The newlyweds headed off at the tail end of the evening, disappearing to their suite. They were catching a flight early in the morning. They were going back home to Australia to start their honeymoon and to have a second wedding ceremony for their friends and family there. I thought Denny was crazy for doing this soiree twice, but it was what Abby wanted, so he was more than happy to do it.
Kellan and I would also be heading over to Australia, but not for a few more months. The tour was kicking off in Vegas first, yet another place I’d always wanted to visit. Denny had managed to score Kellan and me our own bus for this tour. Our very own private bus! I could be as loud as I wanted, and no one but Kellan would hear me. Well, Kellan and the bus driver, who I often forgot about—and our bodyguard. After what had happened in New York, Kellan and I agreed to hire protection for the times we were out in public. It was still an odd concept for me. But the truth was that Kellan and I attracted attention when we went out, and sometimes that attention was a little too friendly. We didn’t want to take any chances now that I was pregnant.
So, while we wouldn’t be quite as alone as I’d originally thought, we had enough privacy that I was giddy and couldn’t wait for the tour to start.
The first show that the D-Bags headlined was sold out. So was the next. And the next. Whatever city we rolled into, they created a stir. A frenzy of D-Baggery. But it was all positive, and it was all honest this time—no more duplicitous gossip. The tour was spending three months in the U.S. and Canada and one month overseas. That was a stipulation that Kellan had insisted on. He didn’t want to be on the road for more than a few months out of the year—especially once the baby was born. After that happened, if I couldn’t be with him for some reason, then the touring time might be cut back even more. Kellan just didn’t want to miss anything, and I didn’t blame him.
As the tour progressed, so did my stomach. It was astounding how I would seemingly double in size overnight. I went from flat stomach to moderate bump to definite bulge to cantaloupe-sized to looking like I swallowed a watermelon—just like that! Kellan loved being able to see the progression. He would stare at my belly sometimes when we were in bed together, just watching my skin, like he was waiting for it to expand before his eyes.
After a few months of him unabashedly staring at my bare stomach, I told him one evening, “A watched pot never boils, you know.”
Pulling his eyes to my face, he murmured, “I know. I’m just imagining how big the baby is. I’m trying to visualize it.”
I smiled at his answer as I stroked his cheek. “I do that too.”
Grinning, Kellan carefully laid his head against the bulge of our child. At five months along, there was a decent amount of room for his head to rest. He stared up at me while I resumed stroking his smooth skin. “What are you doing?” I finally asked him.
His content expression grew dreamlike. “Listening to her. Or him.” We’d decided not to find out the sex. We wanted to be surprised. And besides, like what happened with Anna, sometimes the technicians made mistakes.
Laughing, I told him, “No, you’re listening to the chicken parmesan that I had for dinner.” Looking toward the door to our private room on the bus, I murmured, “I wonder if there’s any of that left.”
Whispering “Shhh . . . I’m listening,” Kellan resumed his intense scrutiny of my digestive system.
Then he started to lightly hum, like he was singing along to my internal noises. I felt a rolling sensation in my stomach as the baby moved. Kellan’s eyes widened, and he looked up at me. I laughed at the look on his face. “Keep humming,” I told him.
He did, and the baby moved again, then kicked. Kellan smiled as I sighed and said, “The baby likes Daddy’s voice.”
Lifting his head, Kellan crooked a smile. “Just like his mom. Or her mom.”
For a minute, I debated what I wanted more, him or the chicken in the fridge. I ended up choosing what I always chose. Pulling Kellan to my lips, I reveled in the one perk of pregnancy that we were both enjoying—a ramped-up sex drive.