Chapter 80: Bad Girls Get Everything They Deserve

So this is a BIG and Very Long and Very Exciting Chapter! (At least I think so.) It's one of those chapters in which a song is written, and I describe the song and provide you with some original lyrics, but basically we can "songclaim"  Pink and Nate Ruess' Just Give Me a Reason for the song mentioned in the chapter.

Also, here's a shot of Mac and Adam, all dressed up for some videography that happens in the chapter:

Mac

"Which ones do you like, Lane? The right?" I put my right foot forward in a Louboutin platform sandal with little multicolored flowers across the toe strap, then I alternate my feet. "Or the left?" Gold Blanicks with a sculptural heel of stacked geometric figures.

Lane scrunches his nose critically, looking at my feet. I think he's trying to remember the right from the left. I give him a chance to work it out, but he's not going to admit he needs help. "Those." He points to an eighty dollar pair of rhinestone sandals in the bridal shoe display. They are very pretty—the rhinestones look smokey and vintage and the heel is a pretty champagne color. Adam would love them.

"Ah, another man that likes shiny shoes." I pick them up, fingering the point heel, feeling a little sad, and not knowing exactly why. He grins and scampers to his mother, pulling her over to show her the shoes he likes.

"Thinking of getting married again?" Marianne jokes as she comes up behind me. I turn, and whatever she sees in my face makes her lips tuck in sympathy. She takes the rhinestone shoe from me and gives the chin tip to the shoe salesman. "She'll take all three. On my bill."

"You don't—"

"I know." She cuts me off. "It's the least I can do since my retail therapy hasn't made you feel one bit better. Let's go get a coffee and talk, okay?"

Thirty minutes later, we are on the private terrace of the restaurant that Penelope has booked for the interviews we will conduct shorty. I'm sipping my decaf machiatto.

"What the hell is the point of drinks made with decaf espresso, anyway?" Marianne laughs at me as she enjoys a wine spritzer before noon.

"For pregnant women like me, who are terrified to even indulge in a little caffeine," I sigh.

She takes my hand. "It's going to be okay. From everything you told me the doctor said, I really believe that. And if something bad should happen..." she looks at Lane and smiles as he happily eats his ice cream at the next table with the nannie. "You'll grieve, and you won't forget, but you'll survive and you'll get pregnant again when you are ready and you'll find joy. I promise you."

I look at Lane. I can guess what Marianne is trying to tell me...

She answers the questioning look on my face. "I've had two miscarriages. I got pregnant about six years ago. It was a complete surprise, but right away, Matt and I were thrilled. We realized we wanted another shot at those early baby years. When Street and the girls were born...well it was a hard time. We loved each other, but Street wasn't planned, and Matt, even though he was thirty, and he wanted to "do right,"...he wasn't quite there, family-man-wise.

"All his partying and all our fighting took some of the joy out of their early years for us both. So, we were so excited to add a second round to our family. It was very hard, when we lost that baby, and especially when I couldn't get pregnant again. My eggs aren't as young as they used to be. We needed some fertility help to have Lane and Alley, and I had second miscarriage between them. It's worth it, though," she assures me. "In the end...the joy...the family...it's worth it, even if it comes with pain. Mac, I really believe you and Adam love each with a rare love—the kind Matt and I have. You'll get through this crisis. You'll be happy."

I nod, wiping away a tear. "It's just so hard. I love him so much, but I'm so scared."

She hands me a tissue. "About the baby?"

I nod, but then I shake my head. "Yes, I'm still worried about the baby, but it's something else. I'm scared that one day, Adam is going to leave. See...I took him, from another girl. A good girl. I did it intentionally, deliberately. I made him think I was...nicer, than I am, and I hooked him. And we break up all the time because I'm not that nice girl. I try to be, I want to be, but I just have these...sharp edges. I can't figure out how to dull them, you know? So we fight and we break up, and every time we break up, every other girl he's ever dated, every fangirl that catches his eyes, they are all good girls. I don't even know what he's doing with me, and I'm afraid one day I'm going to push him too far and he's going to realize, he doesn't belong with a bad girl like me. Karma is going to repay me. He's going to leave me for a good girl. He has this friend—Marley. She's just his type—very beautiful in a natural kind of way, funnier than me, kinder than me, probably smarter than me. I worry that Adam will realize...he belongs with a nice girl like her, not a girl like me."

Marianne sips her wine and looks at me with pursed lips.

"Mac, I want you to listen to this older, more mature woman's advice, very carefully. I dont' know this Marley person, but I'm betting she's no more a good girl than you are a bad girl. The problem is, you've made the most dangerous mistake you can make in this industry. You've started to believe about yourself what the industry makes the public believe about you. You are one of the world's most talented, most admired, most beautiful, most desired women. And I can see from the way Lane has taken to you, you are naturally kind and loving. But you use your body and your sex appeal as your brand, and any time a woman does that, the same men that lust for her, the same women who want to be her, those people will turn right around and do anything they can to degrade her, because they can't be her, or have her. You can't let all that noise become your self-concept.

