Page 81 of Not Before Game Night
Mine for keeps, forever.
Epilogue
Cole
Eight months later…
“Goddess, keep still and stop making that face at me.” I chuckled while Vanessa frowned.
“I look fat,” she complained. “Worse than a troll.”
As usual, I just gave her a look that showed her I wouldn’t be swayed.
“You look beautiful. Can’t you humor a humble artist who wants a painting of his pregnant wife?”
She pretended to look annoyed, but I knew she wasn’t.
Maybe just about the part where I was painting her, but not the rest. We both had our own excitement over being married and having our baby. We each just had different ways of showing it.
Painting even more pictures of her was what I did when I wasn’t showing her off to the world.
That part I did every chance I got.
The Centaurs sadly did not win the Super Bowl this year, but I never took it to heart.
My girl was my biggest accomplishment and what I looked forward to everyday.
I’d showed her off right from the day I proposed, to our wedding on the beautiful white sandy beach of Barbados. We’d been married now for six months, and every day was amazing.
While the Internet was filled with images of us, my gallery was filled with more paintings of her. Just like years ago, I didn’t need an excuse to paint her, but I would definitely admit that the way her body was changing with her ever-growing bump truly fascinated me, and I made sure I captured all of it.
Her when her bump started to show, her six months pregnant when her stomach was full and round, and now her heavily pregnant like she was ready to drop.
All beautiful.
I took a moment to appreciate what I had with her. My beautiful, beautiful wife stood before me naked against the backdrop of the long windows and the view of the willow trees swaying in the breeze in the night.
She looked every bit the goddess she was with her hair flowing against her bare skin.
She’d turned to the side so I could get the full view of her baby bump and covered her breasts with her hands.
I was hoping to get one last one before our son was born.
Our son.
We were having a boy, and I couldn’t wait to meet him.
I wondered if he’d want to play football like me, or paint. Maybe both. Or, maybe he’d be like her.
“You’re looking at me weird again, so I’m guessing you’re happy,” she stated, glancing at me.
“I’m happy.”
Everything was wonderful.
“You better be. I’ve been standing like this for twenty minutes.” She giggled. “Any longer, and this baby will be born here.”
“Five more minutes, and I’ll give you a foot rub and bake you hot fudge chocolate cookies.”
