Disclaimer: I don't own CCS or the Shopaholic series.

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Summary: (sequel to In the Shoes of a Shopaholic) Shopaholic Sakura is back! And this time, she's armed with a gorgeous diamond ring… because Syaoran proposed to her! Sakura is thrilled – so many choices, from Chanel to Vera Wang… But soon, her marital bliss is overshadowed by the cons of marriage – and she's not sure if it really is fab being married.

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Thanks for all those lovely reviews and your patience!!♥♥♥

Sorry for the late update - I have a new computer and it took a while for me to recover my files and re-install my programs and all...

I also had multiple tests this week, and other things... :) And I've got to say, THANK YOU FOR ALL THOSE REVIEWS!

The number of reviews I got really sort of motivated me and encouraged me to update today :D

PLEASE KEEP THOSE REVIEWS COMING…! XD

Seriously, I'm sorry to say this, but the more reviews I get from my readers, the faster the next update will be! …So please review!

P.S. btw I deleted the HP parody thing. I got sick of it… and I'm thinking of deleting Failure is Not an Option… because quite frankly, I'm not one for angst, and the story makes me laugh at the stupidity of it… I may attempt at a Harry Potter fic later on, though… after this one's done.

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Shopaholic Walks Down the Aisle

Chapter 9 – Shopaholic Chaos!

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I stare at Syaoran for a long time, glancing meaningfully at the phone. He refuses to give in, his eyes focused on mine with an irresistible force. "You do it," he says quietly.

"No, you do it," I reply in monotone. I slide my hand under his shirt and slowly rub his back for an advantage. His expression doesn't change as he slides his own hand up my shirt and playfully caress my chest. I slap him. "Don't be such a stuck-up loser!" I exclaim.

He sniggers, smirking. "You're one to talk; I'm too young to be murdered by your brother, thank you."

I roll my eyes. "It would be very interesting to watch, for me… And you're older than me, so better the senior than the junior!"

Syaoran teasingly puts a finger to my lips, and before I could move away from him, he lightly brushes his lips against my neck, stopping my protest by intimately kissing me full on my half-open mouth. I can't help but giggle as his tongue slides into my mouth. All this to just avoid making phone calls… Well, just not any calls, but calls to announce my pregnancy to all of our family members.

This should be interesting…

I sigh, "I guess I could call Touya in your place…" I trail off as he kisses the hollow under my ear, nodding. "Only if you do the rest… except for Tomoyo."

He ponders for a moment before replying with a triumphant grin. "Deal."

I playfully kick him away from me, grabbing the phone and ignoring his smug look.

Here we go…

"Hello?" my brother's voice answers, a bit husky and thicker than usual. Long night?

"It's me," I sigh, examining the material of my Marc Jacobs jeans. "Guess what?" I grin, knowing that he'll hear it through the phone. He pauses.

"No… no…" he moans, making a guess at it.

"I'm pregnant!" I squeal, my excitement suddenly bursting out. There's silence, and Syaoran stares at me in anticipation. He probably wants Touya to scream out, since he's not the one calling him. I wince, waiting.

"With Syaoran's kid, right?" Touya mumbles uncertainly. Syaoran bursts out into hysteric fits of laughter, which I ignore. "Of course, you idiot, who else would it be?" I snap.

"'Wait," he suddenly sounds more awake, "You're pregnant?"

I roll my eyes.

Syaoran sniggers. "Frankly, Touya's not the brightest one in the world."

I sigh. "Yes, I'm pregnant, Touya, pregnant! Do you want me to spell that out for you?"

There's more silence. Then the storm comes. "YOU HAD UNPROTECTED SEX, DIDN'T YOU?" he roars.

Syaoran's laughing again, this time grabbing his stomach as if something's tickling him. He's mental, seriously. "Well, he's sort of right…" he manages to say.

"Um… unknowingly," I say feebly, glaring at my unhelpful boyfriend… er… husband.

"HOW DO YOU UNKNOWINGLY HAVE UNPROTECTED SEX? HE RAPED YOU, DIDN'T HE? I KNEW THAT THAT KID WAS A'-"

"He did not rape me," I scoff.

"WELL YOU KNOW WHAT, TELL HIM THAT THE NEXT TIME I SEE HIM, I'LL BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM AND MAKE SURE HE NEVER EVEN NEEDS TO REACH FOR A CONDOM!"

Syaoran pauses and winces. "That sounds painful," he says after thinking about it.

I snicker. "Well, big bro," I say quickly, "You can get me a pair of Prada boots to celebrate my pregnancy – the black one, size eight, okay? Thanks!" I hang up, much to Syaoran's amusement. "That was interesting," he says.