"I guarantee you Adam doesn't see you like that. You are the most precious, desirable thing in the world to him, and you gave yourself to him. He does not see a bad girl when he looks at you. He's not slumming, he's not experimenting. He cherishes you."

Her words sound so good. I want them to be true. "You think?"

She laughs. "I know. I know what love looks like on the face of a man. I've seen it looking right at me, for more than thirty years. I have never doubted Matt's love for me, I've ever only doubted I had the patience and strength to put up with his egomaniacal bullshit. Fortunately, you don't have that problem with Adam. He might be more steady at his age than Matt was until he was forty-five. Kat, on the other hand, now she has her work cut out for her. Trace is just like his father," she winks at me.

"But Adam? Adam loves you, with a selfless kind of love. I doubt he could stop if he wanted to. And sometimes he might want to, because this life you've chosen isn't easy, and you aren't easy. You are strong, you want things besides him. You're right, he could probably find another woman who would give her life and her desires over to him. Someone who would be content to trail in the wake of his glory. Not necessarily someone nicer or better than you, just someone less ambitious, or someone more needy of him. The thing is, he loves you. He wants you. It's plain to see. You don't have to worry about that man leaving, but you maybe have to worry about you running so far away from him..." she touches her heart, "inside, that he can't find you."

I mix the coffee in milk and my glass. "I just get scared. My family life as a kid was...not awful. Not like Trace's. But it was crazy and unstable. I don't want that for my baby, but it seems like that is exactly what we are making for her, a lifestyle of constant upheaval...just with a lot more money and flashy shit."

"No, I think you are wrong about that. Or at least, it doesn't have to be that way. Look at Lane, over there. He's perfectly content in this strange city, with his routine adjusted on a moment's notice. Children are always up for adventure and wonder. They get their sense of security from the emotional tone their caregivers set. You can travel with your kids, teach them to tolerate flexible schedules, help them adjust to time with you and time with nannies, and they can do all that fine, as long as they feel emotionally secure.They take that lead from the beat you lay down with their father, and their other caregivers. You set the tone, MacKenna. You and Adam."

I blink at her. "So that's how you do it? You feel happy and secure with Matt, and the kids stay happy and secure buzzing all around the world?"

Marianne flashes her brilliantly white teeth. "Well, it's not quite that romantically simple. It takes a clear vision for how you want things to be, and a lot of planning, and trial and error sometimes. So let me ask you this question, Sweetie. What do you really want? What does your future look like?"

I take a deep breath and let it all come tumbling out. It's like not I haven't thought about it. It takes a while, because I've thought a lot about it, actually, while I lay in bed alone in LA this past month, kept awake by Babycakes's flutterings and the absence of Adam. When I am done painting the portrait of my perfect future with Adam to Marianne, she asks, "And what does Adam say to all that?"

Ah. Now she's caught me short. "Uhhhm, I haven't really told him any of that."

She winks. "That's what I thought. Call that man right now. Tell him when we are done with these interviews, you want to meet him somewhere. Just talk to him. That's where you start making a good marriage, girlfriend." She wanders over to sit with Lane and his nanny, giving me some privacy.

It's weird how you can't really refuse a del Marco. Without even a second thought, I pick up my phone.

"Hey, Shortcake. Buy some sexy shoes?" Adam's voice purrs in my ear. I melt inside. It's only been two days since he called me by one of his many nicknames for me, but it felt like an eternity. I'm very happy to be his Shortcake again.

"In fact, I did. One pair I think you'll really like. Lane picked them out."

"Mmmmmm...you can pack them for our honeymoon."

"Honeymoon?" I laugh. "I think we skipped over that part."

"Yeah, but we're gonna circle back. Once Babycakes is born. We can take her with, or we can wait til she's a few months old and give the grandparents a week or two with her. We'll see what feels right, when the time comes, okay?"

"Sounds like a plan," I agree, "Speaking of plans...I was hoping we could talk. Tomorrow we have to think about travel, and Soundcrush, and the next show. I was hoping today...we could talk about us. About our plans."

His voice is tender. "I'm glad to hear that. I want that, too, as soon as I can get off Matt's crazy train. Right now I'm walking down Broadway with a soggy baby, looking for a place to change her, while Matt shops takes pictures with fancougars."

"How's that going?" I ask amused. I can picture Matt with middle aged women in tears all around him, or worse, in some bar, with eager Lucky Shots lined up all around him.

Adam thinks I mean the shopping, or he's just smart enough to avoid discussing the antics of fangirls of any age. "So far, he's bought about ten thousand dollars worth of cowboy boots and Stetsons. Mostly for Marianne and the kids, but he spent an hour getting fitted for a custom pair that's gonna set him back another few grand."

I snicker, thinking about how Marianne described Matt as an egomaniac. It's true, but in the most adorable of ways. Marianne and I got the nanny for the day, but Matt is making Adam his baby bitch. "Do you even know how to change a diaper?"

