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I told the team I was going to do it one final time. Any other photos the press got from Gigi and me were going to be purely coincidental.
I scout a clear path to the restaurant before I look over at Gigi. My heart thrums as I take her in…again. She looks stunning in a short black dress that leaves her arms and shoulders bare. Her hair is pulled up in a complicated knot, her face free of makeup.
She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Gigi changed the moment we decided to make the baby our priority. She is freer, happier,joyful.She completely let go of all her past barriers.
And it’s difficult for me not todo the same.
“You okay?” I ask her.
She nods. “Let’s go in.”
The swarm of paparazzi do not perch close and harass us like they did last time. But as we walk across the curb, the cameras click faster, and some questions are thrown at us. I barely listen to any. Within seconds, Gigi and I are inside the restaurant, and the waiter thankfully escorts us to our table.
“Phew,” Gigi sighs, a small grin appearing on her face.
I look away as I reach for the menu, my heart continuing to thrum. The fierce, strong-headed version of Gigi had been hard enough to look at without wanting to pull her into my arms and kiss the fierceness out of her. And be inher.
But right now, the glowing Gigi that sits in front of me invites a different sort of temptation. One where I want to pull her into my arms, holdher, and let her know that I’m going to do everything I can to protect her.
One where I say those words and mean them.
The waiter comes up for our orders.
“Spaghetti Bolognese,” she says without hesitation. “I’ve been craving it all day.”
Cravings,I think to myself, excitement bubbling in the pit of my belly at the thought of our baby growing enough to induce thatpregnancy symptom.
I order the same, and the waiter shuffles off.
“What’s that?” Gigi asks suddenly.
I raise a brow, wondering if she’s about to start an interrogation as to why I would copy her order. “What?”
“You smiled when I talked about cravings.”
I lean back in the chair, feeling embarrassed for the first time in my life. “I did not.”
“Brandon,” she says, a slight warning in her tone.
I bite back a smile. It’s ironic to think that I’ve had dinner with several married couples who argued this way, and I’d cringed through the whole ordeal.
Now, I was on the receiving end of it, and it isn’t allthat bad. A little amusing, perhaps.
Married.
The word floats through my brain, and I straighten up as a pang hits me in the chest. Gigi and I are notmarried. Yes, we finally formed a cordial relationship, but it is all because of the baby.
I can’t let myself think of that, or of what will happen after the baby is born.
I needto be fine with how far we’ve come right now.
“Alright,” I say, deciding my embarrassment would be far easier to focus on than any other thought that filled my brain. “I thought it was amusing.”
Gigi raises a brow. “Why?”
I feel a hint of exasperation. I was wrong to think that there were two versions of Gigi. The Gigi in front of me is as inquisitive and demanding as the first time I met her. Only that she hides it under the veil of joy she now wears.
“Because I’ve been reading up on cravings,” I say, my embarrassment compounding. I’d rather admit that to Theodore and let him have a field day with it than tell Gigi. “I got some books about pregnancy because, quite frankly, I don’t know a thing about it.”
