reaction shot: a quick shot that records a character’s or group’s response to another character or some on-screen action or event.

 

As Tallulah’s belly grew and rounded, her fucks to give flattened out. At least to the rumors in the tabloids and gossip blogs that believed her ballooning weight gain was putting a strain on her “marriage.” Hollywood Laundry’s latest insider scoop had a title that made her want to laugh so hard it’d been painful holding it all in. She read it in the middle of the night after what felt like her hundredth trip to the bathroom for a tinkle.

WHERE’S TALLY? Nally’s Happy Home About to Buckle Under Extra Pounds

Then she climbed right into bed and into the arms of a supposedly unhappy man.

There was no need to read the blog post. Ever since Tallulah started peeking into the world of celebrity gossip news again, she never did. The titles were always self-explanatory, and she reasoned with herself that by only reading titles, she couldn’t break Nick’s rule.

But... occasionally, she would scroll over the “juicy details” and to the comments. Not to test her resolve. Cruel words no longer stung. She merely looked upon the sea of usernames and their insights into her private life like suspects in a lineup, wondering if one of them was behind that website filled with footage no one was ever meant to see.

The investigation was still open and active, but with no leads, her hope slowly became cold to the touch.

Tallulah had gotten better at not getting caught. But in the event her secret got out, and she was forced to testify before Nicholas Lachlan Bryant (her judge and jury), she had a good reason in her back pocket to lighten the punishment:

She was utterly fucking bored out of her mind.

She’d been hiding for almost two months now, but not by her choice. As the pounds piled on, the media and internet theorized she’d stuffed her face with junk food to cope with a gross invasion of privacy. This belief thrilled Juan, and immediately, he began pitching to major magazines for a big, fat pregnancy announcement. It sparked a top-secret bidding war.

Eight-figure offers rushed in like a tsunami, knocking Tallulah off her swollen, achy feet.

Offers she was still unsure about.

But the money wasn’t the issue. Any money they’d receive would be donated to charities.

What gave her pause was giving more of herself to the world while utterly, downright fucking vulnerable. A world that already got to see the parts she hid away for free.

Yes, Juan ensured she’d have complete control over the photoshoot, and her final say would be law, but being the bitch-in-charge meant figuring out concepts, fashion, locations, and more.

Even if Tallulah had an entire army behind her to bring whatever she wanted to life, the intense planning and preparations weren’t something to look forward to because she simply didn’t know what the fuck she wanted.

Well, actually, she wanted one thing: to get out of this fucking mansion.

She only ever ventured outside to go to OB-GYN appointments. Ushered to and from blacked-out SUVs with security details. Backdoor arrivals and departures. Dressed in baggy, frumpy clothes. Shielded by black umbrellas.

Her doctor recommended walking to help with cabin fever. Nick offered to be her exercise partner. She only agreed because she thought walking meant neighborhood walks.

But he took it as walks on the treadmill in their home gym while he did his workout routine. She didn’t have the heart to correct him. But deep down, she realized it was for the best not to. If she had told him what she wanted, it’d probably come with security guards shadowing them every step.

As she furthered along in her pregnancy, safety became his top priority. Tallulah understood his worries and let him do what he thought was best for their family, but that didn’t stop her from feeling like a bird in a gilded cage with a spectacular view.

The view being the one and only Nick Bryant. She immensely enjoyed watching him work out. And without a doubt in her mind, he enjoyed her watching him with every wink and grin shot her way.

Sometimes, post-workout kisses and “good job” ass slaps turned into more.

Okay, not sometimes.

Very, very often, because pregnancy hormones had turned her into an absolute fiend. Tallulah wasn’t sure how the fuck she survived her first pregnancy with just a dildo and her imagination. Nothing could beat having a hot-blooded man at her fingertips or coming undone on his fingertips and the tip of his tongue.

The fact her beach-ball belly didn’t deflate their intimacy did wonders for her self-esteem, but beyond that, her belly always got in the way and gave her trouble.

Tallulah stood before the full-length mirror in sneakers and a maternity bra with matching leggings. Its waistline stretched well over her belly.

She was so damn tired of hiding it.

Clocking Nick’s arrival in the reflection, she wiped the irritation clean off her face.

“Alright, the kitchen’s clean,” he said, approaching her from behind.

“Thank you for breakfast. Those blueberry pancakes were delicious,” Tallulah said as he took ahold of her hips.

He planted kisses on her neck, inciting moans and giggles from her. “Mm, you ready for a workout?”

She considered his question, raking her teeth across her bottom lip. “Do I get to decide how?”

Their gazes connected in the mirror, his mouth curling into a suggestive grin.

“You wanna switch it up?”

“Yes, I do.” Tallulah turned around to face him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I want to take a walk through the neighborhood.”

Nick let out a low, rumbling chuckle. “I knew you were going to ask that eventually.”

Tallulah’s eyebrows shot upward. “Has it been an option this entire time?”

“It’s only an option if you want it to be, Desiree. But I’ll admit, I’d rather you exercise here with me in the gym. I just don’t trust any motherfucker.”