"That's insulting, Shortcake. I have, like, five billion nieces and nephews. You think I'm not a stand-up Uncle?"

"Sorry, I forgot. It's been years since I changed a diaper, and only the teeny-tinest of babies. Not since I worked at the birthing center, helping moms and dads who were stressed out. I don't know anything about babies big enough to wrestle with you," I tease him. "Be careful, she might kick you in the eye."

"Nah, you aren't gonna give me any trouble, are you Alley? Yeah, you're such a sweet girl," Adam coos to the baby.

Okay, now I'm just a puddle. Really. How wonderful is this man? Alley's not even his kid and he's so loving with her. I can't believe I said all those mean things to him. I called him a liar and a drunk, and I told him I would walk away and keep his child from him. That was over the top, even for me.

I don't realize I'm crying until Adam says, "Baby, are you crying? What's the matter?"

I hastily blot at my tears. "Everything is okay, I'm just...I'm sad that I said those mean things to you when we were fighting about Marley. I know you aren't a liar or a drunk, and I would never keep our baby from you. Ever. You are going to be the best father, Adam. I'm so sorry I said those things. I just went crazy when I said that...meeting Marley like that was..."

"Totally my fault. I swear to Christ, I feel terrible about it. I wasn't trying to keep her on the down-low, I just forgot to be up front. I get that it was awkward and embarrassing and hurtful for you to meet her like that. I want to make that up to you, but I don't know how."

"It's okay. Adam I trust not to cheat, it's not that. I just...I'm jealous of her. You have a friendship with her, and sometimes I feel like...maybe we aren't friends, at least not like I want us to be. We're lovers, we're bandmates, we're going to be parents...I want to be friends. I want to share everything with you. I want to be best friends."

Silence for a second. "Wow, Shorty. That's maybe the sweetest thing you've ever said to me. You are my best friend. We just haven't had much time for the friendship lately. We're gonna make time, now, I promise you. I actually want to start this afternoon. I have a surprise for you...I'm gonna text you an address where the surprise will be. You and Marianne meet us there at 3, ok?"

"What kind of surprise?" I say automatically.

"The del Marco kind."

"Oh God."

"Naw, it's really good, actually. I'm being schooled in how to be an amazing Rock Star husband, remember? It was mostly my idea, Matt's just helping me with the gravy."

"Now I'm really intrigued."

"You are supposed to be. So hire us somebody to torture me with kale and avocado smoothies and get your fine ass over to the surprise place by 3, okay?"

"You got it, Preacher."

I'm in a much better frame of mind for the interviews now. We talk to six super smart nutritionists. None actually fall in the "Too Brainy" category. I guess those are working in research labs somewhere, not looking to become a personal food coach to a celebrity. There is one "Shameless Inner Fangirl" however. When Penelope escorts her from her Uber and she sees Marianne and I on the terrace, her eyes keep searching.

Marianne touches me under the table. "See that? She's looking for Adam. That in itself is not necessarily bad. She's trying to see who she will have to interact with. Let's see what she does next."

Not finding the object of her search, the girl frowns slightly and hastily slips on a crop suit jacket over her tight silk tank top, as Penelope ushers her into the restaurant and then out again onto the terrace. Marianne laughs and put the "Shameless Inner Fangirl" second coding on her resume. "Sometimes they don't even realize it themselves, but I always know after a few times engaging a woman, if she'll eventually start to lust over the Rock Star she works for," she assures me. "This one took me all of ten seconds to read."

The rest of the interview only makes my opinion align with Marianne's. Bailey assumes I'm hiring her only to stay slim. She doesn't ask any questions about my nutrition needs beyond that. She says a "varied thousand calorie daily menu" is "no challenge at all for her." She doesn't know if Adam and I are married for, but the world knows we are seriously dating, and the secret marriage and baby rumors keep abouding. Bailey keeps asking me about Adam's food preferences, saying things like, "As much as he lifts, he is probably very serious about his nutrition."

I laugh at her and tell her he doesn't lift, except when we are recording a new album in preparation for the "video and appearance season" that will follow. I tell her mostly he's just a lucky fucker that can maintain muscles from goof-boxing with Bodie and doing about twenty minutes of old-school sit ups, push-ups and pull-ups a day.

"He eats like a twelve year old. Cheeseburgers. Chili fries. Carnival food. I'm sure if there's a funnel cake food truck anywhere on South Broadway, he's eating one right now. I guarantee if you take this job, he will grow to personally despise you within a week." It is true he's probably eating carnival food right now, it's not at all true he would hate anyone that spent the time to make him healthy delicious food, but I don't feel a bit damn guilty for the lie.

Her face falls.

Marianne gives me a discreet high five as Shameless Inner Fangirl leaves with her pretty little playboy bunny ears and tail drooping in disappointment.

