#Bae (The Hashtag Series Book 8) Read online

  BEFORE ANYONE ELSE

  The Hashtag Series #8

  Happily-ever-after…

  That’s what happens when you get married.

  Right?

  Turns out sparkly rings, cake, and a fantastic wedding do not

  automatically grant you that, not even when it’s all you truly want.

  I’m even starting to doubt the bottomless, unconditional love

  I share with the man I married will be enough.

  I can’t have happily ever after. Know why?

  Because I can’t give Romeo what he wants. I’ve tried. So hard.

  I won’t be happy unless he is, and something is missing. Someone.

  Paparazzi are in my face. The flashing cameras and prying eyes are everywhere.

  My secret is getting harder to hide, and I know the second the scoop is dished,

  the grip I have on the fraying rope of our happily-ever-after will snap right in my face.

  In our faces.

  I can’t let that happen. No matter what.

  Because with or without a happy ending, Romeo comes Before Anyone Else.

  BEFORE ANYONE ELSE

  The Hashtag Series #8

  by Cambria Hebert

  #BAE Copyright © 2016 CAMBRIA HEBERT

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form without written permission except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Published by: Cambria Hebert Books, LLC

  http://www.cambriahebert.com

  Interior design and typesetting by Sharon Kay of Amber Leaf Publishing

  Cover design and photography by MAE I DESIGN

  Edited by Cassie McCown of Gathering Leaves Editing

  Copyright 2016 by Cambria Hebert

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-938857-94-2

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Contents:

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  For the fans of The Hashtag Series.

  You wanted a baby book…So did Romeo and Rimmel.

  Enjoy this last installment with our favorite family.

  Special thanks to Jeddah Salera and Nathan Weller for embracing Rimmel and Romeo so wholly. The book trailer, the photos, everything you both have done to bring these two characters to life borders on perfection.

  I sincerely could not have asked for two better people to work with. Thank you.

  BEFORE ANYONE ELSE

  Rimmel

  Surprise (noun): an unexpected or astonishing event, fact, or thing.

  I used to hate surprises.

  In fact, I hated all unknown. I liked predictable. I liked safe. I liked books and quiet and knowing what to expect.

  Romeo changed all that.

  He changed my entire world, and frankly, it astonished me still. So to say I still hated surprises would be, in fact, like denying everything about life as I now knew it.

  Some days—well, actually, all days I woke in this house, I was still caught by surprise. Lying in Romeo’s warm embrace, with his heavy, muscled leg twined between mine and the feel of his smooth, chiseled chest rising and falling against my back was the best way to slowly arouse my conscience from slumber. Slowly, my eyes would let in the light of day, and slowly, they would adjust to their regular blurred state without my glasses.

  I didn’t need to see perfectly clear to be surprised.

  The silvery white walls stretched up to the trey ceiling, which gave way to pure-white wooden trim. The design of the trey ceiling was multi-layered, having three different levels that recessed upward. The edge of each layer was trimmed out with more of the silvery-white paint that made them stand out against the otherwise pure white like shimmering bands of ribbon leading up to the cool-toned grey shade of the highest recess of the ceiling.

  From there, my eyes would travel back toward the windows, which lined the side of the room and overlooked the sprawling property our family home was perched upon. Two oversized rectangular windows all trimmed out in white stretched from floor to ceiling on each end of the wall. In the center was not another window of the same shape, but instead a large, round one, also trimmed in white.

  On either side of the two great rectangular windows hung deep-grey and white-striped curtains, which stretched the same floor-to-ceiling length as the glass and grazed the floor precisely.

  Actually, not entirely precisely.

  There was one curtain somehow slightly longer than the other three panels. It pooled on the espresso-colored hardwood and sometimes appeared slightly askew. The designer was horrified the second it was hung and wanted to send it back.

  I told her no.

  I liked it that way. A little less than perfect. A little bit a mess.

  Just like me.

  She thought I was insane.

  In the end, I got my way. A girl couldn’t be married for over a year to a man who always got what he wanted and not pick up a few tips.

  The colors in here were serene, light, almost monochromatic… yet there wasn’t one thing that was boring or that I didn’t marvel at its beauty every time I looked at it.

  From there, I’d turn my head and glance at the dark wooden side table beside the bed, the glass and silver lamp with an oversized, angular white shade and the few books I was reading at the moment taking up most of the surface area.

  Just behind the table, on the wall, hung a mirror with more frame than actual mirror. The frame was some kind of glass that looked like shimmering pearls in a chevron pattern of white and grey.

  Romeo’s beside table looked the same, except his didn’t have books. Instead, there were several copies of GearShark magazine.

