“Not gonna ’gram her?” my brother asked.
“No. She won’t make any Instagram appearances. And I doubt I’ll post on that account any time soon, considering I’m not working at the moment. Besides, I don’t think Instagram famous counts as celebrity.”
My dad’s attention was pulled from Gabby to me. “Speaking of work, you haven’t told me your plans for after your daughter is here. Will you be returning to managing tours?”
Mo’s hand on my knee flexed. “I don’t know,” I said.
“I don’t see how that could possibly be feasible. You can’t take your child with you, and are you really going to be willing to leave her for months on end?” he asked.
“Dad, I don’t know. I really don’t. It’s hard for me to imagine switching careers entirely. I have no idea what I’d do. Managing tours is all I know.” I cupped my belly. “But you’re right. I won’t be able to leave her for that long either. I don’t want to think about it right now.”
My dad sat up straighter, pinning me with his patentedI’m-so-fucking-disappointed-in-yougaze. “Isn’t that your motto?I’ll think about it later.It’s not cute anymore, Michaela. You’re thirty-four years old, not some fancy-free kid. Youhaveto think about this right now.” He pointed an accusing finger at my belly. “Your girl is going to be here before you know it. Will that be when you get your act together? When you’re crammed in your brother’s pool house with a newborn?”
He knew right where to hit me. My mushy, hot mess center. The part of me who’d gotten divorced a decade ago, but hadn’t tried to rebuild a new life of my own since. Work was my life. The rest of the time, I just coasted. I lived out of a laundry basket, ate cheese and crackers for dinner more often than I should have, and my favorite people to hang out with were under ten. I’d been sayingI’ll move out next yearfor too many years to count.
My dad was right, but that didn’t mean I wanted to hear it. Not when he was so damn smug about it. I loved the man, but at times, I really didn’t like him.
I’d cried enough today. I wasn’t going to let my dad claim a single tear.
Before I could defend myself, Mo spoke for me. “Michaela and I have made plans for the near future, and we’ll be deciding together what we want to do once the baby is here. She’s not in this alone. If she wants to keep touring, then we’ll make it happen. And no, she won’t be crammed in her brother’s pool house, but if she wanted to be, I’d be crammed in there with her.” He jerked his chin in that cocky-smooth way that had gotten me to drop my pants for him in the first place. “Sir.”
As always, Lars Ashwood remained unmoved. “What might these plans be, young man?”
Mo relaxed in his chair, his arm draped over my lap, hand possessive on my leg. “As you said, Michaela is a thirty-four-year-old woman, about to be a mom. I’m not sure if she needs her dad’s approval anymore.”
Some frozen place inside me melted. My dad was intimidating in almost every way—his size, his voice, his position in the industry. I had a feeling Mowasintimidated, but he didn’t show it. Devon had basically bowed down to him. He had never stuck up for me in my dad’s presence. No one did. Lars Ashwood was law, at least in these parts.
My dad nodded, his mouth turned down. “Interesting and unexpected. I’m glad she has you, Mo.”
“Nah, she doesn’t need me. I’m sure as hell glad she wants me, but Mic would rock the hell out of being a solo mom. I know that for a fact.” Mo’s eyes grazed over my face, the corners of his mouth tipped up.
Ansel pushed his chair back, scraping on the stone patio. “Okay, now that everyone’s wagged their dick around, let’s celebrate the healthy little girl Mic’s got cooking.” He held up his beer bottle. “Cheers to Mo, Mickey, and baby Hepzibah.”
I raised my water bottle with a grateful smile, and Mo leaned closer to me. “Now that I’ve heard it a few times, Hepzibah is growing on me,” he whispered.
I jerked back, laughing. “Do you want to be pushed into the pool? That can be arranged.”
His eyes went heavy. “I like pools with you. You gonna join me?”
My mother let out a dramatic sigh, drawing all eyes to her, as had been her plan. It was always her plan. “The two of you are simply divine. I’ll need at least three months’ notice if I am to be attending a wedding. My tailor is irreplaceable, but the man doesn’t know the meaning of rush order.”
I frowned at her. “I understood all the words you just said, but not what they had to do with each other, or Mo and me.”
Another equally dramatic sigh. “Obviously, I’ll have to have a gown made for your wedding. Is that truly so hard to understand?”
“Jesus, Mom. Since when are you into traditional relationships?” Another parent who often pressed on my tender spots, albeit unknowingly. Or maybe I just had too many tender spots.
She plumped her springy curls. “Marriage may not have been for me, but I know you. You’re the marrying kind. You chose poorly with that Devon creature, and I suppose that’s my fault, since your father and I were awful role models. But you, my beloved, are a woman who needs stability, even if you don’t know it.”
“Mo and I are stable,” I mumbled, feeling his gaze on the side of my face, but unable to meet it. I could’ve shouted out weweremarried, but a quickie Vegas marriage wasn’t exactly the picture of stability, was it?
My beautiful sister-in-law swept in to save the day, diverting Gabby from the topic of marriage by inquiring about her tailor. My mom’s tailor, Victorio, was five thousand years old and had been making her clothes since she got her first paycheck as a background singer. We all knew everything there was to know about Victorio, but Rosa also knew my mother’s favorite topic—besides herself—was her wardrobe.
Later, when Mo and I were sent home, forbidden from helping wash the dishes, we stopped in front of my cottage.
“Should we go to your place?” I asked.
He dipped his head and nuzzled the side of my neck, making my toes curl. “I’m tired, Mic. You mind if I sleep here tonight? Don’t know if I’ll make it if I have to drive back to the city.”