After the interviews, Marianne and I both agree on the best candidate, a woman named Wynter, who said she became a nutritionist because her father is a diabetic and her sister has a colon disease and she grew up helping her mother make creative and delicious meals that met the varied needs of her family members. She spots Lane coloring at the next table and waves at him, and that opens a discussion about how she likes to coax her nephew's picky palate with creative food (and I think she can do the same thing for Adam), and how difficult her sister's pregnancy was because of her colon disease, and how she helped her sister support her pregnancies with the best nutrition for her condition (which she can do for me.) She's really a cool chic, and Marianne and I can both tell from her personality and her perky looks, that she could take advantage of the offer to vlog about her experiences working for me. She could probably become a YouTube Star.

She pretty much cinches the job for herself when we talk about that perk of the job, and she glances discreetly at my stomach and says, "I get that you might have privacy concerns. I wouldn't mind at all waiting to start the vlog for a while, until you are totally comfortable with me and our working relationship. I think working for you and helping you make a healthy lifestyle while you travel is a really exciting opportunity, and also a little bit of a challenge. That's where I would want to concentrate, until we get all the kinks worked out."

I call her back after the final interview and she's good to start work within a week. She says if I will email her my itinerary, she will email Penelope a daily plan for the best local take-out options wherever we might be, until she can get herself together to join us on the road.

Not having to worry about what to eat next week? Knowing Wynter and Penelope will make sure I have take-out ready to pick up somewhere along the way? Knowing I don't have to eat like the guys—the Red Bull, Slim-Jims, chips and roller-food that they get whenever we have to stop to gas up?

I love Wynter already.

Not in small part because she's not really Adam's type. She's pretty, but she's got dark, short pink-tipped hair, a nose stud and that school-girl emo look. That's not really his thing. He never even noticed me when I looked like her back in college. It's not that I don't trust him, but why put unnecessary eye-candy in front of him when he's apparently determined to stay sexually inactive for the next month?

Yeah, I want to be the only woman in his sexually frustrated fantasies.

I know Adam likes my dark streak in the bedroom, but he likes me less edgy on the outside. I'm no fool about that. Actually, I've grown kind of tired of the over-the-top rocker styling, too, and recently I've begun to prefer looking feminine and more natural on my own time. I don't know if it's the pregnancy or I'm just growing up or what, but I feel more like me that way.

Right now, I feel more like me than I have in a while. I feel really hopeful. Things are looking up. So much better than yesterday. What I want most of all is for Adam and I to level off. I really just want some peace and harmony with him.

Marianne and I collect Lane and our small entourage and roll to the surprise location.

"Any idea what this surprise is" I ask her as Lane snuggles up beside me with headphones and an Ipad, watching Paw Patrol, and I stroke his blonde-white hair.

"Nope. And if I knew I wouldn't tell you. But it's Matt we are talking about, so it's big. Just like his ego and his dick," she murmurs in my ear, and I giggle.

To my complete surprise, the address is a recording studio. From the looks of it as we are ushered in the door, it must be one of the best. The lobby is incredible—strung with lights, stripped brick walls covered with memorabilia, everything thing wood polished to gleaming. There's one guy waiting up front. He says Matt and Adam booked the place and kicked out all hangers-around that end up hanging-around in recording studios, except for the two mixers they kept to help with whatever they are working on.

"Well, and the video people, just got here of course," Gardner says.

"Video!?!?! Whose shooting a video?" I say in alarm.

"You are, Mama-Child. Or at least one sequence of one. While you lay down the vocals for the song Adam wrote and I helped him mix into a power ballad," Matt laughs as he comes swaggering out of the booth and strolls into the lounge area. He's carrying a sleeping Alley slumped on his chest and a cowboy hat in hand. "That is, if you want it. You'd be crazy not to use it, though. I mix the best fucking power ballads. Decade after decade."

"Yes you do, baby," Marianne says as he covers her smile with a kiss and puts the Stetson on her head.

This is all surreal. You don't just write, record, and shoot all in one day.

Then again, maybe you do, in the Magical Musical World of Matt del Marco.

I push through the door into the soundbooth, eager to find out what the fuck from Adam, while Matt is saying something to Marianne about adding the cowboy boots to the hat, and removing every piece of clothing in between.

"On the flight home, if the kids are sleeping soundly," she assures him, and I snicker, thinking of Matt's kinky mirrored boudoir in the sky.

Adam is sitting at the piano, with headphones on, so he doesn't hear me come in. When he sees me, he pulls them off and rises.

He is so gorgeous right now, he steals my air.

He's wearing a bespoke shirt that fits him like a glove, sleeves rolled up, top button shirked and tie loosened. Black suit pants, also made for him—this is one of his custom suits he leaves in his bedroom closet at his parents' house—for weddings, Nashville awards, things like that. Matt wasn't the only one who got boots today...Adam picked up a new pair too. Distressed tan leather, complete with concho harness.