  Our bed was massive. The white tufted headboard was made of creamy-colored velvet and resembled a cloud with all the different tones of luxurious white bedding.

  All the sparkly coordinating pillows were flung around the room, having landed wherever Romeo had tossed them the night before. I liked them best that way, scattered, not in the places they were actually supposed to be.

  This was my house now.

  Our home.

  It was more than I ever even considered dreaming of. More than I asked for. Honestly, more than I wanted and, most assuredly, more than I needed.

  However, my husband was a downright bossy man when he wanted to be, and giving me this home was something he refused to bend on.

  So every morning when I opened my eyes, I took it all in. I gazed upon our ro
om with brand new, slightly blurry vision. And I was grateful.

  But never more grateful than I was for the man who took up more than half of this massive bed.

  Romeo was my real home. Not the ultra-plush bedding, the paint on the walls, that breathtaking view out the windows, or my Range Rover parked in the five-car garage downstairs.

  Him.

  And now the little piece of him growing inside me.

  Maybe that was the biggest surprise of all.

  A baby. A life created from both of us. Something that was wholly his and mine—a person. I knew in the deepest part of me that this little girl was going to have the best of each of us, and hopefully none of my awkwardness.

  The fact that I was pregnant wasn’t a surprise. We wanted this baby, and Romeo worked very hard to make sure we got one.

  Him working hard = lots of sex.

  It wasn’t such a sacrifice for either of us.

  I think the biggest surprise was the instant, all-encompassing love I felt for a person I didn’t even know. Someone who technically barely existed. Before our daughter even had a heartbeat, I was so completely in love it stole my breath.

  I was used to love, to the bottomless kind, but this was wholly different. The love I felt for this little baby was unlike anything I’d ever known.

  People always told me it would become even stronger when I held her for the first time. I couldn’t even fathom that. But I hoped they were right.

  Love was something I didn’t think I would ever get enough of. Especially when it came to loving anything Romeo was a part of.

  “You’re doing it again,” his gruff, sleepy voice whispered right above my ear.

  I smiled. “What?”

  “Staring at this room like you were kidnapped and opened your eyes to a place you’ve never seen before.”

  I giggled. “Well, if I was kidnapped and brought here, I probably wouldn’t protest.”

  “You’re killing me, Smalls.” Romeo’s teeth grazed over my earlobe and tugged.

  I shivered even as I laughed.

  “If you were kidnapped, I would burn the world down to find you,” he vowed, breath fluttering across my ear and the husky quality in his promise making me squirm against him.

  “I wouldn’t stay willingly anywhere you weren’t,” I told him, even though he already knew. My hand reached up behind me to cup the back of his neck and pull him down.

  His tongue was warm and languid, moving into my mouth without much haste, taking time to fully explore as if he hadn’t already done this a million times before.

  As we kissed, his hand slid over my side and across my belly, palming the baby and gently rubbing. I smiled into his lips, and he continued to kiss me.

  “Your smile is my favorite flavor,” he said, pulling back only slightly.

  My heart tumbled over. “You have morning breath,” I told him, smiling again.

  “Is that your favorite flavor, Mrs. Anderson?”

  I paused as if I were genuinely considering it. “I think I prefer pickles.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. When he glanced down, I caressed some of the blond strands of his hair falling over his forehead, brushing them away from his face, while I took in every single thing about him.

  I did this almost every day. And every day, I found something new to gaze at.

  I never wanted to stop looking at him like he was new to me. I never wanted to forget the way he made my heart sing.

  “I love you,” I whispered.

  “I love you too, baby.” His lips pressed to the tip of my nose, and I sighed.

  I started to wiggle so he would untangle his limbs from mine. He made a sound of protest, and I glanced up. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  “I have to pee.”

  This baby wasn’t even that big yet, but it didn’t matter. Apparently, my bladder was like the size of an acorn, because peeing was like my new hobby.

  “Hold it,” he commanded.

  I gasped and opened my mouth to yell at him. How dare he tell a pregnant woman she couldn’t pee!

  I would kick him the minute he gave me my legs back.

  Before I could do anything, he lifted the covers and disappeared. I screeched because of the way he moved quickly down my body and settled between my legs.

  Entirely hidden beneath the covers, I felt his two very large hands span my middle and gently caress my rounded belly. He did this every morning, even before I started showing and my belly was flat.

  I smiled and closed my eyes.

  “Hey there, Pickle,” he told my stomach.

  I grinned up at the ceiling, still amused he called her that. It wasn’t exactly original, but a girl didn’t get to choose the type of cravings she got when pregnant. Mine was pickles. All the time. Every day. So yeah… Romeo dubbed our daughter “Pickle.”

