Two years later, I stood under the stone archway, the Mediterranean breeze tugging at the hem of my pale pink dress. The sun was dipping behind the hills, painting everything gold, and I could feel my belly—round and full, six months along with our second—resting comfortably under my hand. Ryan was there too, his warmth steady behind me, and I leaned in, pressing my lips to his. The camera clicked, capturing the moment: me, pregnant again, kissing my fiancé, the sparkle of that fresh diamond ring catching the sun.
I couldn’t help the soft laugh that slipped against his lips. “Took you long enough,” I teased, brushing my thumb along his jaw. “One baby, and halfway to the second before you finally made me honest.”
Ryan smirked, his hand sliding to the small of my back, nudging me closer, pressing against my belly. “Honest? Lisa, the way you jumped me that night without a condom… you were never innocent to begin with.”
I rolled my eyes, cheeks warming, but the memory made me shiver in the best way. That night—the heat, the thrill of him inside me, me whispering don’t pull out—had changed everything. The medallion had done its work, locking me into this body forever, reshaping my life in ways I couldn’t have imagined. And I didn’t regret a single second.
“Mm,” I murmured, pressing his hand against my bump. “And now look at me. Knocked up—again. You realize what you’ve done to me, right? Turned me into some baby-making machine.”
He chuckled, kissing the top of my head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Bad?” I tilted my head up at him, smirking. “Let’s just say I’m already plotting what happens after this one’s born. Another ring… or another kid. Maybe both.”
I kissed him again, lingering this time, my hand brushing the ring he’d slipped on just hours ago. The stone sparkled, but that wasn’t what anchored me. It was him. Us. Our growing little family I never saw coming.
I thought back to who I’d been before all this—the guy who had joked with a medallion on a silly weekend dare. If he could see me now—pregnant, glowing, engaged—he’d never believe it. But here I was, more myself than I’d ever been.
The photo captured everything: the kiss, the belly, the promise of our future. Baby number two on the way, Ryan by my side, and a secret little thrill whispering: this probably isn’t the last time.
Because I wasn’t just planning to be a wife. I was planning to ride Ryan until fate—or maybe me—gave us baby number three.
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