That slow sexy smile spreads across his face as he walks toward me. That one stubborn lock of his longish hair falls forward as he dips down to kiss me. I gasp quickly as his lips brush mine. I need more air, if he's going to steal it all again.

He kisses me like a first kiss. Soft and searching, hopeful and tender, wanting more, holding back. It ends far too soon.

"Nice boots," I murmur.

He grins again and kicks up a toe, looking at them critically. "Like 'em? I think the western concho strap was a little too much, but Matt practically forced me to buy them. These, however..." he struts across the large recording room and picks up a small bag from the couch. "These, I was sold on, from the second I saw them."

I pull out the tissue and find the tiniest pair of boots I have ever seen. The softest suede, but stitched with like real cowgirl boots. Red, with patterns of black and white stitching. I have a sneaking suspicion the colors are not a fashion statement, but an alma mater statement.

"Go Dawgs?" I laugh.

"Gotta train 'em right, from the start," he winks at me.

I rub the boots. They are so soft, lined in fleece. "I wasn't sure if we should buy anything yet..."

He takes me by the shoulders as I look up at him. "Buy everything. Our daughter is going to be okay. I feel it, now. I'll admit, this whole thing...it shook me for a minute. I was overwhelmed, scared. I haven't been there for you in the way I should have been, and I'm so fucking sorry. But I've found my rhythm again, and my faith. I've never felt so sure of anything in my life, that this child is meant wrap us so tight in love and make us a family forever. She's okay. We are okay."

"Adam..." I search every inch of his face, wanting to drink in his beauty and his surety, "Adam, there are things I want to say to you."

"Good," he says, "you can tell me everything, and then we can put it all in the lyrics of the song."

I smile, "You didn't write the lyrics yet?"

"Just the chorus. This song is meant to be a conversation, baby. I made all this happen because I knew...the music is where we started. Where we always work. Where we can always come home, to tune up when we fall out of harmony. I can't make love to you with my body right now, but I want to make love to you the next best way I know how—with a song. And I want a professional to shoot us, writing the song, recording the vocals. We didn't get a wedding video, but I think maybe this is even better."

Tears slip down my face. "Adam, this is...so amazing."

"You ain't seen nothing yet, Shortcake. Come on, you need to get camera-ready," he says, and he leads me out of the booth, down a hall, outside. Matt and Marianne are already out there. There's a large tour bus in the parking lot.

I look from him to Matt, confused. "You guys rented bus for a styling? We could have done that in the studio bathroom..."

"I bought us a home on wheels, Shorty," Adam whispers in my ear from behind. "Whatever happens, wherever the ride takes us, we go together, okay? No more separate cities for weeks at a time. I don't want to live like that, and nobody can force us to, if we don't let them."

I whirl around to him, "You mean, you aren't going to fight me about staying on tour?"

He cups my face. "No, I'm not going to fight you. I'm going to take care of you, and make sure you have everything you need to stay rested and healthy, and love you, every mile we log. Cause I can't stand to be apart from you, okay? It makes me crazy. It makes me lose hope. You...you are my heart, and my soul, and my faith, MacKenna Lawson."

"Adam..." I can't find words. There's only the big, bursting feeling of relief and love and goodness inside me. I bury myself against his chest and sob. I hope I find words soon...or it's going to be a very short song we write together.

I love you. Like Crazy. Forever. The end.

Yeah, not very lyrical.

He's laughing at my hysterical sobs. "You gotta hush up now, okay? I know you don't want puffy eyes for the camera." He pinches my ass, hard.

"Owwww!" I protest and automatically slap his chest, glaring at him through blurred vision.

"There she is. My Killer. She slays me, too," he growls, tucking his hands tight against my sides, almost on my breasts, as he presses against me, hip to hip. The flames he ignites dry my tears instantly.

"That's really not fair," I whisper up into my ear. "You can't make me want you like that if I can't have sex.".

He kisses my temple. "Stopped you from crying, didn't I? You think you are the only ruthless one, Shorty?"

Matt shoves a cowboy hat onto my head, stopping our lingering hug. "You guys just going to fake fuck, or you going to check this bad boy out? I made sure Adam got the best one for traveling with kids, Mac. Shit tons of storage, and I ordered this custom baby sleeper thing that locks down beside the bed, and then there's a couple of bunks too...for when the kids get bigger...plus a kitchen. Tiny, but real. You can actually make food in it..." Matt is tossing up Lane up into the bus. "Go see if you can climb up into the high bunk, Fast Lane."

I hear a woman firmly saying to Lane, "Whoa! Take off those shoes little guy, and don't touch those dresses!"

My eyes go round. "Janie?" I mouth to Adam.

"I needed a personal shopper for you, and Janie loves clothes even more than you. Plus she's exactly your size." Adam says.

I pat my stomach. "Not quite."

Adam raises his eyebrows. "Pretty much."

My mouth drops into an O. "Number six? Really?"

