But damn, should I watch it, considering she might be pregnant with my baby? I don’t want to hurt her or our future kid. And how do I even bring that up? Over dinner, after they serve us our drinks but before we get our salads?
Hey, baby, word on the street is you’re pregnant. Is it true?
That is the wrong way to approach it. I’m not stupid.
What if she plans on telling me about the pregnancy tonight? Nice little dinner. Pretty dress. Long, sexy legs as a distraction and then bam. We’re gonna have a baby.
Doesn’t seem like a bad way to tell me.
Maybe she’s nervous—too scared to tell me, which I don’t want her to be. But I get it. This is a big moment. Something that will change our lives forever. Something I never expected this early in the game.
I know things have been a little off between us, but we need to get back on track. I was reluctant earlier when she suggested we should go out to dinner tonight, but I realized pretty quickly my wife needs to get back to the land of the living. And I need to support her in her endeavor.
So here I am, driving through the city streets, headed for a restaurant that Winston recommended that costs more than some people’s monthly salary for two meals, but I don’t give a fuck. My wife deserves whatever she wants. I want to be the one to put a smile on her face tonight. And not through just sex either.
It goes beyond that for me.
For us.
By the time we’re finally at the restaurant, I’ve got my secret sexual thoughts under control and I’m tossing my car keys at the valet, whose eyes are wide as he takes in my orange Chevelle, the slick paint gleaming beneath the lights. Another valet opens the car door for my wife and when his gaze drops to her legs as she steps out of the car, I almost lose it.
“Hey,” I snap at him, his gaze jumping to mine, full of guilt. “Eyes up here, buddy.”
“Perry,” Charlotte admonishes as I make my way toward her and take her arm, steering her toward the restaurant entrance. “Stop scaring everyone. He wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
“Staring at your legs is wrong in my book,” I mutter, nudging the dick standing nearby out of my way so I can hold the door open for my wife. She walks inside and I follow after her. “It’s obvious we’re together.”
“I don’t think he was checking me out,” she says airily, though I note the way her eyes dance.
Pretty sure she’s having fun with this. Torturing me.
“Uh-huh.” Tamping my jealousy down, I smile at the hostess, who’s a gorgeous redhead with dark brown eyes that skim over me appreciatively. “Reservation for two at seven-thirty. Constantine.”
“Oh yes. Here you are.” She glances up from the computer screen she just scanned, barely looking at my wife. The hostess’s attention is all for me. “I’ll escort you to your table. Follow me.”
Charlotte grabs my hand as we enter the restaurant, the two of us walking side by side, following the hostess as she leads us to our table. “She was checking you out.”
“No. Really?” It’s my turn to tease her and she knows it. “See? That’s how I felt outside with the valet.”
“There’s nothing wrong with looking,” she says with a careless shrug of her shoulder.
“Right. Anyone touches you, babe, and I’m going caveman on them. Just watch me.” I yank her closer, whispering in her ear, “Don’t forget who you belong to.”
“Trust me, I don’t. You won’t let me,” she says, sounding breathless.
“Damn straight.”
I glance around the restaurant, not surprised at all to see some of the men sitting at the tables watching my wife walk by with interest flaring in their eyes. I glare at every single one of them, pleased to find each one looking away first. By the time we’re seated and the hostess leaves us with our menus, I’m satisfied that not a single dude is staring in our table’s direction.
Good. They need to back the fuck off.
My wife is completely oblivious, cracking open her menu to study the offerings within. “There aren’t any prices on anything,” she observes.
“This place costs a fortune.” I try not to sweat at the lack of prices. This type of shit used to not matter to me. When I was younger, I spent our family’s money carelessly, not giving a damn how much anything cost. Always secure that whatever I wanted would be covered by the Constantine fortune.
Such douchey behavior. No wonder Winston couldn’t stand me.
I’ve changed. I appreciate the value of a dollar, and while I’m still secure with our family’s money, at least I’m earning my own now—and doing a decent job of it, too. And don’t get me started on the Lancaster wealth. I won’t even touch Charlotte’s money. She can keep that to herself. I’m not a mooch, despite what her father might think of me.