A Very Dirty Wedding(80)

"Do you agree now that it's a classy gift?"

"Something like that," she says.

"Classy as fu –" I start to say, but she interrupts me.

"That's going to wind up being the baby's first word."

"We're in the bedroom," I say. "It doesn't count."

"Mm-hmm," she murmurs, her breath long and low.

"You know, this chair is good for lots of other positions," I point out helpfully.

"Oh, is it, now?" she asks.

Since she asked, I take the opportunity to show her.

Later, Kate breathes in deeply, her head snug on the pillow next to me, my hand lingering protectively on her belly. We're supposed to be at a cake taste-testing appointment in twenty minutes, something that's apparently uber-important, but Kate fell asleep after we broke in the new chair twice. With how exhausted she's been lately, I felt like it was better to be late to the appointment and let her sleep.

The past few weeks, she's been tossing and turning at night, more and more uncomfortable as her belly gets bigger. She also has nightmares now, although she says she doesn't remember what she dreams. But I hear her mumbling in her sleep, her forehead scrunched up, and she wakes up in a panic, her hand over her chest.

She says it's nothing.

I mentioned it to Ella a few weeks ago. Over the last couple of years, things have dramatically improved when it comes to Ella. When Kate and I got engaged in Bali, Ella made it happen, insisting I use her private plane to fly her there. And over the past year, Ella has been Ella – irresponsible, dramatic, and flighty – but more involved with Kate and I.

She blows into our lives more now that she's been on set filming a television show in New York, a crazy whirlwind of drama and excitement and "Oh my God, you're getting married, you must let me help with the wedding planning and who's your obstetrician and never let the child call me grandmother, I'm simply not old enough to be a grandmother, for God's sake!"

Kate likes having her around.

A few weeks ago, Ella told me she had nightmares when she was pregnant, too -- something about the hormones.

"Darling," Ella says, waving her hand dismissively the way she does when she considers something self-evident, "Kate is not having pre-wedding jitters. That girl is head-over-heels for you. Now, pre-baby jitters, maybe. Oh! My trainer has the number of a woman who can come cleanse her chi, get rid of the bad energy."

"Kate is not going to let someone come clean her chi, Ella," I say, shaking my head.

"She doesn't even have to know," Ella protests, digging in her purse for her phone.

"I think Kate will know if someone starts waving sage leaves around her belly, mother," I say.

"That's not even how it works."

I laugh at the memory, and the movement jostles Kate beside me. When she stirs, she makes a little moaning sound before looking me, groggy, a half-smile on her face. "Mmm. You let me sleep. That was such a nice nap. What time is it?" she asks.

"Three," I say.

She jumps up. "Cautler! You know we have to be at the cake testing! I can't believe you let me sleep!"

"You looked so peaceful," I tell her. "Besides, it's only cake."

She gives me a horrified look. "Only cake," she says. "I'm pregnant, and it's a buffet of cakes. I will cut anyone who gets between me and the grand amount of carbs I'm about to inhale."

"Including me," I say, laughing.

"Especially you," she says, walking across the room and pulling on clothes faster than I've seen her do in a long time. "I have no loyalties when it comes to cake. It's every man for himself."

"Noted."

An hour later, and Kate is true to her word. She threatens to stab me with her fork when I reach for a second bite of one of the cakes she declares to be "almost as amazing as sex," although by the expression she makes I'd almost swear that if I weren't in the room she'd tell the chef it was absolutely more amazing than sex. It's all a blur to me, a parade of confections with ridiculous names, like Quadruple Dark Chocolate Frosted Sugar Dream and Frosted Raspberry Afternoon Delight and Caramel Bavarian Custard Pie and Sweet Pink Champagne.

That's right. I, Caulter Sterling, am discussing the pros and cons of Pink Champagne cake for my wedding.

I'm spending my entire afternoon debating the merits of which vanilla frosting is more vanilla than the three previous vanillas and eating cake named after alcoholic beverages. And not the good kind of alcoholic beverages, either – there's a noticeable lack of scotch or Guinness-flavored cakes in this assortment.

When I make my beer-flavored wedding cake suggestion, Kate gives me a death glare. "No beer-flavored wedding cake," she says.