He nods, and whispers hurriedly. "Yeah, it's why she's been so hard to deal with lately. Apparently, she was really sick and exhausted when we were here last, and still trying to come to grips with the surprise pregnancy. She really wasn't planning anymore, but they are happy now that the shock has worn off. She just told me today, when I called her for help. The rest of the family doesn't even know yet, and she's just a couple of weeks behind you. I promise, she's really not that bad of a person, she's just a little high-maintenance. And blunt. Will you try to let her help you get ready? She did a really good job with the shopping. Or at least, I think so," he says with a grin.

She has done a beautiful job. Three dresses...all simple but elegant gowns to match Adam's high-end suit. All lovely shades of off white that exactly match Adam's shirt. Three different styles to choose from. I hug Janie with both thanks and congratulations on her pregnancy and she laughs and touches my belly, and says, "It is nice to have a sister to share a pregnancy with. And our babies will be close cousins, I hope."

I go to the sleeping compartment to try on the gowns, but Matt's enthusiasm won't be denied. He verbally checks to make sure I've gotten the bustier on, but then he throws open the door drags me around in mostly my underwear, exclaiming over all the features of our home-away-from home. Marianne laughs as she breastfeeds Alley on the sofa, Adam growls for me to cover up, and Janie chases me, making me try on all three gowns as I open all the storage places and flip all the lights and play with the sound system and test all the appliances in the tiny kitchen under Matt's direction.

These del Marco's are crazy. And so are these Heartley's. I love them all.

Ten minutes later, I'm dressed in the sleeveless, floor length mermaid shaped gown that swoops with an elegant cowl to show my killer boobs, with a much lower matching drape in the back. I love how fitted it is, and how I can see my baby in it, and how beautiful it makes me feel.

"Wear those shoes I like!" Lane yells with the authority of a del Marco, and so Penelope retrieves them from the car and they go beautifully with the dress. Adam's lips part and his eyes go hazy with lust as he helps me put them on.

Ah, revenge is sweet.

"This is gonna be a weird," I murmur to Adam, as the temporary stylist throws a cape over my gown and whips me out smoky eyes and matte lips, then tucks my already styled hair into a loose curly fishtail braid. "We're making a video before we even lay down the song."

"Nah, it's perfect. We do everything backwards, remember? We had sex before we understood what it was to be truly in love. We made a baby before we got married. Why not make a video before we finish the song?" he grins.

"There is a certain logic to that," I admit.

"There's not really any logic to this," Adam says, pulling a flat black case from his pocket. "But I wanted you to have a keepsake from this day..." he flips open the case, and my hand goes to my throat.

"Adam, you've got to stop stealing my breath," I murmur as I gasp at the delicate chains studded with diamonds. Two layered chains, the top one a delicate choker with diamond drops all around, and the longer attached lariat that drops into a series of three diamonds, with a larger stone at the end.

"I had them add an inch to the top chain to make sure it wasn't too tight," he murmurs as he puts it on me. "It is comfortable?"

"It's perfect," I say, looking in the mirror, not at the necklace, but at his attentive expression. He's making sure he doesn't pressure my neck at all with his clasping. Once he's secured the necklace, I reach back and press his hands flat against the back of my neck, reveling in his touch. He looks at me in the mirror in surprise. "You're perfect," I tell him. "I never feel any thing bad anymore, when I'm with you. Your touch heals me, Adam."

"I'm so fucking glad," he says. "I always want to be your safety."

"That's beautiful. Really." Matt says, his sarcasm the exact same caliber as Traces. "Now, can we get this song done? Adam, you're paying out the ass by the hour for that session, need I remind you? You guys go take some time to write those lyrics. Call me when you want me to lay down the guitars and mix that track for you," Matt says, flipping on the tv and putting his cowboy boots on my brand new bus couch.

I feel like a princess in the long gown and pretty shoes as Adam leads me back to the studio. I realize why we are all dressed up now. The walls of the recording room are gorgeous bleached wood cut in chevron and the black baby grand is immaculate. The room is spotless, unlike most recording rooms. It truly is the most beautiful recording booth I've ever been in. To my surprise, Adam asks everyone to take five, and operates the mixing board himself.

"I just want a little time alone, for us to vibe the song together," he murmurs.

Wow, he and Matt were cooking. They've got a piano track that I'm sure Adam played. Matt probably did the drum machine and then Adam must have come back and layered in the synthesizers. It's a beautiful track...romantic and bittersweet, but like Matt said, definitely a power ballad.

"What do you think?" he asks.

"I think...you've been holding out on Arabella," I say with a smile.

He chuckles. "Yeah, you're right. This didn't just happen today. This is something I've been working on this month. The piano opening felt like you, not her. Matt went next level with that drum machine, though—changed the whole vibe from a love song to an anthem. The hook is mine..." Adam pauses, counts it in with his fingers, then sings.

Let me in a little,

Just a little love's enough,

Just a spark is all takes to ignite,

And we can end this fucking fight.

Love is like the stars,

We've got worlds to build with ours,

Oh my love

We're dark and lost in the night,

But we can learn to make it right.

