Tiffany’s or Cartier?
“What’s wrong, my love? Aren’t you happy to see me? You haven’t found another bloke already, have you?” I joke, as I take Yvonne’s hand, leading her into the family’s New York City brownstone.
“Of course, I’m delighted to see you, Em. I just have a few things on my mind.” On her mind? Please don’t tell me it’s another man.
“What’s the problem, love. I’m sure we can fix it.” I swallow my apprehension and flash my sunshine smile hoping she doesn’t catch on.
She takes a deep breath in then whispers some words that melt my heart and relieve my fear, “Em, I know we haven’t been together very long, and we haven’t talked about it, bu…”
WHAT?! I don’t let her finish, “You’re pregnant.” Shock and awe mixed in voice. She puts her hands over her face, pulling them away reveals tears, embarrassment and fear of her own.
After a long pause, I hear my voice, deep and smooth, “Tiffany’s or Cartier?” Her expressions spin from fear, to confusion. “Don’t you want to marry me Yvonne? I thought we…”
“YES! YES! A million times, YES! Oh, Em, thank you!”
My worry vanishes. “No, my love, thank you.” I pull her into my arms, bend her over my lap and kiss her passionately. When our lips part, I’m on fire. “Now. Let’s pick up where we left off the last time I was here.” I stand abruptly, sling her over my shoulder, then practically run up the stairs to the second floor, to my bedroom.
