Three of Hearts
WHW Series, Ambrose Mariano (Jess' son) and Rosa Langley (Colin's daughter). Written via a writing prompt, starting a fic with "There were three of them." One-shot, complete.
There were three of them. The trash can was otherwise empty, save for three ripped open boxes, haphazardly repacked with their original contents after they'd been used up and unceremoniously tossed out. The directions for use had been unfolded from their neat and precise state, and then wadded up before being shoved back into the box so that the paper couldn't be contained in a closed up box. Not that the cardboard could have been salvaged to reseal, all jagged edges and missing pieces. As they were now, they were fit for the trash, and nothing else.
They didn't, however, stay in the trash. The discovery was too curious to leave alone, like a day-old scab that had begun to itch as it healed. Scratching fulfilled a momentary need, even if it ripped open a wound and set back all progress to healing. Three hastily opened packages, identical from the UPC code on the bottom side to the little blue lines running alongside the top of the stick that the original consumer had wrapped in toilet paper before wedging alongside the crumpled directions before tossing them unceremoniously into the garbage.
If it had been done with any ceremony, it had taken place long before he got home. The apartment was empty, and he'd arrived to find it completely dark save for the nightlight they kept on in the hallway for nighttime bathroom emergencies. There was no fear of the dark among the inhabitants, but there had been a few bruised elbows and knees before the purchase of the nightlight.
The bathroom light was on now, however, and he could see just fine. He stood at the bathroom sink, a pedestal vanity, with a large ornate mirror and a light fixture of her choosing hanging above it. The two blue lines were a mystery to him, as he hadn't been the one to malign the directions, so after laying the pregnancy test on its toilet paper nest on top of the sink, Ambrose Mariano grabbed the wad of printed material from the same box and smoothed it out as best as he could with his hands. One side was printed solely en Español, with the English on the reverse. It gave a short pitch for the superiority of the product, which he found wholly unnecessary. He was of the belief that once you got the sale, you should stop selling. In this case, once someone was ready to urinate on their product, all that was needed was directions for use. It had what would otherwise be humorous illustrations, of a stream directed at a stick, then it gave a wait time with an illustration of a common kitchen timer. The next paragraph showed two more illustrations, offering a positive and a negative result. It went on to discuss false positives and false negatives, and not so gentle reminders of when to contact a doctor.
He didn't really get past the illustration with the two blue lines. There was a control panel, with a single line that had formed the moment contact was made. The second panel on the sink showed two blue lines, one slightly fainter than the other, and he sat down on the closed toilet lid, wondering how long it had taken for both lines to show up. Had it been instantaneous? Did she watch, or did she put the test down, unable to stand the immediacy of it all? Was she going to tell him or did she plan to wait? Was she out in the city right now, meeting her best friend for dinner in a feeble attempt to drive this from her mind, when it was all she could think about? Was she happy? Sad? Completely and totally shocked, as he now found himself? Had she just been too lazy to walk the trash down to the chute to cover her tracks?
He crammed the test and the directions back in the box just as she had—too overwhelmed to do otherwise, he realized—put it back in the trash, and then carried the trash can into the kitchen. He set it on the edge of the counter, so it was the first thing anyone would notice upon entry. He then made himself a pot of coffee and took out his phone. No messages. She wasn't a big texter, which he appreciated. She'd sent him one at lunch, reminding him he was on his own for dinner. Some days, especially during the week, tended to bleed into another for him, and she knew without the reminder he'd wait to eat or make other arrangements otherwise. She met with Ella Langley, her old college roommate, best friend, and sister-in-law, every other Thursday for dinner, a girls' night, which they jokingly referred to as a bi-monthly college reunion. Sometimes he'd swing by and hang out with his younger brother or his dad, or he'd grab dinner or drinks with his best friend, Jake Dugrey, but they didn't make the same kind of heavy plans for such things. Ambrose didn't make those kinds of plans. He lived in a much more chaotic environment, working at CNN, taking far more spontaneous vacations than most people. He liked knowing he and Rosa might head off to Ecuador or Tokyo on less than two weeks' notice. He didn't like to live in anticipation for months on end, he felt it put too much pressure on the idea of a vacation, or any other event for that matter. He lived in the moment, and it worked for him. And lately he couldn't find a damn thing to complain about—he had his dream job, his dream woman, living in his favorite city in the world. He'd never thought he'd be this happy, to feel so downright content most of the time, but he'd spent years paying his dues and waiting for Rosa. She had been infinitely worth the wait.