I get chills hearing his voice. His vocals have never sounded cleaner, more sure. He hits the chorus again, then the third time he tells me to try.

I shake my head. "Together. This is a conversation, remember?"

I ease into a sliding harmony with him, playing with it, trying to get it just right. We do it again, it's still not perfect, I can't get the third line like I want it.

"Let's try it in the booth," he says. He leads me in there, pipes the sound through the headphones, and then he pushes the boom mike up and he gathers me to him.

"What are you doing?" I ask in surprise.

"Dancing with my wife," he says with a smile, picking up the hem of the long dress for me and finding the elastic on the short train, hooking it onto my wrist so I don't trip. We slow dance. Inside his arms, I relax, and we sing over each other's shoulders, our head's pressed together, each holding an headphone against one ear.

It's the most romantic moment of my life. Every detail is perfect—the sound of Adam's song, the rhythm of Matt's drums and the way Adam move us in time, the low light, Adam's hand low on my back and his chest rising and falling pressed against mine, our voices so light and right in the open acoustic of this room. After we've hit it perfect perfect several times through, he kisses my temple.

"It only took ten minutes for us to make it right," he says, his eyes crinkling in a smile.

"Want to write the verses now?" I ask.

He shakes his head and keeps us dancing, one headset held between us so we can hear the music very softly. "Tell me about the things you want to talk about, first."

"I want to talk about how it's going to be. For us. Married. With a baby. I know I never wanted to talk about the future before. I know I said one day at a time. But...I'm ready now. I want to share with you my hopes and dreams. I want to hear yours. I want put them together, and keep working them until they are one vision, just like our harmony."

Adam closes his eyes. His lips move, and I know he's saying a prayer of thanks. Or maybe asking for courage because he's a little scared of what my vision might look like. That's okay. We'll work it out.

He opens his eyes. "Okay. I'm ready. Tell me everything you want, Shortcake."

"Well, first..." I put my hands on his chest. "I want to make it legal. In my heart, I do believe we are married, but I never ever want to be able to get angry and say it's not real again. I never want there to be any doubt in either of our minds, okay?"

He throws his back his head and laughs. He whips out his phone. "Say that again, Shorty. That's one for the ages."

I slap him on the chest as he records me. "I'm serious, Adam. Are you going to marry me for real or what the fuck?"

He squints at me. "I don't know, Shorty. Are you going to marry me for real or what the fuck?" he mimics my voice. "I think that might be the world's shittiest proposal."

"Mmmmmm, second only to the condom-breaking proposal," I agree. "Okay, how's this? Adam, there is nothing more that I want to be than your wife for real and for ever, in the eyes of God, and in our friends and family, and by legal sanction of the state of Tennessee. I'll marry you any day, any time, any where. Even in your father's church with five million of your closest friends and relations watching me walk down that long-ass aisle, nine months pregnant. Will you make me the happiest woman on the planet and make me your legal wife?"

He grins and whispers in my ear. "Shortcake, it's really funny that you think this is your idea. You haven't realized, there is a twenty four hour chapel across the street from this studio...and you are wearing a wedding dress?"

I step away from him and look down in horror. "This is a wedding dress?"

"You look beautiful. So beautiful. Like an angel." He tells me, gathering me to him and dancing with me again.

"But...but...you aren't supposed to see me in my wedding dress."

He dips me, then pulls me back up and kisses me tenderly. "We do everything backwards, remember? We are having our wedding dance before the wedding."

"You...you...were going to ask me to marry you again? Tonight?" I'm still struggling to understand.

"Well, I was hoping we'd get here," he says, very solemnly. "You were right. We got married in a fever, and then we went about everything wrong. We've had the worst start I could imagine, because we didn't let each other in when the shit got real. I wanted to ask you to...start over with me. I want the same thing you want. I want it to be real, in every way a marriage can be real. I want to walk into the full commitment with you knowing what hard times are like, knowing we'll have hard times again, knowing that we will still fight, knowing we will learn to make it right. Over and over."

"That sounds so good, Adam. Really good, Adam. I want all that too. But...don't you want the big traditional wedding?"

"No. We got married in our hearts in front of God and family. I love the boots and beer memory. I just want to finish the job, make it legal, plain and simple. Unless you want to wait...so you mom and dad can be there?"

"God no. Those two in the same place? No way. Let's elope across the street for sure!" My smile is so big my my cheeks hurt.

"Okay. Let me just make sure..." He calls Penelope quickly and asks her to get over there and inquire about the marriage license issue. Nashville is not exactly Vegas, the marriage license office might be closed. We hang tight to find out.

"What else do you want, Shortcake?" Adam asks me while we wait.

I take a deep breath and plunge in, just like I practiced with Marianne. "I want three kids. I want to live mostly here, in Nashville. I want the kids to go to regular school when they can, but also travel with us when it makes sense for them to. I want to be young parents and show our kids the world—give them all the experiences I never had as a kid. I want to have domestic help—a cook, a housekeeper, a nanny, a PA, because I still want to work, and have quality time with you and the kids, and I don't want the mundane things to get in the way, and I won't apologize for not being domestic."