"You haven't seen anything yet," I grimace, dialing Tomoyo's number.

"Oh, this, I have to see," he grins, nodding. He's like a two-year old getting his first bike.

"Hello?" Eriol's voice speaks out clearly.

"Hey, Eriol, it's Sakura," I play with Syaoran's fingers, lifting and dropping them on the couch. "Is Tomoyo there?"

"Yeah… she's actually right beside me," he answers.

Syaoran mouths, "Oh God."

They weren't having sex, were they? Please tell me they weren't having sex.

"We are NOT having sex, Sakura," Tomoyo shouts.

Eriol chuckles, "You're on speakerphone."

"Oh, perfect, I'll just break the news…" Syaoran and I brace ourselves. "I'm pregnant."

"WHAT?" Tomoyo bellows loudly, making us squint. "AND IT'S ABOUT TIME, TOO! FINALLY! WE CAN GO SHOPPING, WE CAN COOK, TALK, AND CONNECT LIKE MOMS DO! WE'LL RAISE OUR BABIES TOGETHER, AND THEY'LL BE BEST FRIENDS, AND-"

"I'm going to hang up before my wife hyperventilates," Eriol laughs nervously over her continuous scream, "Good luck breaking it to everyone else."

And that's it. Hmm. Wife.

I actually never heard Syaoran refer to me as a wife yet. I'm always his secretary… but then again, to be fair, I can't bring myself to call him my husband, since it makes us sound like grandparents or something… I'm sure we'll come around to calling each other "honey" and "sweetie" and all that crap… When we get older.

"That wasn't half-bad as I expected," Syaoran smirks.

"Now it's your turn," I toss the phone to him, and he grimaces as he catches it.

I grin. This will be interesting.

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We both spent the entire night listening to Tomoyo and Syaoran's sisters constantly chirp at us, and Yelan's lengthy lecture on being responsible, caring and smart parent, and my dad's quiet sermon-like speech on how our kid should be raised, and how I should eat and act. And now, it's morning, and I'm in my little apron kissing Syaoran off to work. I've even made him a good breakfast – consisting of toast, eggs and sausages. Simple, but not burnt or uncooked. I'm improving!

"Don't overdo yourself," Syaoran reminds me for the twentieth time before leaving for work. I roll my eyes. He's just like Eriol when Tomoyo was pregnant – he's acting as if I have cancer or something. Does he expect me to knit all day because he gave me a day off for being pregnant? I don't even know how to knit! Honestly, sadistic men… Crap, I don't even know what sadistic means, but it sounds right.

Alright. Let's be rebellious. I can cook. Seriously, I'm pregnant. I could whop something up I could take out of the fridge later when we're hungry. Let's do this!

I collect all the ingredients from the kitchen that I feel are necessary and arrange them on the marble counter, flipping through random cookbooks. I stare blindly at a recipe for simple dished. Let's make… egg benedicts.

Start by… beating eggs?

I grab two eggs and throw them into the wooden bowl in front of me, yelping when the shells and yolk fly towards my face. How do you know how to beat an egg? Seriously, this isn't easy! They're playing funny tricks on me, these losers!

Okay, forget the egg benedict. How about… roast chicken and gravy? Sounds easy.

I slosh some water into another bowl and add whatever the book tells me to. After I place the gravy on the stove, I begin to mash peas, and place the gross, cold, sloppy raw chicken on the tray before shoving it into the oven full blast. That takes care of the chicken.

Alright. Slice up the carrots. Oh God, can't I just shove the whole carrot? I don't want to risk cutting my finger up and adding it to the meal. I don't think Syaoran would like to see my finger in his chicken.

Um… Oh God. The pot is bubbling and roaring with heat. I run over to the stove, knocking the olive oil container and spilling it all over my book. Shit.

Ew… yuck! The so-called gravy is all lumpy and milky… I stir at it before dumping some flour into it. That should make it thick.

Oh shit… I smell smoke. Why is there smoke coming up from the stupid oven? Oh… shit. OUCH! I've burnt my hand grabbing the handle. I use my apron to quickly grab the tray and place it on the counter, where it sizzles dangerously. It's a bloody burnt pan of bloody chicken.

You know what? I'll plastic wrap some new chicken and put it in the oven. They'll just be like potatoes you eat at campfires! Except they're chicken and not potatoes. So I load the oven with a fresh batch of plastic-wrapped chicken and shut it, turning to the frying pan to cook the vegetables. A whole carrot, the mashed peas, some uncut broccoli…

BOOM!