  To be fair, he started calling her that before we even knew it was a girl. He’d been convinced this baby was going to be a boy, so when we found out (we didn’t have to wait for the ultrasound at twenty weeks thanks to a new blood test they could do now) he was actually a she, my eyes went directly to my husband.

  Not one ounce. Not one ounce of disappointment this wasn’t a son. When he looked at me, I swear I saw his entire heart in his blue eyes, and it shimmered with tears. He’d never admit to the tears, but I saw them, and really, I didn’t need to tell anyone.

  He loved our daughter just as much as I did and, honestly, more than I ever thought a father could (you know, ‘cause my father wasn’t exactly award winning).

  “It’s time to start putting some meat on those bones,” he told her, then paused. “Does she have bones yet, Smalls?”

  “I think it’s a little early for that. She still has quite a while to grow,” I said, thoughtful. I should probably look that up, because really, I had no idea.

  Beneath the blanket, Romeo grunted. I felt him pat my stomach. “Yeah, get on that. Well, what I mean is take your time, Pickle. You don’t have to be that big, ‘cause Daddy is big enough for the both of us.”

  “What about me?” I chimed in.

  “I’m trying to talk to my daughter here, Rim,” he scolded. Then lower and not to me, he said, “I’ll have a talk with her about Daddy-Pickle time.”

  I giggled.

  I felt him kiss my belly again. I wasn’t really showing that much; my stomach was just more rounded out than usual, so his entire one hand covered the bump for another long moment before he tossed back the blankets and sprang out.

  He wasn’t wearing a shirt. His body was tanned, toned, and just as smooth as the day I met him in the library.

  “Can I go pee now?” I inquired, trying to sound surly, but not achieving it at all. I was way to charmed by him to be surly.

  He lunged forward but didn’t give me any of his body weight. Instead, his arms took it all as he hovered over me. “Failing half my classes was the smartest thing I ever did.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That is not something to be proud of, Roman Anderson.”

  “It brought me you, didn’t it?”

  I didn’t want to tell him it definitely was a good thing he was failing, so instead, I reached up and fastened my lips to his. When I finally pulled back, he grinned down at me like he knew I was trying to avoid telling him he was right.

  It was maddening.

  But also appealing.

  “I’m taking a shower. Want me to wash your toes?”

  “I can reach my own toes,” I told him.

  “It’s good practice for in a few months, when you can’t,” he rebutted and jumped out of bed.

  “I’ll be there in a few,” I called out as he disappeared into our massive adjoining bathroom.

  I smiled to myself and sat up, dangling my feet over the side of the bed. I was only wearing a black lace bralette with a pair of matching boy shorts. Romeo liked seeing my barely-there belly, so I pretty much slept with it on display now.

  I padded across the soft rug beneath our bed
as I pushed at my knotted, messy hair. I felt stiff and sore this morning. I must have slept wrong. A warm shower would be like heaven.

  The shower was on and steam was rising up from behind the glass doors as I moved past it and toward the water closet (that’s a private room for the toilet). Romeo was standing at the sink, naked, with a toothbrush in his mouth and grinned, toothpaste all over his lips.

  I laughed and shut myself in the small room.

  It was then that life as I knew it changed.

  Another surprise thrown my way… It was the kind that made me recall why I never used to like them.

  Fear so raw pelted me it felt as if I were being physically ripped in half. It almost overshadowed the pain I noted in my body.

  The pain that was not from sleeping wrong.

  With unsteady hands, I finished up and stood there in the center of the room, hearing a loud buzzing sound fill my ears. I pushed past it, knowing I couldn’t succumb even though I wanted to.

  I flung open the tiny door and wobbled out into the bathroom.

  Romeo was standing at the shower, with the glass door in his palm.

  “Come on, slow poke.” He called over his shoulder and threw me one of his trademark grins.

  It died instantly on his lips. “Rim?”

  He abandoned the door, and it swayed open behind him as he turned fully toward me.

  I opened my mouth, but it didn’t work. I tried again.

  “Rimmel,” he said, coming toward me, grasping me by the shoulders.

  Cramping pain sliced through my lower half, and I whimpered and slumped toward him. He caught me, holding me back so he could look into my face.

  “Something’s wrong, Romeo,” I managed.

  I felt warmth between my legs and glanced down. Two rivulets of blood trailed down the inside of my thighs.

  I started to cry, but not one sound came out of me.

  I don’t know much about what happened next. Romeo was there, our entire family was. I vaguely remember the sound of him shouting orders and the sound of the Hellcat’s revving engine.