Chapter 21

Wes

“Are you sure about this?” I cautiously inquire, arm readjusting itself around Bryn’s waist. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I’d say it in Klingon, but I don’t think you’d understand.”

“I might,” leaves me prior to a warm chuckle.

Doubtful.

Learning one fucking phrase gave me a migraine and damn near ruined decades of friendship.

“Maybe I should try,” is attached to a wide mouth grin.

“Maybe you should just give Valora your credit card.”

Our wedding planner gives her long, recently blond highlighted strands an excited ruffle. “So, this is a yes?”

“It’s a fuck yes ,” Bryn sassily counters over the sound of ocean waves crashing behind us. “I absolutely want a beach wedding.”

“Perfect!” Her exclaiming occurs as I release Bryn and reach into my light khaki-colored pants. “This Frost Luxury Hotel beach venue is phenomenal. It’s always at the top of beach wedding venue lists; however, it rarely tends to work out for them typically because of dates.”

“October,” I inform while retrieving my card. “Whatever day is available.”

“And if there isn’t one?”

The command delivered during the handing over of the object is fresh off the printer clear. “ Make one. ”

“And that is one of the many, many reasons why I love working with you, Weston.”

“And the reason I love working under him ,” shamelessly flirts my fiancée.

Heat instantly coats my cheeks unnecessarily adding to the slight discomfort already being brought to them by the scorching sun.

One side of the page, I hate being outdoors like this.

I’m exposed.

Physically.

Mentally.

Emotionally.

Being out on this fairly public beach in South Haven in the middle of the morning in the lightest clothes I’ve owned in over a decade – an off-white polo and pair of khakis I had J.T.’s stylist specifically purchase for this trip – is me putting it all on the line for Bryn.

I’m in public.

My mutilated flesh is on display – which the press stalking us poorly in the distance is taking full advantage of.

She – who I can’t believe is agreeing to not only marry me but marry me sooner – along with our wedding planner have my completely undivided attention.

Nothing else matters at this moment.

Not the weeks of disappointing Morgan Brand reports I’m still reviewing.

Not the charity events Evie wants me to choose from to make up for my noticeable absence during my psyche break.

Not even the share proposal from Hawthorne regarding what would be a reasonable amount for Monica to be offered based on where the company was when our father died.

No.

Being here with Bryn, engaged in this planning process, present for every little thing possible is where my focus is.

I can hardly believe she forgave me.

Or…shall I say is forgiving me.

That’s the phrasing our relationship therapist Stella Yang encourages us to use, insisting that our word choices – particularly when it comes to our situation – highly matter.

Post our makeup session three nights ago – that lasted into the very early morning – we had several long talks, one of which included us seeking someone outside of family to assist in our romantic matters. Communication is a major problem and according to our therapist can become even more so once a child is brought into the equation. While there were several “more qualified” experts that specialize in working with highly influential and wealthy couples, Yang not only came recommended through Park – his sister is part of the same practice – she had the more flexible schedule we were looking for. Between our unpredictable hours as individuals and my currently rigid recovery program, we needed someone willing to be more accommodating hours wise and open to traveling to the estate.

I don’t want photos of us coming in and out of her office.

I don’t want new issues for public relations to have to battle, especially when they already have so many – particularly regarding our non-broken engagement – and are gearing up for even more post this parental revealing event.

I want our therapy sessions to be about us.

Making us better.

Making our family stronger.

I don’t want the media’s opinion interjected or hovering around what isn’t meant to be public .

Yes, we do have quite a bit of ourselves out there for the masses to see and judge and invest in; however, we are still entitled to have a few things remain private.

“I’m gonna go put us on the books for October,” Valora announces on a wave of my card, “and when I return, I want your color pallet choices. Express wedding means express decisions so no stalling,” she shoots the love of my life a scolding scowl, “ Brynley. ”

Her swift spinning away to march back up the sand barely precedes the woman at my side mumbling, “I don’t stall.”

It’s my turn to present her with a playful glare.

“ What? ” Bryn less than innocently shrugs her bright yellow, thin strap bearing shoulders. “I sometimes just prefer to tread water.”

“The human equivalent of stalling, little prey.”

“Those with capes shouldn’t judge those of us with fins .”

“Is that what I’m doing?” Jovialness remains in my tone as I put my wallet away. “I thought I was encouraging those with fins to simply swim towards happily ever after a little faster.” My fingers instantly find hers the second they’re free again. “My mistake.”

Having her fingers flex against mine causes her engagement band to gently scrape my skin, a sensation that undeniably swells my heart.

Hitches my breath.

“It’s big of you to admit that, Mr. Wayne,” giggles my fiancée prior to pulling me away to walk along the fairly vacant beach with security trailing a safe distance behind.

Small chuckles escape on a shake of the head.

DCknows , I’ve missed this.

Her.

No one has ever made me laugh like she does.

Or smile.

Or even think about smiling.

From the moment she arrived, I knew in a weird way she was my bat signal.

The light that could summon me from anywhere.

At any time.

Forgetting that for even a moment is a crime that should’ve gotten me years at Blackgate Penitentiary in Gotham Bay and several more at Arkham.