Holy fucking shit! The fucking oven fucking exploded! Am I dead? Intact? I rush to the oven, where smoke is dangerously rising up. I cough and open it, only to see the plastic wraps with holes in them. I sweat as I set the burning pan on the counter. Just then, the unattended frying pan sizzles crazily, spitting hot oil everywhere. This is so not cool.

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It takes me three hours to clean up the kitchen and empty the trash. It's nearly noon, and all I've done is blow up some bloody chicken and get burned by oil.

Alright, so today is obviously not cooking day for me… Let's try the laundry!

I hum the tune to "Keep Holding On" by Avril Lavigne, carrying the laundry basket to the washing machine. I dump the clothes into the hole and pour in some Tide. Oh, I guess I could put in some more. I turn the knob and click the fancy button, and soon it begins to whirl. I smile and turn back, ready to eat lunch.

I snack on a frozen lasagna I warmed up and slosh it down with iced tea – healthy for the baby! With vitamin C and all!

When I return to the washing machine, I nearly scream. There's foam. Everywhere. Oh shit.

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It takes me another two hours to wipe off the foam from everywhere, and to my horror, Syaoran had come back just as I left the machine, my hair disheveled, my apron wet and dirty, foam on my head… He looked astonished as he sat down beside me on the couch, and I had a suspicion he was suppressing his laughter.

"It's just not my day," I sigh as I unwrap the dirty apron and wipe my hands with it, "The baby must be tired."

He snorts. "The baby is technically not even a baby yet, darling."

I ignore him and wipe the foam off of me, glancing his way. I can tell by the way his jaws are tense rigid that he's stressed and wants nothing more than a nice long smoke. I also can tell that he's being cheery for my sake, which isn't helping because I know that he's faking it.

I frown as I casually look over at the stack of magazines and newspapers I've been meaning to read all week. They all have some kind of gossip about Syaoran and me, ranging from my love for powerful, rich men to Syaoran's lack of enthusiasm in showing us off to the camera. Then there was something about my pregnancy with the headline, "Is Syaoran Really the Father?" There was also one ridiculous 'rumour' that I had a fling with Paris Hilton's sex take maker, and that I was persuading Syaoran to tape us doing it and sell if off so I can go shopping!

Seriously, where do they come up with this stuff? It's all nonsense, but it's driving Syaoran mad. I sigh, massaging his hand.

He smiles at me before glancing at his watch. "Crap. It's nearly time," he grimaces, squeezing my hand.

"For what?" I ask, puzzled.

"I was invited to some rowdy party thrown by that Brendon guy," he grits his teeth, "and all the important people are going to be there with him, so I have no choice but to go."

A party? I haven't been to one in ages… At least, a real rowdy one. Not since university – Tomoyo and I used to get drunk and laid all the time… Well, I never had a one-night stand back then, so I always got laid by my boyfriend…

"Would you like to come with me?" he raises his eyebrows knowingly. I pretend to think about it and my thoughts head toward what I should wear. "I know it won't be a… healthy environment, but you can't let me go all alone to a house party," he smirks, kissing my head. I smile back. Now, what to wear…

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We arrive at Brendon's house – mansion, rather – a little after eight. We got stuck in the traffic jam, which was horrible because we also had to watch a car crash into a truck right in front of us. Luckily Syaoran had enough sense to cover my eyes in time. I also pondered for a long time about what I should wear…

I decided to show off my awesome black mini dress by Vivienne Westwood and the gorgeous heels by Prada, topped with Chanel accessories to match my wedding ring and silver clutch.

I convinced Syaoran to wear an immaculate black blazer over a crisp white shirt, with black pants to create the simple, modern look without a tie. And I've got to admit, we both look amazing – as a couple.

Syaoran scoffs at Brendon's garden, mumbling about how ugly it is and how it's fake and unorganized. Ooh, touchy touchy… I suppress my smirk.

We're escorted by butlers through the huge, marble foyer and into the living room, past all the expensive paintings and sculptures. And oh wow, it's full-blast dorm party, except for the unlimited space and displays of flesh.

There's a DJ booth set up with people dancing and grinding all over each other to the music. Syoaran's grip on my waist tightens protectively as we pass by the gyrating, sweaty throngs of people, and whenever a guy "accidentally" brushes up against me suggestively, he flashes the scariest glare ever. I don't get that mad when girls wink at him or anything. I mean… girls don't go raping guys… I think.

The fancy furniture and windows are covered by swarms of people. Guys seem to have girls on them as accessories, and I can tell that they're all doing drugs, smoking and drinking.

I nearly yelp when I see a blond, tanned girl nearly naked and sprawled across a guy's lap. I immediately steer Syaoran the other way when confirming that the girl is indeed nearly naked, with only a silk covering her privates and a bra covering her boobs (a little of it, anyway). Um… this is a business party?

