I follow her out to the reception area where I find an older man holding a huge bouquet of white roses. “Sign here,” he says before passing them to me.
When he leaves, I place them on the counter and remove the card.
To my fiancée, Indiana,
I love you.
I love our baby.
I can’t wait to marry you.
Love your fiancé, Carter.
As sweet as that card is, it pisses me off to no end. I can’t help but laugh at his brazenness. Meg was right; he’s not going to give up without a fight. I pull my phone out of my coat pocket, and send him a text.
Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful. I’m sorry about before. I hate fighting with you. I love you, but I haven’t agreed to marry you, so technically I’m not your fiancée!
A few seconds later he replies.
I love you too, babe. But you’re wrong. You ARE my fiancée, Indiana, and we ARE getting married!!!
I message him straight back.
No we’re not!!!
I stand there waiting for his reply, but it doesn’t come. Just as I turn to head back down the corridor, the front door flies open. It’s him. He grabs hold of my elbow, dragging me towards my room before closing the door and locking us in.
“We are getting married, Indiana,” he snaps. “Look.” He holds up his wedding finger. “This just proves it. You’re mine and you will be my wife as soon as I can organise it.” I grab hold of his hand, bringing it towards my face. Ugh! He’s gone and tattooed Indiana on his wedding finger where the band sits.
“That proves nothing,” I reply dropping his hand. Doesn’t he get it? If he’d proposed to me before I found out I was pregnant, I would’ve said yes. I would’ve been over the moon. But now he’s being forced to do it, it doesn’t sit well with me.
“It proves everything,” he says, pulling me into his arms and covering his mouth with mine before I have a chance to respond. I try to push him away for all of a second, but my body melts into him and I deepen the kiss. I hate fighting with him. Eventually pulling back, he cups my face in his hands. “I love you, babe, and you love me. Why shouldn’t we get married? It makes perfect sense.” When I try to respond, he places his finger on my lips. “Just think about it.”
That’s exactly what I do for the next hour before I finally relent and call Justine. She manages to shuffle Carter’s appointments around for me, so when it’s time, I head over to see him. “Come in,” he says when I knock on his door. His face lights up when he sees it’s me. It instantly brings a smile to my face. I love how he always does that. “Indi.” He stands and makes his way towards me. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m your next appointment,” I tell him and he wraps me in his arms.
“You are?” he asks pulling back to look at me, surprised.
“Yes. I want to get my fiancé’s name tattooed on my wedding finger.”
“Then you’re going to marry me?” he asks beaming.
“Yes, I’m going to marry you.” He exhales before pulling me into a crushing hug.
“Thank fuck,” he breathes.
After he seats me in the chair, he prepares my finger, wiping it over with an alcohol strip. “Is it safe to get a tattoo while you’re pregnant?” I ask suddenly.
“It is if you use sterilised equipment and a new needle. I researched it a few years ago when a heavily pregnant lady asked me for a tattoo. You know I’d never do anything that would jeopardise you or our child.” He leans forward, brushing his lips against mine. “I love you both too much.” His words not only make me smile, they melt my heart. He’s going to make a wonderful husband, and father.
Christmas morning comes around fast. We sit in the lounge room and exchange gifts. There’s been no more talk of weddings, but we have agreed to get married before the baby comes along. I hate that he feels our child would be tainted if it was born out of wedlock, but if this is all I need to do to make him not feel that way, than I’d be selfish not to marry him.
Smiling over at my sexy-as-hell fiancé, I pass him his present. I had a diecast replica car made for him. It’s identical to his Monaro. I sent the guy who made it, photos of the exterior and interior of his car, and he copied it from that. It turned out great. It wasn’t cheap to have it custom-made, but I knew Carter would love it. He loves that car just as much, if not more than he loves me. Okay, not as much as me, but a lot.
Boys and their toys.
“Fuck me,” he says beaming when he opens it. “How?”
“I found a guy online. I sent him photos and he made it from them.”