All Chapters of Vegas Hangover: A Husband and a baby: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

MIRANDA I woke up startled, my heart racing because of the vivid dream I had. Sweat trickled down my forehead and the valley of my breasts. The memories of the dream were slowly fading, becoming confusing and nonsensical; I try to remember, and I only hear the indistinct sound of slow, disconnected music. Gradually my breathing stabilizes. I realize I am not in my room, much less in a familiar apartment. I get out of bed quickly and run to the curtains covering the view outside. In an impulse, I open them, finding myself facing a glass door to a small balcony, with a reinforced glass railing with a steel handrail. The buildings in front of this building were not recognizable; I needed something more to locate myself and know where the hell I was. Without a second thought, I unlocked the door and pushed it open; the freezing night air caressed my face. Spreading my hair with the soft gust of wind, in hesitant steps I walk to the edge of the balcony, grab the railing, and lean my

MARLON Today, as incredible as it may seem, I woke up early. Actually, I didn't even really sleep, I just dozed off to be more specific; I had things keeping me awake. I feel a smile form on my lips as I look at the cause of my poorly slept night and the most well-spent ones: my angel, sleeping so peacefully and serene, which completely contradicted the hurricane Miranda she represented. A hurricane that entered my life, changing me, destroying everything I once was and transforming me completely. Since the day we were together for the first time, I knew she wouldn't be just a one-night stand; she was different. Not because she had a different style and appearance from the women I usually went out with. None of those more desirable women were able to bring me that burning passion and desire that seemed to never end. Yes, I had felt passion for them, but it was always fleeting. With my angel, nothing was different or predictable. The unexpected always happened every time I came to

MIRANDAI open my eyes only to find Marlon's side empty, immediately feeling bothered.I thought I would wake up with him by my side. I sat up in bed only to throw myself onto his side again and inhale his scent on the pillow.Thank goodness he wasn't there to see that side of me, and even more so the silly smile that grew on my face. But unfortunately, that was just what I thought; I jumped up as if I had been shocked upon hearing his voice behind me."What are you doing?""Nothing!" I exclaimed, sitting up quickly on the bed, only to look at Marlon, who was holding a tray with ham and cheese sandwiches, a glass of juice, and a plate with a PUDDING.A happiness grew inside me upon seeing the dessert. My eyes wouldn't stop staring at that small piece of creamy and soft sweetness, which I now desired with all my might. I ran my tongue over my lips watching that pudding get closer and closer."Good morning," he said, placing the tray on the dresser and turning back to kiss me.I kissed

MARLON I didn't find Emile when I left Miranda, but I didn't care. All I could think about was if Charles had arrived; everything depended on him. Going down the stairs two by two, I see Emile sitting on one of the three chairs facing the kitchen counter, staring at a glass of water, and coming out of the elevator was my father with... The stepmother. Ugh, I frowned at the fake smile she directed at me; her slender neck sported a new diamond necklace, given by my deluded father who looked at her with shining eyes of admiration and love. Manuela, with her melodic voice, exclaimed, her eyes scanning my living room furnished with neutral and elegant colored furniture, and then the kitchen which was fully equipped with all the latest electronic appliances. "Oh! Darling, your apartment is... so beautiful!" she said, letting go of my father and walking to a table with a vase on it, and running her index finger over the dewy surface of the table, she murmured, "And so clean! I love it,

MARLON As I descended the stairs, four pairs of heads turned towards the stairs, probably expecting my wife by my side only to be disappointed. "Where is your wife?" my father asked impatiently. He hated delays. In his suit of thick, comfortable fabric, thick gray beard, my father maintained his scowling, master-of-the-world expression, not hiding his disapproval of "my wife's" delay. I know that he knows now that I have a woman with me since my mother must have heard "our fight," proving there was a woman there; her embarrassed smile gave that away. Emile, instead of being on the stool in front of the black marble counter with a built-in six-burner stove, was sitting on the sofa staring intently at a magazine. My stepmother, acting like she owned the place, already had a glass of rosé wine in her hands that I kept in my wine cellar for a romantic dinner with my wife, or another special occasion. But I held back my acidic response; now was not the time to lose my cool. Instead, I