He was waiting for her again, it seemed, this time to come home. He couldn't text her. This was her time, apart from him. They needed that. Every human needed that. As much as he felt that his relationship with her was shockingly similar as his relationship with oxygen, he knew the dangers of too much of a good thing. She was always more affectionate upon her return, when she'd gone more than a standard ten hours away from him at work—she missed him. He could feel it in her lips and the urgency in her hands as she pulled his body to hers. She'd smile at him, ask if he'd been waiting up for her—knowing full well that if left truly alone he'd be up for hours longer than when she was around. He'd started sleeping more since they moved in together, simply because he wanted to wrap himself around her in bed, and the sound of her gentle breathing lulled him to sleep more often than not. He still had the occasional bout of insomnia, and after he watched her sleep for an hour or so, he'd take to the living room, via the dimly lit hallway, and read until the sun came up. He'd always make her coffee on those mornings, and she'd pad out and rub his back silently, letting him know his presence had been missed.
Instead of reaching out and interrupting her, he dialed the second number on his contact list.
The sound of his best friend's voice filled his ear after two rings. "Hey, man. What's up?"
Ambrose stared at the trash can. Three pregnancy tests, he thought automatically. Three. Because two isn't convincing enough.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Is this a hypothetical or an actual pondering?"
"I'm not sure."
"What's wrong?"
Jake had always known Ambrose's propensity for being right to the point of being insensitive, and his love of accurately assessing a situation. He was more of an observer than anything. Rarely did he get emotionally invested in details, but he had to admit, this one was working his system. For him to be so undoubtedly unsure, and to freely admit it—it was a warning sign to those that loved him. Jake had always been more of a brother to him than a friend. Since Jake had married Ambrose's younger sister, Jules, he quite literally was a brother to him.
Ambrose let out a heavy sigh. He hated asking a question when he knew the answer, deep down. "What do you know about the accuracy of home pregnancy tests?"
Jake made a noise, like air escaping both his nose and mouth with force suddenly. "No clue. Do you need Jules? She's out, but you could text her. Or Rosa."
He responded quickly, adamant in his determination to wait until she came to him about this. "I can't ask Rosa."
"Wait, are you in possession of a pregnancy test?"
"There are three of them in my trash, all used."
"Are they negative or positive?"
"Positive."
"All of them?"
"Yeah."
"Whoa."
"Yeah."
"So, I'd say they're fairly accurate. At least, scientifically speaking, if you're looking to achieve the same result when the process is repeated under the same conditions."
Ambrose rolled his eyes. "I don't need a refresher on the scientific method."
"Sounds like you need to talk to Rosa."
The smell of coffee overwhelmed the kitchen and he went to get a mug. None of their mugs matched, and he liked that. "They were in the trash. Like they were Q-tips or tissues."
"Did you want her to put them someplace else? She did pee on them," Jake reminded him. "It's not like she as going to put them in Tupperware and store them in the fridge."
"Why didn't she call me?"
"Because 'hey, I might be knocked up' isn't the kind of thing most people like to bring up on the phone. It's more of a face-to-face conversation."
"I guess."
"Have you seen her today?"
"Not since this morning. I had an early meeting, so I kissed her while she was still asleep in bed. She texted me at lunch, a reminder that she was heading out with Ella after work."
Jake always knew what day it was. "Right, it's the second Thursday of the month. Jules is out with Lia and Megan, if you want we could go get a drink."
"I'm gonna stay here and wait for her to get home. I appreciate the offer. Keep your schedule clear, though, I might need a drink after she and I talk."
Jake hesitated. "You aren't going to freak out, are you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I've never heard you mention wanting kids. Did you two—How unexpected is this?"
