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Clearly, I never make the best decisions where Branson and I are concerned. It’s like I don’t know how to say no. It’s sad, pathetic, and usually ends up with me on the losing end.
Although, is it really losing? I mean I am gaining a beautiful child, and...a husband. It’s not conventional, but it’s happening.
When we told Mr. Montgomery about the baby, he was furious. He went off on a tirade, belittling his son in front of me as if he was filth. That provoked the pity feels, and like a dimwit, I blurted out that Branson and I were in love and getting married as soon as possible.
At the time, I just wanted him to stop yelling because he was freaking me out. He did, and just like that, he smiled and gave his son a friendly congratulatory pat on the back. And just like that, I said yes to Branson, even though I wasn’t going to say yes to Branson.
I never imagined my wedding would take place in our backyard, performed by a justice of the peace. Mr. Montgomery insisted we marry as quickly as possible, the only thing holding us up was the unavailability of the pastor, so here we are, getting married in the most impersonal way, by a stranger, shotgun style, except Daddy isn’t here to wield the weapon.
I always pictured my daddy giving me away, in a church, with our local pastor and congregation all gathered to celebrate. Today those dreams are far away. Pointless.
The ceremony is a blur.
The entire day is a blur.
I’m hot, sweating in my pink sundress as I feign happiness.
It’s surreal, and I have to keep reminding myself that I married Branson, that we’re going to be parents.
My hand rests over my tummy as I silently assure myself, for the hundredth time, that this is right. Our baby deserves two parents that will love it, and we will, without a doubt.
I wish my groom was Nick.
I wish my parents were here.
I wish my mamma was here to help me through the day, to offer advice, to hug me.
I really could use a hug. I’m terrified. What if Branson and I don’t make a go of this? What if we don’t grow to love each other and instead grow to despise each other?
I prayed, I pray, that isn’t the case.
I actually do want to be happy.
It’s possible. I need to believe it to be so.
Arms encircle me from behind, and Branson leans in to kiss my neck. He’s happy about this. I’m trying, but all I can think of is Nick, even though he hasn’t spoken to me since the phone call, one-week-ago.
Before I knew it, the wedding was happening, and I was too ashamed to try to smooth things over with Nick—if I’m honest, I’ve been a spineless fool, and I know it. But it’s an impossible situation and I had to, have to, let him go.
We’re over.
It sucks, my soul aches with it, but it’s reality.
Branson and our baby are my future, so from this moment on, I will focus on them and better days.
“Let’s go to bed, Mrs. Reilly,” Branson huffs into my neck. My stomach flips, hearing him refer to me like that—it’s what he called my mother. It’s creepy. Maybe keeping my maiden name is a mistake. No. It’s all I have left of them, it stays.
Taking my hand, he leads the way as I follow him upstairs to consummate our marriage. When we cross the threshold to the master bedroom, he pulls me into his arms, kissing me with such passion that I almost feel something. But it feels robotic, a role I’m playing, and one I will continue to play until hopefully one day it doesn’t feel rehearsed.
When it’s over, we curl up together, and I lie awake while Branson doses. My thoughts are chaotic, my current situation seems so surreal, and not what I imagined, so I’m feeling emotional, fragile, jaded, but one thing soothes me. My hand rests on my tummy, silently telling my darling baby that I love it and will do anything for it.
I wake to find the bed beside me empty. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s five in the morning. True to his word, Branson has taken off and running, determined to manage the farm. His keen business sense means he can focus on the numbers, and I can dig in, working the land and greenhouse. Hands on is my preference anyway.
He must have run off to meet with Clive. I know there is much to be discussed. A smile finds itself on my face. Not a big one, but an almost contented one. Branson is a man of his word, and he will take care of us. This I know.
We’re safe. And even if Branson and I don’t make a go of this marriage, my land is safe, thanks to the iron-clad pre-nup I had James draw up. No matter what, I have to take care of my family’s legacy.
For the first time in weeks, a sense of positive light washes over me. Sometimes things don’t work out exactly how we picture them, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be awesome.
It’s time to start living.
It’s time to start planning, for our family.
I can’t wait to hold our baby, to gaze into its eyes, to love it, and watch it grow.
Nick’s face jumps to mind, but as usual I push it out of the way. He didn’t want us. He chose to walk away, and I have to respect that. At least, he didn’t fill me full of lies and promises—just honesty—the burning kind.
Branson has only ever been up front and honest. And yeah, neither of us are under any illusions about the other. We’re just husband and wife and friends who happen to be having a baby together. With time, I think I could love him, and I’ll have a partner, a husband, a family—I won’t be alone, ever again.
Whimpering catches my attention, and I move to peek over the edge of the bed. Rigel’s puppy eyes gaze up at me expectantly. My heart melts and I move to lift him onto the bed for a snuggle. It doesn’t last long, he’s too darn hyper, so I crawl out of bed and prepare to start the day.