Say Forever(18)

I motion to his bare feet hanging over the couch. "You don't look comfortable."

"I'm fine." He kicks the blanket to the floor and sits up. He narrows his eyes before reaching for the hem of my nightshirt. "Let me see your side."

"Andrés, stop." I try to swat him away, but he's too fast. He lifts my shirt before I can stop him.

He gapes at the angry purple and red bull's-eye. "Fuck!"

I turn up my chin and put on my best big girl smile. "It doesn't even hurt."

Actually, that's a lie. It hurts like hell, but the pain is bearable as long as I don't breathe too much. All night I had to envision myself breathing through a straw just to manage the pain. I'd thought about asking Doc for a painkiller, but I'm not risking my baby's health with drugs.

"Liar." He courses his fingers through his thick hair, clenching the roots. "I'm sleeping on the sofa from now on."

I suck in a sharp breath. "Andrés, no!"

"Yes. What if next time it's not your ribcage?" Andrés squeezes my shoulders, and the pain reflected in his eyes breaks my heart. "What if it's your stomach? What if I hurt the baby?"

"For how long?" I ask, though my throat is constricted with emotion. Tears well in the backs of my eyes, and it takes all of my willpower to hold them at bay.

Andrés fixes me with a determined expression. "Until these dreams stop."

"You need to go back to that doctor." I hate the whine that slips into my voice. I know Andrés needs me to be strong right now. I do my best to put on a straight face, but my emotions are like a ping pong ball pinging all over the place, and I don't know if I want to scream, swear, or fall to pieces.

"I plan on it."

Andrés wipes a tear off my cheek. Damn tear. I didn't mean for it to fall.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Stay with me."

The hard angles of his face soften, then sadden.

I cup his face in my hands, imploring him to read the sincerity in my gaze. I hate seeing him like this—vulnerable, scared, broken.

"Forever," I manage to choke out before more traitorous tears spill over my eyelids. "I love you."


***


After browsing the sites of several bridal shops in Austin, I've convinced my mom we don't need to fly to New York for my dress. Considering how sick I was yesterday, I don't think I could tolerate the flight, anyway. We're looking through a site and I'm floored by all the pretty dresses. Now comes the hard part, finding one to fit a petite woman who's five foot three, basically a child.

When we'd started searching for bridal gowns, Andrés made a few jokes about first communion   dresses before my mom talked him and Doc into taking my brothers outside for a game of tag. Sadly, Andrés wasn't far off the mark. Some of the flower girl dresses looked like they'd fit me.

I've found several styles I like, but I wonder how long a dress would take to hem.

"Can they have the dress ready in two weeks?" I ask my mom.

She pulls away from her laptop monitor and gapes at me. "Two weeks? That's not enough time to plan a wedding. Now, if we waited until the spring... ."

"I'll be as big as a house." I laugh. "Andrés and all of his cousins were big babies. He was ten pounds!"

Mom taps her chin with the end of a pencil as she pulls up a calendar on her monitor. "What about February first? That gives me six weeks to plan, and you'll only be nine weeks pregnant."

I know Andrés wanted to get married sooner, but my mom is right. Two weeks isn't much time to plan a wedding.

I look down at my stomach, which is flat at the moment, despite the fact that I ate four wedges of toast and two servings of scrambled eggs. I wanted bacon, but Doc said I shouldn't eat anything greasy. Andrés had the nerve to agree with him.

I smooth a hand over my abdomen. "I shouldn't be showing at nine weeks, right?"

"Not too much. You won't be able to wear a form fitting dress." Mom clicks on the mouse and exits out of all the screens with the hip hugging dresses I've selected. "I've always preferred the traditional gowns, anyway."

She pulls up this big, puffy thing with sequins that looks like a cotton ball on steroids.

My head starts to spin, and I'm afraid it has nothing to do with morning sickness. There is no way I'm wearing that monstrosity to my wedding.

My mom is apparently oblivious to my horrified expression as she adds the page with the puffy gown to her favorites. "This might work if I hire the right wedding planner."

I still don't see why my mom needs a planner. They are expensive, and they take care of things that we could do ourselves, like hiring the caterer and venue. If we had the wedding at Tio's ranch, we wouldn't need a wedding planner.