"I don't know. I mean, I don't like most kids. I like Jack."
"I hope so. He's your brother," Jake said.
"I know, but he wasn't as annoying as I thought he would be, when I first found out Dad and Gwen were having a kid back then. I've never really longed for the nights awake with a screaming kid or anything, but I don't know. Rosa and I, it hasn't really come up. We don't talk about tons of things that are far off in the future like that. We're both happy with how things are in the here and now."
"Well, how things are now is that you have three used, not to mention positive, pregnancy tests in your trash."
"God, I hope she isn't freaking out. She's probably dying for a martini," he said, sliding his hand over his brow and closing his eyes hard. "Jesus H. Christ!" he shouted.
"What?" Jake asked, suddenly alarmed.
"I made a pot of coffee. The smell's filled the whole apartment. If she's pregnant, she can't have coffee. She can't drink coffee or have a glass of wine or smoke," he listed.
"She smokes?"
Ambrose half smiled to himself, as a certain memory drifted to his mind. "Not usually. She used to bum some of mine."
"You stopped smoking last year."
"For the most part," Ambrose agreed. "My point is, she's going to come back here and I'm going to be sucking down coffee and stress smoking on the fire escape. She'll pack a bag and leave me. And she should!"
"That's probably not going to happen."
"I would make a terrible father."
"How do you figure?"
"I'm not a role model. I smoke, even though I've quit, I drink, I swear, I'm not nurturing, and I encourage social Darwinism to weed out the idiots from the gene pool."
"You just described your dad."
Ambrose was quiet for a minute after that. "He's a good dad."
Jake agreed readily. "I agree. And not because I think he might have had my phone tapped to make sure I'm treating his daughter in the manner she deserves."
"You're certifiable."
"And deeply in love with his daughter. I also enjoy having two functioning kneecaps."
"What if she doesn't want kids?" he asked.
"See, this is why people talk about the future. We're going to have two or three. You know, eventually."
"Sounds like a solid plan you have there," he said rolling his eyes. "Rosa and I have always seemed to want the same things. Except for when she wanted to be married to that stupid, blonde, rich," he groused.
"Dude, get over it. She's divorced and with you now."
"I don't even know if she ever wants to get married again. What if she thought she was happy with me, but is now reconsidering her entire future? What if she was so happy in the moment with me because she was in total denial before?"
"You need to pull yourself together. Pour some whisky in your coffee and talk a walk, dude."
Ambrose let his head fall on the kitchen table. "I never used to care."
"That's not true. You just never cared about anyone else like you care about her. You don't want to lose her, and that's not a bad thing."
"Yeah," Ambrose said quietly. "Thanks, man."
"Anytime. Don't worry, I'm sure my freak out call to you about pregnancy test results is only a matter of time."
"Yeah, because I want to think about you knocking up my sister. Do we need to go over the rules again?"
Jake laughed. "We'll grab a drink soon, and you can let me know if you're looking for a couch to sleep on."
Ambrose got off the phone, drained his coffee cup, and grabbed his keys. He did need some fresh air. And possibly a new pack of cigarettes.
-X-
"You smell like an ashtray."
"I had three cigarettes," Ambrose replied honestly. He felt the tightness of his lungs and knew he'd quit for a reason, but damned if his nerves weren't calmer.
Jess Mariano leaned on the door frame with is forearm, blocking his son's entry into his home. He nodded his understanding. "Let me get my coat."
Ambrose nodded and waited while Jess told Gwen he'd be back and collected his keys and wallet. They rode the elevator down in silence and his father spoke first once they were out on the street.
"Hand over the cigarettes."
Ambrose handed over the mostly full pack, along with his lighter. He was an adult, but he rarely so blatantly disobeyed his father, even now. He'd learned his lessons in his youth, and knew how far he could push his father and what was worth the fight. Jess shook out a single cigarette and lit it up with practiced ease.
Ambrose scowled. "Now you're just stealing."
Jess blew out some smoke. "What kind of father lets his kid smoke? Besides, I get the feeling I'll need it."
