Page 29 of Baby for Stepmom

“If things don’t end up going well today, I need you to know that I’ll protect you.” He pulled me closer against him, letting me feel the strength of his muscular body.

“What are you talking about?” This was just a birthday party. Why would I need protection?

The look of determination flashing on his face didn’t match the sugar and frosting spilled in little piles across his cousin’s kitchen, or the balloons still getting inflated over in the other room.

“I love you.”

My jaw dropped as my whole face heated.

Jax loves me?

This sculpted sex god of a man loves me?

At the same time that I wanted to jump off the walls in elation, something nagged at me from the pit of my stomach. Something about this didn’t feel right.

Why now?

Why would he need to reassure me, give me this declaration of love now?

Calm down—this stress wasn’t good for the baby.

Jax just told me he loves me; it wasn’t time to panic. Everything was going to be okay.

All of this—the decorations, the family members, the planning—it wasn’t that serious. No matter what this nagging feeling was telling me otherwise. Things felt off, but that could just be pregnancy hormones?

Really. It was nothing but a little party—what could go wrong?

TWENTY-FIVE

DELILA

As we drove back up to the house, Jax opened the door sternly shushing everyone as his cousins handed out decorations.

“Be quiet.” Jax ordered as people filed in, grasping the balloons and party poppers. I was still holding that red velvet cake—there was no way that I had made enough. Not only had Jax invited most of his extended family, but I also recognized loads of his coworkers. “I think Dad’s in his room. Wait till I open the door to yell surprise.”

He also gestured to Victoria, “hey can you film it? I want to see his expression.”

Victoria was biting her knuckle to stop from giggling as she dug her phone out of her pocket.

Everyone followed Jax up the stairs, whispering, some with their phones out and recording.

With a group huddled around him, Jax opened the door wide.

Red velvet dropped to the floor with a dull thump, smearing into the bedroom carpet.

People in the front gasped, freezing in place, as one does at the end of a long line of traffic, at the site of the accident—once the wreckage is revealed and the injured are carted off in stretchers and it is impossible to look away.

My husband wasn’t frozen though. He was… distracted… and missed the sound of the door opening and all the footsteps rushing inside. He was still going. Grunting. Buck-ass-naked between the legs of some girl from his office—couldn’t remember if she was his secretary or the mail clerk—thrusting away more passionately than he’d ever been with me.

Oh.

At least until some of the crowd pushed forward, assuming that the celebration was still on, yelling “surprise!”

Those latecomers stepped into the room laughing; someone even set off a party popper—before realizing what was going on…

That my husband of six years had just ripped himself out of some other woman mid thrust. That said woman was now laying in the bed fully exposed, hiding her face in her hands—sorry, Susan from the office—too late to hide her identity. Or any inch of her body from dozens of strangers, and the phones still out recording.

I held my hand over my tummy, as if I needed to cover my unborn child’s eyes from the naked tangle of adultery that was rapidly separating and hiding under blankets and pulling on sweatpants.