Page 33 of Text Me A Kiss
“Alright, that’s enough about work,” my mom interjected. “We’re celebrating! I think I’ll order a margarita. Do you want one, Kady?”
“Y—”Uh, hello, pregnant!My mind slapped me across the face. “No thanks, Mom. I’m supposed to go out with Olivia later,” I added, because my mom knew I’d never refuse a margarita.
“Just drink responsibly. Hi, could I get a margarita, please?”
I rolled my eyes.
Dinner was great, seeing both my parents again was wonderful, and yet, when they said their goodbyes outside my apartment after a few hours, I slumped onto the sofa in relief.
Barely. Six hours, that was all the time I’d spent with my parents, and I’d just barely gotten through those hours without blabbing something that would reveal my and Graham’s secret in the worst way possible. When I told them, I wanted it to be from me on my terms, not accidentally through some slip-up.
Soon,I comforted myself. I just needed to spend a little time reading one of the several books and informative pamphlets Graham had gotten me about pregnancy, figure myself out, and talk to my parents calmly and rationally.
“Hey Graham,” I said as soon as he picked up. “What time are you coming tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow? Girl, I’m waiting at the airport right now for you to tell me to come pick you up.”
“Graham!” I admonished him, laughing even as my eyes flew around the messy, not-packed-whatsoever room. “I’m not ready!”
“Then tell me what to do to help you get ready. Be there in 20. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I whispered. The call had ended and he wouldn’t hear me, but I still needed to say it.
* * *
“Wow.”
“What?” Graham tossed his wallet and phone on the countertop.
I say the countertop, but what I really meant was the wide, wrap-around marble slab that surrounded the massive, open kitchen with its large stainless-steel appliances, full bar, and large island with comfortable, pull-out stools and a stove. The entire kitchen gleamed with cleanliness, as though it were hardly used or cleaned after someone so much as stepped foot inside it.
“Like… I know you’re a billionaire, but… wow.” The living room wasn’t any less magnificent. Whites, grays, browns, and royal purple made up the color schemes of the enormous patterned rug, upholstered chairs and couch, and plentiful hanging lights.
“Oh, the house?” He followed my gaze to the tall floor-to-ceiling windows. “I have a balcony too. We can have breakfast on it, if you want.”
“Are you sure it’s okay for me to bring my stuff here?” The soft chair cushioned my back as I sat down.
“Sure. Anything big that you don’t want here can go to storage until you need it.”
“No, I mean….” Another scan of the large, open living room and kitchen gave me inspiration. “You had an interior designer in here, didn’t you? I wouldn’t want to do anything to mess with… well, everything. The rooms. Color schemes, and such.”
Graham nudged my leg with his knee. Confused, I scooted over a bit, then squeaked with surprise as he picked me up easily and sat me on his lap, hugging me close. “Kitten, you’re not a guest here. I don’t want you to look around and see only my things. I want you to feel like you belong here, and that means having things of your own around until you feel like my things are your things.”
I leaned back, baring my neck for him to nuzzle and kiss. “Then help me unpack some things?”
Warm, even breath tickled my ear. “Of course.”
* * *
A week later, I’d begun to do just as Graham wanted—to treat the space as my own, without closing doors ever so carefully, skirting the large, beautiful rug for fear of dirtying it, and to use things without asking. Nearly every day, I pored through pages and pages of pregnancy diets and chose recipes I’d cooked before, ones I would like to try, and a few that seemed pretty difficult but could be fun. I spent hours cooking in that massive kitchen until I learned where every single pot, pan, Tupperware, and spoon belonged.
I met the cleaning staff, too. On the first day, I had been hesitant to open the door to the lady I saw through the peephole. Her cleaning cart had been just out of sight. The idea of being rich enough to have people to clean your house was strange, but the thought of letting strangers have the key to the house to clean was even stranger to me.
“I can clean,” I had told Graham the next day. “At least until….” I put a hand over my stomach. Three weeks and some change along, and so far, I didn’t really notice a difference in how I looked. As I’d told Graham often, though, I certainly felt pregnant.
“Sure, babe.” Damn, I loved this man. He didn’t ask me if I was sure, or if I really thought I could handle cleaning in “my condition”. “The number for housekeeping is on the fridge. I’ll call and cancel cleaning services for now, and you can just call them when you think you’re ready for them to take over.”
That was only one of the instances of Graham’s thoughtfulness. A few days after I had moved in with him, he told me he had a surprise for me. The surprise turned out to be a dance studio, which Graham had signed up for with monthly payments so I could dance there and keep up my form.