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A promise that I’ll be there, no matter how messy things get, no matter how scared we both are. I’m not just here for the baby—I’m here for her. For us.

The ring glitters under the chandelier’s soft light, the facets catching the glow and reflecting it back in a thousand little sparks. I never thought I’d be here, ready to propose to someone again.

But with Tasha, it’s different. She’s different. She’s not just some woman I got involved with by accident. She’s everything I never knew I needed.

I close the box and slip it back into my pocket, a surge of determination filling me.

Tonight, I’m going to findmyTasha.

I’m going to tell her that I love her, that I want her by my side, not just as the mother of my child, but as my partner.

Chapter Twenty-One

Tasha

It’s only my fourth shift at The Oasis, but it already feels like I’ve been doing this forever.

I step into the back room, the harsh fluorescent lights flickering above me as I make my way to the rows of beat-up metal lockers.

My feet are already aching, and the night hasn’t even started yet.

Opening my locker, I toss in my purse and quickly change into the uniform. The tight, low-cut tank top hugs the swells of my breasts and the black shorts ride a little too high for comfort.

As I tie my frilly apron around my waist, that familiar queasiness hits me again.

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to calm my stomach.

Glancing down at my belly, I smooth my hand over it.

Is it just my imagination, or am I starting to show already?

It feels impossible. It’s too early, isn’t it?

But then again, I am carrying three babies.

Shaking my head, I try to brush the thought away. I don’t have time to worry about that right now. I’ve got bills to pay, and this job is the only thing keeping me afloat.

I slam my locker shut, steeling myself for yet another long night.

I can do this, I tell myself. I have to.

I step out onto the casino floor, bombarded by the sounds of clinking glasses, slot machines, and laughter.

The Oasis is a world unto itself, a wild attempt to recreate the beaches of Jamaica inside the heart of Vegas’s desert.

Huge faux palm trees are scattered around, their green plastic fronds swaying in the breeze from ceiling fans.

The walls are painted with vivid murals of beaches at sunset and crashing waves. The warm, orange-colored overhead lights add to the effect.

The air is thick with the scent of coconut and rum, mingling with the tang of spilled beer.

Tiki torches cast a soft glow over the bar area, where bartenders are already whipping up a colorful array of tropical cocktails in giant glass goblets.

Everything is designed to make patrons forget they’re in the middle of the desert. It’s all meant to trick them into thinking they’ve been whisked away to a tropical paradise.

I plaster on a smile as I approach my first table, a group of eight guys, already halfway through a pitcher of something neon-colored.

“Hey there, gentlemen! What can I get started for you tonight?” I ask, my voice bright and cheerful.