Page 153 of Fame and Obsession

Letting out a groan of frustration, she throws the sheet off, attempting to stand up.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“You’re being a stubborn ass, and beyond being irritated at you, I’m hungry. I know there’s a vending machine in the waiting room down the hall.” Raising a hand, she points a finger at me. “Before you make some smartass remark, I’ll remind you about my tendency toward emotional outbursts these days.”

“Pregnant women are nasty,” I joke.

As she turns away, I prop up on one elbow, watching her grab her IV pole and then bend over to unplug it from the wall. Just as she reaches for the doorknob, the words slip out before I even know I’m saying them.

“Marry me.”

Shit! Did I just say that out loud?

Phoebe freezes, her focus on the door as my stomach does an Olympic-worthy somersault. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Marry me.”

“I think that bat to the head knocked something loose, Julian.”

“I’m not fucking around. Marry me. Let’s just do it. Let’s drive to Atlantic City and get married.” My stomach churns, and my forehead breaks out in a cold sweat as the words tumble from my mouth, but I mean every damn word.

I’ve never been more serious in my life.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Give me one good reason why not?”

“I’ll give you three,” she says, ticking them off on her fingers. “One, my parents weren’t exactly the best role models for marriage. Two, your mother would probably have a meltdown if we got married without her there. And Three, I’m not marrying you in some cheesy casino chapel that gives out poker chips and condoms as a wedding gift.”

“My mother will get over it.” Giving her rounded abdomen a deliberate nod, I grin. “And I think it’s too late for condoms.”

“You’re an ass.”

“Yes, you’ve established that already.”

“I’m not marrying you, Julian. Not today, not next week, and not by Elvis. Besides, what’s the rush? I think the secret’s out about the baby.”

“Why are you so determined to wait?”

She smirks. “Don’t answer my question with a question.”

“Don’t question my question.”

“Damn it, Bale.” She presses her fingertips to her temples. “Your kid is very pissed right now because you’ve delayed lunch. I hope you’re happy with yourself.” She makes her way down the hall, closing the door behind her.

What the fucking hell just happened?

Why is it so important that she marry me before I leave? I had no intention of proposing, then the words just came flying out of my mouth. Strangely enough, I don’t want to take them back. Marriage has always scared me, but saying the words to Phoebe makes me realize it’s exactly what I want.

Phoebe curses as she reenters the room, holding a hardened honey bun package. I watch as she enthusiastically rips it apart with both hands.

She catches me staring and narrows her eyes. “Think twice before you make some overtly sexual comment right now.” With a lift of her eyebrows, she shoves half of it in her mouth, swooshing the pastry around her cheeks.

“That’s nasty.”

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