"You're preemptively smoking?"
Jess nodded. "What's up, kid?"
There was never a point in beating around the bush with his father. "Did you want to have kids?"
Jess raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking if you were an accident?"
Ambrose shook his head. "Not exactly. I mean, I know you love us, but loving the kids you do have and wanting to have kids—that's two different things."
Jess studied him and took a long drag on the cigarette before dropping it to the ground and putting it out under his foot. "I'm going to guess that either you and Rosa aren't seeing eye-to-eye about the potential to have kids, or else-," he trailed off, still watching his son closely. It was almost like looking into a mirror, as Ambrose had grown as tall as him years ago, and his shoulders had filled out in an eerily similar fashion. Ambrose's hair wasn't quite as dark as his, but it was often as unkempt and in need of a cut. Both had retired the jeans and t-shirt look for slightly more adult fare, but it still appeared as though they both shopped at the same store that only sold dark neutral colors.
Ambrose leaned against a building, a multi-story brick and mortar exterior. Years ago it had been an ice cream shop, one they'd frequent on special occasions back when his mother and father were still married. In the years since it had been a bar, a stationary store, and it was currently a yoga studio. "She took three pregnancy tests."
Jess let out a low whistle. "All positive?"
Ambrose nodded. "Yeah. She tossed them in the trash, then went to work. She's out with Ella now."
Jess caught his son on the shoulder and squeezed down. "Did you two fight?"
Ambrose swallowed down the waves of emotion that kept hitting him. Rosa had always had the ability to turn him inside out, with just a look. But now, the not knowing what was going through her head, about him, and his kid… he wanted to steal his cigarettes back. "No. She took them after I left, and I found them in the trash when I got back. She hasn't said anything, not to me anyway."
"You two ever talk about having kids?"
Ambrose shook his head. "She's been really happy to get back to work, and we've only been together a little over a year. We haven't talked about the future, not past living together, and she flat-out insisted that I move in with her when my lease was up. She said I was living in a hole."
"You were living in a hole," Jess agreed. "Even by my standards at that age, and that's saying a lot."
"I have no idea where her head is at, but the fact that she hasn't said a damn thing to me at all is messing with my head. We've never held stuff back, at least didn't think we did."
Jess nodded, deep in thought. "Your mom waited to tell me, when she got pregnant with Jules. She brought home the first ultrasound picture one night, and put it on the fridge. She was more than two months along at that point."
Ambrose gaped. "That didn't make you mad? That she knew and didn't tell you?"
Jess shook his head. "It isn't the same for men and women. She knew before she had solid evidence or else she wouldn't have bought the test. And I'd been along for the ride, the whole time she was pregnant with you—it doesn't affect men the same way. I mean, I knew things were happening, I witnessed it all—all the cravings and nausea and swelling and mood swings and sex drive shifts—but nothing like how she felt it. She was living it, and I was just this guy that tried to help her through."
"Sex drive shifts?"
Jess chuckled. "About four months in? Start drinking extra electrolytes. Gwen nearly killed me."
Ambrose grimaced. "I didn't need to know—most of what you just said."
Jess shrugged, as if his emotional scarring of his son barely registered. "It's a lot harder on the woman, all of it. Even after the baby comes out, it's mostly them that has to deal with the brunt of it, it's just the nature of the beast. I did my fair share, changing diapers and staying up when you wouldn't sleep and picking you up from daycare and making meals, but my body didn't change, save for the sleep deprivation—I feel asleep on the subway a few times. Comparing that to keeping it a secret for a few hours or days or weeks? Usually they have a good reason. Erin saved the news to share on our anniversary, about Jules. She told me right away with you, but that was mostly because she was so sick she could barely lift her head."
"So I have a lot to look forward to, huh?"
Jess shoved his hands in his pockets. "You asked if I wanted kids, before we had them?"
Ambrose nodded. "Yeah."
