m lucky. Caleb doesn’t want me to be the picture-perfect celebrity wife. He just wants me, the real me, and I want the real him. It’s what he was looking for when he came to my mother’s house in L.A. all those years ago.

Surprisingly, the public has embraced my irreverent responses to the press. After events like these, social media comments discuss how “down to earth” and “relatable” I am. Caleb teases me that soon I’ll be a bigger celebrity than he is.

Dean laughs along with me.

“Are you seeing Jenny after this?” I ask him.

I swear his steps get more bounce as he answers, “She’s coming over when she’s finished here.”

Jenny’s also on the red carpet tonight, but farther down on the other side of the rope. She and Dean had done long distance for six months, getting to know one another, before Jenny made the move to New York. Now she works for The New York Times, still in the entertainment department, but she has an interview with the investigative team next week. There’s a good shot she’ll get the job. They’ve already told her they’re impressed by her computer skills and by her part in cracking the case of Caleb’s stalker.

Dean lowers his voice and confesses, “I’m thinking about telling Jenny I love her. Do you think she’ll say it back?”

I swallow my grin, knowing for a fact that Jenny loves him because she’s been complaining to me for the past month, wondering when he’ll say the words. Can’t make it too easy for Dean, though. I scrunch my nose and tap a finger against my lip, pretending to ponder. “Not sure. I guess you’ll have to see what she says.”

He sets his jaw and nods once, the motion resolute. “I’ll do that.”

We’ve reached Caleb, who winds an arm around my waist and draws me close. He presses a kiss to my temple amid the flashing of cameras.

“How’d it go?” he asks, still nervous about letting me handle the press on my own.

“She did fine,” answers Dean with a note of pride.

We pose for a couple more pictures, then follow the rest of the cast into the movie theater where the premiere will be held.

I pick a long piece of gray dog hair off the bodice of my dress. “Hope those photos don’t include this little detail.” I shake it off my hand, laughing.

Caleb watches as it flutters to the ground. “Was that from Harry or Sally?” he asks, referring to the two puppies he surprised me with a month after we got married.

“Definitely Harry,” I say. “That was husky dog fur, not retriever like Sally.” Thinking about our goofy dogs makes me grin. At first, I felt overwhelmed when he brought them home.

“Is it a good idea?” I had asked him. “Having baby dogs and a baby human at the same time?”

Caleb had been confident. “It’s a great idea. This way, they can grow up together.” His words reminded me of Pip, who was so often my best friend during my childhood. That was all it took to convince me to keep the pups. Now, I hardly remember what life was like before them, with their joyful barks, slobbery dog kisses, and wagging tails. This baby will be so lucky to be raised with two furry siblings.

We start down the stairs to our seats. I watch my feet, careful not to trip in my tall heels. Right before we sit, I gasp from a sharp pain that ripples across my belly. I press a hand to my abdomen. A tiny foot kicks against my rib cage, followed by a tightening sensation.

“Are you okay?” Caleb says at my side, with his hand pressed over mine. This is his new favorite pastime—to feel the baby moving.

I take a cleansing breath. “I’m fine. It’s nothin—ow!” The pain is back, even sharper. I reach out blindly and end up with one hand on Caleb’s arm and the other on Dean’s. The two men crowd me, alarm written all over their faces.

“We need to get her out of here,” Caleb tells Dean.

“No. We’ll miss your show,” I protest, then suck in a breath as another wave of agony roars through me. It leaves me dizzy, gasping.

“Who cares?” Caleb cries out. “What if you’re in labor?”

Unable to argue, I pant through the pain. It’s like an iron vise is clamped around my belly, tightening more with each passing minute. Together, Dean and Caleb hustle me back up the stairs and outside. Luckily, most of the reporters have left now that the red-carpet portion of the evening is over. I try to keep a calm fa?ade, but I can’t hide the bead of sweat that runs from my hairline down to my jaw.

Dean’s talking on his phone, his body turned away so I can’t hear him. He must have called Jenny because she pulls up in her compact four-door sedan.

“You look pretty,” I get out when she rushes over, her eyes wide with alarm.

I hadn’t seen her yet tonight, so this is the first glimpse I get of the long gold dress she wears. It hugs her curves in all the right places. Jenny doesn’t pull at her clothing the way she used to. She doesn’t frown in the mirror like she did when we were growing up. Even in the haze of my pain, I can appreciate that my friend is finally comfortable in her own skin.

“Thanks,” Jenny says distractedly. She holds onto the side of the car and balances as she unstraps her shoes from her feet.

“What’re you doing?” Dean pulls the passenger door open and climbs in.

“Have you seen these things?” She lifts them up, showing off six-inch spike heels. “I can’t drive over five miles an hour in them.”