“And speaking of Mr. Wayne…” Bryn leads the conversation with an unexpected segue. “I want our wedding colors to be black, dark blue, and golden yellow.”

There’s no resisting the urge to cock my head in question.

“Dark Knight colors for my dark knight.”

It’s impossible to resist letting my shoulders sink in awe.

My body from drifting closer to hers.

Blushing.

“ However ,” impishness remains in her voice, “this does mean I may opt in for wearing one of Catwoman’s many leather costumes instead of the more traditional dress.” Her bright crystal gaze glides over to latch onto my brown and blue. “ Or maybe I’ll just save that for our honeymoon. ”

The low, hungry groans the image sparks are difficult to swallow. “What do you think about taking the boat down to South Haven Island for that?”

“You have a Batboat?!”

“Batman has a Batboat, Batstrike, or Batsub – depending on the Batverse you’re in – while Mr. Wayne has a yacht . ”

“Which is what I’m assuming you have.”

“ Correct. ” My unoccupied hand casually slips into my pocket. “What do you say to us getting married here on the sand, enjoying the wedding suite at the hotel that night, leaving by brunch, and sailing down to a private beach where you can swim naked for a week or two as I happily watch?” I don’t bother fighting the crooked grin. “Any interest?”

“ All of the interest ,” she coos in return, her own smirk stretching the length of her face, “even though it’s clearly your counter to flying anywhere tropical.”

Anywhere at all, actually.

That’s not changing.

And that’s non-negotiable.

Rather than reply to her remark, I pull out my now buzzing device to see an important text.

“That time already?” Bryn cautiously inquires after seeing who it’s from.

“Yes.” Typing a response precedes tucking my cell back out of sight. “Sawyer says he’s finishing up lunch now and to meet him poolside in about ten minutes.” Our eyes lock once more. “Would you like to walk me to my session, Miss Kyle?”

A warm squeeze of her hand is attached to an even warmer cooing, “I’d love to, Mr. Wayne.”

Pivoting in the sand to head the direction of the hotel where my psychiatrist is dining and our wedding planner is booking us a date effortlessly occurs in tandem with a subject change. “Hamilton recommended an increase in folic acid in both of our diets – you for the vital role it plays in pregnancy development, me for depression – which has led Lucky to taste testing new recipes on his fellow estate members. Apparently, tonight, our family meal will include cheddar roasted broccoli and Brussel sprouts.”

“Is Puppet Boy coming?”

“Yes.”

“Can I not then?”

Her good-natured goading prompts me to chuckle and shake my head. “Lucky is doing his best to make our new eating arrangements more than just tolerable.”

“I know,” she dramatically sighs. “Just like I know our real-life Bones is also doing everything he can for both of us.” An unforeseen smile slips into place. “It’s actually kinda cute how close in contact he insists on being with my OB/GYN.”

“ He cares. ” I plant a small kiss on the back of her hand. “ We all care. ”

And I do mean all of us.

The round the clock ass chewing I’ve gotten about neglect proves it.

I had honestly never heard Lauren yell like that before.

I can say with certainty I never want to again.

“And I am grateful you are letting me care,” lovingly leaves me. “I’m also grateful you’re doing things like going with me to get my blood drawn this afternoon for the parental event. I know this transitional reconnecting period between us isn’t easy.”

Bryn mischievously waggles her eyebrows. “Parts of it are really easy.”

More snickers escape as I relinquish the hold that I have on her hand to drop it around her shoulder in hopes of shielding her from some of the photos I wish weren’t being taken. “They will continue to be easy as long as you want them to be.” She looks up at me again. “I understand Dr. Yang advising that we both be in the mood for physical activities, but let’s just ignore that tiny recommendation. You want me at any time, baby?” My mouth inches closer. “ You can have me. ”

We engage in a chaste kiss that she girlishly giggles after. “You just want me to touch your Batarang.”

“You and J.T. have got to stop calling my cock that.”

“But it’s perfect!”

“My dick isn’t pointed or crooked. How is it perfect?”

“Because it makes you so uncomfortable.”

The twitch of a glare she’s given gets her laughing again.

It also gets her wiggling.

Wiggling of course leads to squirming, an action that frees her to do the unexpected.

She takes off running.

Instinct of course insists I rush after her and our veering towards the water where our sandal covered feet can cool off simply aid in the spontaneous playfulness continuing.

Despite being pregnant, her body dodges and weaves and ducks out of reach quite impressively. Splashes of water are sporadically kicked in my direction along with damp sand, a combination that could easily frustrate me if we weren’t having so much fun. Her athleticism repeatedly receives a shocked expression yet rather than concede to being outmatched I push myself to keep up.

Ignore the bit of tightening in my chest.

Burning in my calves.

I need this.

We need this.

A little bit of discomfort is a great time for growth.

Per one of the mental health professions.

Although, I can’t recall which one.

“ You are so out of practice, Weston, ” Bryn teases, body finally migrating back to mine. “How do you expect to keep up with our pup?”

“I’ll work on it,” I mirthfully state while pulling her into me.

“Promise?”

It’s impossible not to wind my arms tightly around her prior to resting my forehead gently against hers. “ Promise, little prey. ”