Jess shook his head and tilted it back until he was looking up at the sky. "The idea of being responsible for someone, for eighteen years, wiping snotty noses and changing diapers and having to sit through school plays and save for college," he shuddered a little. "Scared the shit out of me, it always had. I'd barely scraped by enough to become an adult. But I didn't want to get married until I met your mom. That made me feel more grounded than I had ever been, and it felt good. And the minute we found out you were on your way? I knew it was right for us. It doesn't all happen at once. First, I was just helping the woman I loved get through pregnancy. Then, when you finally showed up, this little bundle of person, that couldn't even hold your head up on your own? I felt compelled to show you around. Baby cries had always sounded like noise to me, but all of a sudden, I could tell if you were hungry or tired or just pissed off."
Ambrose couldn't help but smile. "So, I was an articulate infant?"
Jess snorted. "Be glad you survived, kid. You were our practice model. You turned out okay, considering," Jess relented.
Ambrose looked down at the street. He kind of wished the ice cream shop still existed. There was a Cold Stone three blocks up, but he was in no mood for corporate conformity, not to mention the insipid singing of theirs. "What if she doesn't want kids?" he asked finally.
Jess' brown eyes leveled into his. "Then you'll figure it out. I'm not big on fate, but I know this. If I'd never had kids, I'd probably tell myself that I wasn't missing out on anything—but I'd be a much bigger asshole than I currently am. I wouldn't change a God damn thing."
Ambrose angled his head back toward his father's building. The subway was another block up past that, and they started to head back, into the wind. "I should get back. She usually gets in before midnight, even if they go out drinking."
Jess walked along beside his oldest son, wondering just how things would shake out for him. It was one of the harder things of being a parent—wanting the best outcome for your kids, and knowing when to back off and let them muddle through to find their way. "If you guys need anything, you know you can come to Gwen and me, or your mom."
Ambrose had never felt a shortage of adult support in his life, and the thought hit him that he had definitely graduated into the adult world now. He'd had his own place and job for years now, and he was entrenched in a steady relationship, but suddenly the idea of becoming a father made him feel more adult than anything else ever had. "Thanks, Dad. For everything."
Jess gave him a crooked smile. "Go, talk to Rosa. Send our love."
Ambrose gave a curt nod and a wave, and took for the subway. He needed to get the house ready for Rosa's arrival.
-X-
There were three items in the trash can. Carefully selected items, not identical in size or shape but they were connected all the same. He'd replaced the bathroom trash to its rightful place next to the toilet, and instead taken down the mostly full kitchen bag to the garbage chute and put in a clean bag, before adding his carefully chosen items. He was seated at the kitchen table, reading a paperback that his sister had given him—one of her authors that she'd turned him onto. He had enough free books to fill a small library, given the fact that both his father and sister were in the industry, and he had been a voracious reader since he could first start to string letters together into words on his own.
He remained in place, even as he heard her keys in the lock at the front door. The kitchen had a view of the front entry, given the fact it was laid out well even for its smaller size. He wondered suddenly if they'd find a bigger place sooner rather than later, as they'd need a second bedroom. If she was going to be throwing up in the bathroom for the next few months, another bathroom wouldn't hurt, or else he'd have to be hitting the public restrooms at the corner market more often as well.
She didn't look any different. Her hair was pulled back at the base of her neck and her cheeks were slightly flushed from the wind. She put her purse down and hung up her coat, in a slight hurry as she usually was when she came home. She made a beeline for the kitchen, and when he looked up from his book, she was smiling.
"Hey, you're up."
Her arms came around his shoulders from behind. She pressed her face into the crown of his head, and he closed his eyes. His hand reflexively lifted to curl around her wrist. Next to them was the trash can, out of its normal place under the sink. All she had to do was look away from him to notice the oddity. He counted silently in his head.
"Did you throw away my Kona beans?" she asked, rightly horrified.
"I thought you might have something else more important to lead with," he said gently, unable to keep his eyes from landing on her stomach. It was the same stomach he'd kissed the prior evening, the same one his hand had rested on all night long as he slept pulled up tight against her. He hated few things more than his alarm clock, as it meant having to leave her warm body for the cool morning temperatures of New York in the winter. Spring was right around the corner, but it never quite came quickly enough. She'd be due in the fall, he realized, just as the weather was growing colder again. His kid's first Christmas would be this year. He felt a little dizzy while he waited for her to speak, even though he remained seated.