A sharp jab in my belly has me hissing through my teeth.

Caleb rubs my back, making soothing noises. “We need to get her to the hospital,” he says urgently.

“Hurry, get in.” Jenny waves her arm frantically, as if she’s on a runway trying to land an airplane.

There’s an awkward moment where Caleb has to shove from behind to fit me through the small doorway. Like a cork coming loose from a champagne bottle, I pop into the car and struggle into the back seat. Caleb sits next to me with his hand on my belly. Jenny looks over her shoulder at the advancing traffic. She guns the engine and merges into the closest lane.

“I’m not ready,” I tell Caleb as I grip his arm. Panic is setting in. “I need more time. What if I’m a bad mom? What if the baby hates me? What if—I—”

“Shh,” Caleb says, brushing a sweaty tangle of hair back from my face. “You’re going to be a great mom, Gwen. The best. This child and I are lucky to have you.” His voice is gentle, soothing.

I relax at the sound of it.

At least until the next contraction hits.

I hiss in pain. My fingers dig into his arm so hard I know I’ll leave bruises.

“Sorry. Ow! It hurts,” I exclaim, curling around my swollen belly.

With an edge of panic, Caleb shouts, “Jenny, drive faster!”

“I am,” she snaps, equally stressed.

“She’s going as fast as she can,” Dean tells Caleb, his protective side coming out to defend his girlfriend.

“I think I might puke,” I moan, the lurching of the car adding to my growing nausea.

“Drive faster. Gwen’s turning green,” Dean tells Jenny. His head swivels from me to her and back again.

“Please don’t throw up,” begs Caleb. He swallows rapidly and says, “If you do, I’ll vomit too.”

“Not in my car. No puking in my car.” Jenny takes a turn so fast that my butt slides across the seat. I plow into Caleb, who catches me in his arms.

I gag, which makes Caleb gag, which makes Dean gag.

“Seriously Jenny, we need to get to the hospital now.” Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing in shallow gasps.

Through gritted teeth, Jenny says, “Will you stop already? I’m going as fast as I can.”

My eyes water from the nausea and pain.

“We took those prenatal classes,” Caleb says, holding me tight

I love him so much, but the feeling of it is too constricting. I push him away.

“Sorry,” I pant, “need,” pant, “space,” pant.

“You’re supposed to do that special breathing,” he tells me.

“I don’t remember how.” I clap one hand over my mouth and the other on my belly. It feels like the baby is trying to burrow out through my back. That’s where my pain is.

Caleb makes weird panting and hissing noises. Not at all how the Lamaze instructor did it.

Desperate for relief, I mimic him. Quickly, I lose my train of thought. “I can’t,” I whine. “Oh no. It hurts.”

“Come on, Gwen. You can do it,” Jenny encourages from the front seat.

I remember the breathing and try it again, Caleb doing it with me. Soon Dean and Jenny join in. All four of us are taking sharp, deep breaths. The car is filled with the sound of it, broken by my low moans when the contractions hit.

We swerve around cars. Horns honk. A cabbie cusses us out, waving his hand threateningly. I’m only half-aware of it. All my concentration is focused on what’s happening inside my body.

With a screech of tires, Jenny pulls up to the Maternity Department. It has a separate entrance for situations like this. Caleb, Dean, and Jenny jump out. Dean grabs a wheelchair from the lobby. Caleb and Jenny help me out of the car.

I’m bent over, my hands clasping my belly. As soon as Dean brings the wheelchair, I collapse into it. A feeling of wetness spreads under me.

“Caleb,” I say, tears of embarrassment gather in my eyes. He comes closer, leaning down. I whisper, “I think I just peed myself.”

A voice from a few feet away says, “That’s your water breaking.” I look up to find an older lady with navy blue scrubs. “I’m Mary. The head nurse here.”

Simultaneously, we all breathe a sigh of relief. Help has arrived.

Mary surveys our now-disheveled group, all in formal wear. I’m a sweaty mess. Caleb’s bow tie has come undone. Dean’s taken off his jacket. Jenny stands barefoot on the sidewalk. Mary doesn’t even blink. I have a feeling she’s seen worse things than us.

Caleb steps forward. “This is Gwen, my wife. I think she’s in labor.”

Right as he says it, the biggest contraction yet hits me like a freight train. I screech, gripping the arms of the wheelchair for dear life.

Jenny, Dean, and Caleb crowd me, all of them asking if I’m okay at the same time.

Mary shoos them away. She comes behind and takes the handles of the wheelchair. “Looks like labor to me. Who’s ready to have a baby?” Without waiting for an answer, she pushes me into the hospital. My husband and friends follow.