“I understand, Nick. You want to keep us safe, but being cooped up in this mansion day in and day out is giving me cabin fever. And while I love all your homemade breakfasts, lunches, dinners, snacks, and all the time we spend with each other, I just want some fresh air without the guards. I’ll even wear a baggy shirt so no one can see my belly,” she said, glancing down at her protruding belly wedged against him. "Juan would absolutely freak out if our little secret got revealed too soon."

His face soured. “Oh, fuck Juan. He doesn’t get to decide when the world is ready to know. You do. You’re the boss.”

Tallulah untangled her arms from his neck and walked over to the jumbo-sized shirt she had laid on the bed.

“That’s the issue, Nick. I’m not sure if I want to be the boss. Being the boss is a lot of pressure,” she said, slipping on the shirt, its size swallowing her whole and hiding her belly well, “and Juan worked hard to pitch to the magazines and manage the bidding war. We agreed that whatever money we get would be donated immediately to charities for families in need.”

“And if you decide not to go through with the announcement, we can still donate all the money we want to all the places, wherever you want, Desiree.”

Tallulah chewed on her bottom lip and said, “But Juan—”

Nick’s narrowing eyes cut her off.

She sighed heavily, throwing her hands up in defeat. “I know, I know. Fuck Juan. I’ll think about it.”

Together, they made their way outside.

As they walked across the roundabout driveway, Christophe and a handful of other guards on duty at the gates noted their approach, their chat and jokes ending.

Nick held up a hand. “We’re just going on a walk. No escorts needed.”

“But, sir, we’ve noted activity. The paparazzi are in the area today,” Christophe reported. “They’ve been hungry lately.”

Tallulah stuck out her lip in a pout, batting her eyelashes as he glanced at her, his face contemplative.

“We’ll be fine, Chris,” Nick said. “We won’t be going too far.”

Tallulah beamed, clapping her hands together excitedly.

Christophe backed off, and the security gates opened, the outside world awaiting. They stepped off the driveway and onto the quiet street. Nick wore a sports band on his arm to hold his cell phone.

Walking side by side down a sloped road, she nudged him playfully with her elbow. “Put on some music.”

A few clicks later, a song from his playlist filled the air. She closed her eyes briefly and inhaled deeply, loving the sun’s warmth on her skin and the rustle of the leaves.

At the bottom of the hill, paparazzi waited for them, scattered about from afar. They weren’t attempting to hide.

Tallulah shot a sideways glance at Nick.

He clenched his jaw.

“Down, boy,” Tallulah teased. “They’re keeping their distance.”

“Not far enough for my liking,” he returned.

As they neared the bottom of the slope, Tallulah nearly tripped over undone laces. Nick caught her, grabbing her forearms before she could fall face-first into the concrete.

Tallulah exhaled sharply, her heart racing. “Oh, holy fuck, that was a close one.”

“I could have tied your shoes for you, you know,” he said, guiding her to the curb. He sat down and beckoned her closer with a finger before he pointed to where he wanted her to place her foot.

“Hey! I thought I did okay,” she grinned, affectionately running her fingers through his hair. “You’ve got to admit, that’s a good job for a woman in my delicate condition.”

“I’ll give you an A for effort,” he replied, matching her grin with his own. “But from now on, I’ll tie your shoes to be on the safe side.”

“How generous of you,” Tallulah said as a new song began playing.

She’d heard it on the radio before, and it had gone viral across social media. Its funky beat felt nostalgic yet new. She bobbed her head, snapped her fingers, and bopped her shoulder to the beat.

When Nick finished tying her shoe, she did a little footwork—a side-to-side shuffle. Curious and amused, he peered up at her as she took two steps back, swaying her hips to the beat.

Tallulah was a theater kid at heart. Singing and dancing had always come with the territory. Nowadays, she only ever used her talents behind closed doors when a musical mood struck.

In that moment, out in the open, the taste of freedom livening her senses, she sang along to the lyrics and improvised a dance. She didn’t care that the paparazzi were nearby, having their fill of her little show.

An urge overtook her as she put her hands above her head and did a couple of silly body rolls. A need to not hide anymore surged through her veins. She grabbed the edges of her titanic-sized shirt and moved it like a salsa dancer might a dress, inching it higher and higher, keeping her eyes on Nick.

Fuck it.

If she was going to do this, if she really was the boss, she would do this her way.

She twirled slowly on her heels, keeping to the rhythm and angling herself at the paparazzi, at the hungry camera lenses waiting for her.

Then, playfully, she lifted her shirt and took it off, twirling it around her head like a helicopter. As the song reached its infectious, catchy peak, she tossed the shirt into Nick’s lap, placed her hands on her belly, and rubbed it, adding a little razzle-dazzle to her footwork that only a free pregnant woman could muster.

When the song ended, she looked over her shoulder at Nick, who shook his head, chuckling.

He arched an eyebrow. “You good?”

She nodded, patting her belly. “Yes, we’re good.”

He slung her discarded shirt over his shoulder before tenderly kissing her bump.

Standing to his feet, he asked, “You ready to go home?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” she said, tilting her head up as he leaned down to peck her lips. 

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