She sat down on his leg and he put a hand on the small of her back. "You saw the tests?"
He nodded, trying to remain stoic, calm. Normal. Whatever the hell that meant. "Three of them."
"I can still drink coffee. I think," she said with a concerned furrow of her eyebrows. "The internet is a terrible place to find reliable information. I need to make an appointment with an OB. I started a list of questions," she confessed. "I wasn't very productive at work. I kept wanting to call you, but I didn't want to freak you out."
He watched her carefully. "You thought I'd freak out?"
She lifted one shoulder halfway to her ear and dropped it. "It's not the kind of news you give on the phone."
"Yet you left three tests in the trash?"
Her cheeks, now warm, turned a different shade of pink. "I wanted to be sure, and it said to take them in the morning. Apparently there's more of the hormone in the morning, or something. I'm not sure how that works. As if you could be more pregnant at different times of the day. But I kept reading these stories about false positives on the internet, so I got three. I didn't mean for you to find them without me. I thought you'd head out with Jake after work."
"Did you tell Ella?"
She sat up straighter, flustered. "No! I mean, it's not… it seemed too early to tell anyone but you. I didn't know… I mean, we've never really talked about kids, or anything past next Tuesday for that matter," she said uncertainly.
"How long are we supposed to wait, to tell people?"
Tears sprung to her eyes. "Really?"
She wrapped her arms around his shoulders so tightly it hurt, to which he gingerly hugged her back. He was pretty sure he couldn't hurt the growing embryo with a hug, but it seemed like a pretty crappy first act as a father to smother the kid. He kissed the side of her head. "You okay?"
She sniffed loudly and started wiping at her eyes as she pulled back. "I was in shock. Still am, really. I missed my period, but I thought it was a fluke, so I waited a couple of weeks and nothing happened. I was stunned. All morning I was just completely flummoxed. I was that crazy person on the subway, talking to herself in random bursts and crying. But I started to have these thoughts, about how this would be our baby's first Christmas. And I thought about you holding the baby up, with its hands holding your fingers while it tried to take steps. And I just kept thinking, what if you were okay with this? It made me so happy, as sudden and unexpected as this is."
"I had the same thought. About the Christmas thing," he admitted.
She sniffed again and smiled. "Yeah?"
He nodded, keeping his eyes on her and her glistening hazel eyes. "It's okay to tell me this isn't what you wanted. We never talked about it, and that's as much my fault as yours," she said finally.
He wrapped his arms more firmly around her waist. "I want everything that comes along with loving you. I want a future with you. I can see raising a kid with you. Besides, I'm running the risk of becoming an asshole if I never have kids, or so I've been told."
She kissed his cheek. "You're not an asshole."
"Charmer," he murmured, kissing her properly.
She cuddled into him, and he felt suddenly protective of her in a way he hadn't experienced before. He'd never wanted to hurt her, always having had the urge to put her first in any situation, even at his detriment, but now it hit him so hard it made his chest ache. "So, a baby," she breathed, as if reading his mind.
He dove in. He needed it all out on the table. "I know you said it came as a shock," he led, "but is that something you wanted, eventually? To have kids?"
She paused, albeit briefly, not to think so much as to cushion the nature of her answer. "Pax and I discussed it, after we got married. People started dropping hints, the second the ceremony was over, as if we were on some kind of clock. As if the only reason to get married was to produce children."
He tensed, but reminded himself that he loved her, and part of her was her time spent married to someone else. "People are assholes."
She chuckled softly. "I've heard the rant."
He shrugged lightly. "What was the consensus?"
"There wasn't one. He wanted kids, whenever. I wanted to wait until we were more settled. And then, later, he really started pushing the idea of having a kid, but I knew things were heading too far downhill and having a kid would only make a bad situation more complicated."
"I'm sure your parents will appreciate you waiting to get divorced to get knocked up by the guy you're living with."
