Page 75 of If Tomorrow Never Comes
“Do not judge pregnancy hunger, Julian. It’s not safe for your boys.”
I pat the space next to me. “Get your ass back in bed. We’re being released in a few hours, and I’ll take you to a real restaurant for real food that isn’t fossilized.”
She snuggled in next to me and rests her head on my chest “Smartass.”
* * *
The minute we step foot into the crowded restaurant, I know all hell is about to break loose.
I have to chuckle at my own naïveté. Even though New York is the town of stars, where A-listers walk among commoners in perfect harmony, usually no one is that star struck.
Today proves me wrong.
Female fans swarm around me like moths. Some grab napkins and meal receipts for me to sign, some grab their cell phones and snap pictures, but all are more desperate than the next to garner my attention. I watch as Phoebe slowly backs away.
Why does it have to be such a big production just to have a meal? Rhetorical question… Because I’m the front man of Lords of Lyre. It’ll always be this way. This is my life, and if she chooses to be with me…it’ll be hers.
“Phoebe, come on.” Pulling her away from the buzzing crowd of onlookers, I manage to guide her into the chair.
As I slide into my own chair, I hande her a menu.
After we order, she remains tight-lipped for fifteen minutes as another swarm of fans invade our table. She just stares at her lap, sitting quietly until they’re all gone.
Those few moments of silence give me the courage to say what I’ve really wanted to since leaving the hospital.
Just as I open my mouth, our plates arrive. As I unscrew the tiny syrup bottle and dump it on my pancakes, an idea hits me.
Ripping the top rim off the syrup bottle, I hold it tightly in the palm of my hand. “So, you never answered me.”
“About what?” she asks, her mouth full.
“About marrying me.”
She sighs and puts her fork down. “Julian, come on, it’s just crazy! We’ve only known each other a few months.”
“Phoebe, what’s crazy is you acting like we’re pen pals. You’re having my baby for Christ’s sake. I think that negates the whole obligatory dating phase, don’t you?”
“But why marriage? Why can’t we just be us? No rules, no expectations—”
“No commitment,” I finish for her, throwing my own fork down. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”
Picking her fork back up, she shoves it in my face. “Look, Bale, only one of us gets to be the moody, hormonal bitch around here, and by default, I win.” Her voice climbs a few octaves. “Getting married? I’m pregnant, Julian! That’s about as committed as I think it gets. We have this person coming who’s going to depend on us for everything. I don’t need some stupid ring on my finger, or some stupid preacher saying some stupid words to tell me I’m committed, you got that?”
She’s practically screeching as she kneels on the booth and jabs her fork into my chest. Smiling, I slide my phone from my pocket and began dialing.
“What the hell are you’re doing?”
“I’m calling my mom and Ryker to tell them the good news.”
“Are you deaf, Julian? I told you no!”
“Princess, during your adorable meltdown, did you neglect to notice the herd of paparazzi perched over near the wall of shrubbery?”
With horror in her eyes, she peers over the wall, and her face falls. “Oh fuck.”
“Yes, ‘oh fuck’ is right. And since you decided to announce, very loudly I might add, to the entire restaurant that you’re pregnant, and we’re getting married, I can guarantee a new installment of ‘Phulian Watch’ is being printed as we speak. My mom reads that column like crack. I’m intercepting before she reads about it and calls to rip me a new asshole.”
“I’m such an idiot,” she groans, dropping her head into the crook of her arm.