I see more girls in thongs and satin bustiers than I have ever in my life, and all of them are giving such visual kisses that I feel like I'm kissing them myself. "Okay, even if I threw off all my clothes and walked around in my bra and underwear, I'd still have more on than any other girl here!" I shout into Syaoran's ear.

He laughs. "I'd like to see that!"

I stare at a girl with shorts so low and so short that I knew she needed a special wax treatment. Syaoran and I walk past the filmy curtains adorning the platforms and climb the stairs up to the roof. Wow. The rooftop is like a replica of a skybar, with low-riding lounging beds, heat lamps and soft glowing candles. Syaoran clicks his tongue at the windows overlooking the garden before spotting his business people. The music is so loud I don't hear their names as they introduced themselves, and I didn't see Brendon until he appeared by my side to peck my 촏다 in greeting.

Oh God, I can feel Syaoran's murderous feelings bubbling in him. I stroke his back soothingly before accepting a Corona, which Syaoran confiscates immediately. "You're not drinking tonight," he screams loud enough for me to hear. I frown and turn my attention to the bikini dancers by the velour benches. This is a rowdy party.

I leave Syaoran to talk business and wander off towards the food table, where I grab a Corona and drain it. I dial Tomoyo soon after I spot a girl straddling another, as if they were having an actual intercourse on the floor. I'm starting to get scared.

"Hello? Tomoyo?" I scream over the music.

"Where the fuck are you?" she yells back.

"At a party! Can you come?"

She sighs. "No, Sakura! I have to look after Danny! Besides, what the hell are you doing out partying? You should be relaxing, drinking raspberry tea and reading baby books!"

"I just-"

"Sakura, you're married and pregnant. Syaoran's not going to let you work soon, and it'd be much better if you find your own job after you have your baby. You can't rely on him forever, and it's a bad image for both of you!" she shouts.

Why the hell is she so serious?

"I gotta go," I flip the phone shut, stunned.

What image? I retort inwardly as I drain another Corona. I may be working for Syaoran, but that doesn't mean… well, I am relying on him, but we're married, so… But… I thought us being together was the most important thing… and would I work after I have a baby? I mean, I'm only twenty-three, and I can't become a domestic housewife yet!

Suddenly, I'm attacked. Literally.

I'm roughly pushed up against a wall. I gasp, unable to scream. To my horror, it's Brendon, his dark hair covering his eyes as he breathes heavily, as if he's drunk. "I want to fuck you senseless, all night," he croons into my hair. He's drunk alright.

I defiantly keep my eyes leveled at the arms of his beige sweater, urgently looking around for photographers. But I only see people raping each other in public. "Please don't do this," I exhale sharply, feeling his hands slide up my ribs. He smirks drunkenly before brushing his lips sickeningly against my collarbone, and I barely manage to prevent him from kissing my lips.

I feel him grab my ass and thrust his lower half into mine, causing me to yelp out loud. He's trying to do me with clothes on? Sicko! I kick and punch furiously before finally freeing myself from his grasp. I retain myself from slapping him, instead shooting him a glare before hurrying away.

I swallow a Tylenol and wash it down with champagne when I feel a headache rising.

"Well, well, if it isn't Mrs. Li herself," I hear a voice from behind me. I twirl around, only to see Emily Lauren, aka Blond Bitch Longlegs. She has a tight, short, low, revealing red dress by Dior, and a pair of glimmering diamond earrings. Her tan and blond hair versus my pale skin and auburn hair is painfully contrasting.

"Hi," I greet curtly before gulping down a martini, shaken by the term 'Mrs. Li.' I haven't been called that or Syaoran's 'wife' directly yet. Oh. I just remembered… her boyfriend harassed me two times today. Why would he want me when he has this plastic Barbie?

"You haven't been cheating on your husband, have you?" she suddenly asks, raising her perfectly waxed eyebrows. I nearly choke. Bitch.

"Of course not! Why in the world would I do that?" I smile before popping a sushi into my mouth.

"Just curious," she smiles like an ice queen.

This is so awkward. And I hate her attitude.

"Well, I'm going to go…" I slip away before she can say anything more. That was totally stupid.

I finally spot Syaoran, who's drinking from a glass of whiskey. I feel a glow of pride when I see him decline a cigarette from an employee. He spots me and comes to me, hand on my back as he hurriedly rushes me out.

"I can't stand it anymore – let's go home."

I nod, relieved.

Today was the longest, weirdest and most hectic day of my life.

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Chapter 9 – Shopaholic Chaos! - End

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- Love, Waltz Alone