"My parents like you."
He cocked an eyebrow. "Debatable. So, you didn't want to have kids while you were married."
"I wanted kids, but I wanted it to feel right. It never did with Pax, so I tabled it."
"And now?"
"Ambrose," she said, letting her fingers linger against his cheek. "It feels indescribable."
"We should have talked about this before," he said, scratching at his forehead. "I thought about it, but I never could seem to bring it up."
"You thought about us having kids?" she asked, surprised.
"I've thought about all kinds of things. But they weren't, I dunno, immediate. I wanted to give you space, without pressuring you into more than you felt ready to handle."
"How could you pressure me into more? We already live together," she pointed out. "And I bullied you into that."
"Only because you hated my apartment. You're a neighborhood snob."
"That is not why I wanted to live with you. I hated the idea that it was still possible for us to go home to separate spaces. I wanted my home to be your home," she explained, as if he were too thick to grasp the concept. Which, apparently, he had been. "And even you hated that apartment. Now, what is it you were afraid to talk about?"
His palms grew sweaty and he started to fear early onset heart disease striking him down. "This has got to be the worst possible timing for this conversation."
"We're talking about the future. Now talk."
He felt fidgety, but it was hard to even shift with her on his lap. He couldn't really even avert his eyes, because she was his whole field of view. Of course, if she were in a room with him, she was normally the center of his full attention. It had never been any other way with them. "I want to marry you. I've wanted to marry you for as long as I can remember. But there was no fucking way I was going to ask you before you were ready and have you pat me on the head and tell me you didn't want that, but you loved living with me."
"I do love living with you," she said, beaming at him.
"Jesus," he groaned, putting his head in his hands.
She peeled his hands from his face. "Ambrose, look at me."
He did as she asked, but he made sure it was clear that it wasn't his first choice. "Rosa," he warned.
"You really want to marry me?"
He growled, which made her smile grow. She pressed her lips together in an attempt to stop, but she failed. "Are you making fun of me? I was trying to be considerate and give you space and time," he said, irritated at her response.
"I don't want time and space," she informed him, half happy and half indignant. "I just wanted you. You know I go after what I want. After the divorce, I took my time and my space, and then I took some more time, gathering my courage to call you. I knew I didn't deserve you, not after everything that had happened. But I still wanted you."
"Do you even want to get married again?" he asked, skeptical of his relief coming so immediately.
"I can only think of one reason I'd ever get married again," she said honestly.
He eyed her stomach again. "Pregnancy?"
She hit his outer bicep. "No, you idiot. If you asked me. And frankly, if you take too much longer I'm going to ask you. It's occurred to me, but I thought you might give me the same speech you didn't want to hear from me, about how you liked how things were and why change something that's working," she said, laying it out for him.
"Huh."
Her eyes narrowed. "More syllables, please."
He smirked. "You want to marry me."
"That? Was not a question."
"I'm uniquely gifted at sentence structure."
"You said you wanted to marry me. Now that you know I want to marry you, what's holding you back?"
"You want the list in any particular order?" he asked.
"There's a list?" she balked.
"When people ask how I proposed, I don't want anyone to think that it happened the night you told me about the baby, because everyone will assume that it's only because of that. And it isn't. The baby, it's at best the instigator of this conversation, for which I will be eternally grateful, but it's not the reason why I want to marry you."
She liked his answer, but he wasn't finished. "Second, I don't have a ring. And maybe it's fine for some people to pop the question on the fly, with nothing prepared. But it pales in comparison to what I had in mind."
"I don't need all that. I mean, I want to be with you. I don't need a ring or a big wedding. I had all that before, and trust me—it didn't help the marriage. Besides, once we confirm with a doctor and things get going, I probably won't have the energy to do anything other than waddle down to city hall before all our nights are spent desperately trying to get our kid to sleep, especially if it takes after its night-owl father."
"There's a mental image."
She grabbed his hand. "Ambrose, you get what I'm saying, right?"
"I hear you. But you are getting a ring and we are not getting married in city hall. You can waddle on a pink-sandy beach in Bermuda, though."
