I try to keep my face straight, but my lips twitch ...
Elise’s pov
A few weeks have gone by, and I now live with Damien in his parents’ old summerhouse. His father, who is not the worst man in the world, gave it to us without asking for anything in return. Damien says his dad puts his career before family, which is why his parents did not stay together. I did not respond when he said that, but it made me sad knowing his father is not around much, especially now.
“Babe, I think you are supposed to walk this way,” Damien says as he gently guides me toward another room where a group of people sit on blue mats.
I instantly notice the way the women in the room stare at him, tall and broad-shouldered, and that familiar knot of jealousy rises in me again. I feel it often, when a cashier flutters her eyes at him, when a stranger openly asks him out in front of me. It eats at me, even though I know Damien would never betray me. Still, with my stomach growing and my body changing, I cannot help comparing myself to everyone else.
“This is a good spot,” Damien says, unrolling a mat for me.
We are here for a yoga class. Madam Faux has prepared poses that will not strain my stomach.
“Thank you,” I say with a smile. “For coming with me too.”
“Anytime.”
While he rolls out his mat, I catch Stephanie, one of the regulars, staring at his arms. She looks like she is in her mid-twenties, a little older than me, and very pretty. When Damien stretches his shoulders, her whole face lights up. My glare must give me away because she goes wide-eyed, cheeks flushing as she realizes I caught her looking.
It makes me want to scream. If women are already lining up for him, how bad will it get when I am heavily pregnant with twins?
The class begins, and soon Damien is sweating. I stick to the modified poses Madam Faux designed for me, but he tries to keep up with the others. His face turns red, and he grunts through every stretch.
“I thought this was supposed to be yoga?” he mutters breathlessly, bent over with his backside in the air. The view makes me bite back a grin. “What kind of move is this?”
“Yoga for women, honey,” I reply. “Madam Faux says it helps in bed and teaches the right positions for the perfect climax.”
His head shoots up. “The what?”
“Hush!” Madam Faux calls as she makes her way toward us. She is in her late fifties, dressed to impress, and her attention immediately locks on Damien. She circles him like a hawk, and when she stands behind him, her eyes linger on his body in a way that makes my stomach turn.
“Excellent form, Lancaster,” she purrs before moving on.
This time I am not jealous, mostly because Damien looks horrified. When she is out of earshot, he twists toward me, his face pale. “That woman just checked me out! She is older than sixty!” His voice rises in panic. “Elise, this is the last time I come to yoga with you!”
“Do not blame me,” I shoot back. “You insisted on coming. You would not even let me walk to the car by myself!”
“You are pregnant!”
“That does not make me helpless!”
“Whatever,” he huffs, wiping his forehead. “I am dying over here. This is harder than football. My muscles are on fire, and that instructor just—God, she gave me the look. This is a nightmare, Elise.”
I cannot hold it in and snort, which earns me a deadly glare.
“Do not you dare laugh at me,” he warns. “This is not funny, Elise!”
“I am not laughing…” I try to keep my face straight, but my lips twitch and the sound threatens to spill out of me.
“Not laughing my ass,” Damien hisses. “You are shaking like a damn phone on vibrate!”
That almost finishes me, and I let out another snort. “Stop…”
“I am wearing leggings, Elise. Leggings! Everything is on display. And your instructor? She looked. She is coming back. And, oh God, she just licked her lips!”
“You need to stop,” I choke out, my stomach clenching. Or at least it would if I still had one. Right now, I am round and heavy, no abs in sight.
“You are a complete psycho,” Damien mutters, eyes wide. “You made me wear these things. Told me everyone does. Swore up and down I would fit in. But that woman over there? She is not in leggings, Elise. Those are sweatpants!”
That word, psycho, tips me over the edge. Laughter bursts out of me, and I double over, cackling so loud that the entire room turns to stare. Even Madam Faux pauses mid-pose to blink at me.
“Focus, Elise,” she calls, unimpressed. “Deep breaths.”
“I am sorry,” I manage, wiping tears from my cheeks. Damien mouths “psycho” at me from his mat, his eyes full of mischief. It sets me off again, and my chest aches from laughing. He makes me feel like nothing else matters, like love could burst out of me in every direction. I want to marry this man. I want a whole lifetime of children with him. I am so hopelessly in love it scares me.
The class goes on, but Damien eventually pulls off his shirt, tossing it to the side. Now it is my turn to struggle with focus. His body glistens with sweat, skin sun-kissed and muscles flexing with every movement. I know I should be concentrating on my gentle poses, but all I can think about is him, his strength, his smile, and how lucky I am that he is mine.