She raised her eyebrows at him, clearly impressed. "You have given this thought."
"I've also given thought to the wedding night. We'll need to be well rested for that, so we should get this done before the baby comes. I hear we won't sleep well again for a few years."
"Then I guess you better get yourself a ring."
His smile grew as true understanding was reached. "Guess I better."
A moment of realization washed over them, jointly, as suddenly their future came into a much sharper focus than it had ever been before. He rested his head on her shoulder, and she ran her fingers through his hair, stroking through his dark locks with gentle affection. He'd always seemed vulnerable to her, which wasn't a characteristic that he gave off to anyone else. He was hers, in a way he'd never be anyone else's. He'd always made her want more than she'd expected out of life. He gave her the courage to step outside of what was expected of her, and steer clear of the idea that being comfortable meant being happy.
"We should get to bed," she whispered. "It's getting late."
His hand tightened at her hip. His thumb sank in and her stomach constricted with want and her eyes closed. Her mouth found his without so much as a fluttering of her eyelids, and suddenly he was breathing her in and lifting her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs at his waist. All she had to do was hold on, she knew he had her. The first time they'd been together, after her divorce—he'd let her know in no uncertain terms that he would be there for her. She'd never wake up in the morning alone, wondering if he'd come back. She would not have to ask him how he felt about her—he made that abundantly clear, without words. Far before he ever got into the habit of telling her he loved her, she felt loved. She bit at his lip as they crossed into the bedroom, and he had to catch himself from falling on top of her once he hastened to the bed.
He eased her down, supporting her back with his whole arm, his fingers knotted in her hair. He paused, supporting himself up on his knees and elbows, hovering a good three inches above her. "Is this okay?"
"You want a doctor's note?" she giggled at him.
"You'll tell me, if something hurts?" he repurposed his concern.
"It's fine. I'm fine. I'm better than I've ever been. Now get down here," she said, yanking at his belt loops to throw him off balance. He was strong, covered with lean muscle. He could hold his perched pose for hours if need be. It was one of the reasons she never asked him to join her at yoga. Not only would he show her up, holding even the hardest poses with ease, but he'd do so while mocking the whole practice, causing her to laugh and lose the focus she needed to steady herself into a pose in the first place.
He rolled them onto their sides as a concession, not complaining about her undermining tricks. Before she could complain about his overcautious concerns, he became even gentler, his touch lighter than a breeze and far more intense than anything she'd ever experienced. She became slowly transfixed, watching him touch her, letting him divest her of layers of clothes, seeing him start to reach for the nightstand drawer where they kept their condoms.
He blew out a breath and paused. "Damn. Habit."
She tugged at his hand, bringing it back to her body. "Just stay with me, here," she urged.
"I am. I will," he promised, kissing her deeply. "My trash can—the stuff in it, I mean, it was supposed to be symbolic. If you're off it for the baby, I'm off it for you. I know I can't really go through everything with you, the same as you, but I'll still be there, by your side."
She pushed back a little, surprised. "You're giving up coffee and whiskey and cigarettes?"
"I already quit smoking," he reminded her, which earned him a snort in response.
"Ambrose, that's sweet, but I don't think New York needs you in a tower with a shot gun, picking people off because you haven't had coffee or snuck a cigarette in four months."
"How do you know I sneak cigarettes?" he demanded.
"My point is, you don't have to give stuff up," she restated.
"I want to. I'll pick up another vice, if it makes you feel better."
She nodded. "It really, truly does."
"I could become a nymphomaniac," he suggested, resettling his body between her legs, his breath tickling her hair at the base of her neck as he blew out slowly, teasing her and making her squirm in delight.
"That could get time consuming," she managed, arching up to meet his lips. Their hips were already starting to move together in muscle memory, the sign of a well-practiced dance.
"You'll thank me in three months," he said firmly, ending any and all conversation on the matter. She lost herself in his new-found hobby, forgetting the lack of barriers, the safety concerns and briefly, her own name. All she could remember was his, all she cried out for was him. Three times was the charm.