He holds up his hand. "I won't ask you to. And if anyone else snipes, I've got your back. I know how hard you work, Mac. I know more than anybody."

"Thank you," I beam at him. "I want to plan the other kids considering the band schedule, but I want them all before we are thirty. I want them to grow up close like me and Leed and you and Brett. I'm hoping we can get the guys to eventually migrate back South at least part time, too, but that's more a wish than a want. We'll make it work with them where ever we all are. I want us to escape to LA for a little work and a little pleasure like most parents have date night. I want it all, Adam. I want it all with you, and I want to work hard to make it fun and normal family and then have a side of the rock star life, too. Most of all, I never want to go bed with an unresolved fight because the worst feeling in the world is lying beside you and feeling a world away from you. I love you too much for—"

Adam cuts me off with a rough kiss, the most passionate kiss he's given me since the baby scare. "I want all that. Every single thing you said. Plus, I want to get started on renovating the house in LA, so we can take the kids there, too. Date night in LA is great, but before they are school age, I don't want the kids to be without one of their parents more than occasionally, and I don't want you and I to be apart more than a couple of nights either. That means they come with to LA when we have to work. Are you good with that?"

My eyes grow wide. "Really? I thought you'd hate the idea of the kids in LA."

"LA is part of us both, now. I want our kids to learn about both sides of our life. But, I'd also like for them to grow up going to church..."

"That sounds great, Adam. I want that too. I think." I make a funny face at him. "I guess I'll learn about church with them."

"Okay," he laughs. "That sounds good. I think you'll like it. Especially the singing. Speaking of..."

"Yes! Singing! Let's write our wedding song!" I clap my hands. He leads me over to the piano and calls the sound technicians and the videographers back in. While the video crew is checking and adjusting lights, Adam and I start writing the verses. They flow so easily. We have the first one written before they even start shooting us, goofing side by side at the piano.

I love the way the lyrics come out. Make It Right is a heartfelt song with simple lyrics, but they are completely personal—basically the story of the first month of our marriage, what a struggle it's been and how we plan to fix it.

The cameraman gets great footage of us laughing at the piano together, of us dancing together and running through the vocals to the verses like we did earlier with the chorus. When we feel as solid with the verses as we do with the chorus, we go outside to the courtyard behind the studio to rest our voices for a few minutes. The cameraman takes more footage of us taking a break, me sitting on Adam's knee facing him, sipping tea and holding hands and whispering to one another.

Before the sun even goes down, we've got Matt in the mixing room, producing our duet. He lays down a really subtle guitar track. It's genius the way it pounds along with piano, making it feel even more like an anthem and yet leaving no doubt that our words are the spotlight of the song.

If dancing with Adam earlier was the most romantic moment of my life, laying down the vocals together is the most inspiring. It feels like the third time we are making vows to each other, and we both know we are going to make them for the final time as soon as this is done.

Matt calls it on the third take. "I think we got it," he says. "Come on in and let's balance it."

An hour later, we have the final cut. I can't stop listening to it. I'm so proud of it. We all are. Matt insists we call Moran and play it for him.

"That's a Grammy nomination for pop duet, I think," he says. "MacKenna, please tell me this is not a Soundcrush song that Trace will vote down as too cheerful. This is the first single of your EP, featuring Adam Heartley, yes?"

"That depends," I say coyly.

"On?" he says, well aware of the game.

"Are you going to let us announce our marriage? And the baby?"

Moran laughs. "Are you kidding? With a song like that to promote? I want you and Adam on the cover of Rolling Stone in wedding rings doing one of those naked baby belly shoots..."

"Fuck that," Adam groans.

"Kidding, kidding," Moran says to appease Adam.

He's so not kidding.

Okay, so Adam and I will still have "issues" to negotiate. We'll work it out. We'll make it right. Always.

Penelope runs in with a thumbs up, grabs our driver's license and says we have to come sign the paperwork, but it's as easy to get a marriage license in Nashville as Vegas. The chapel is facilitating it. "You need two witnesses," she tells us.

"We got it covered," Matt tells her with a wink.

Half an hour later, I've touched up my makeup and retrieved a very important item from my purse, giving it to Marianne to hold for me. We walk across the street and enter into the Rhinestone Cowboy Wedding Chapel. We decide to do the ceremony in their back courtyard, in a pagoda strung with soft lights shadowing us, and the glow of the Nashville night rising up around us along with the distant strains of music flowing from nearby South Broadway.

Matt and Marianne wait with us in the quiet courtyard. "Well, I have to hand it to you kids," Matt drawls, throwing an arm around Marianne. "You two want to make it real? Doing this without a pre-nup is as real as it gets."

Marianne elbows him. "Shut-up, Matt. Your tore our pre-nup up when I took you back after rehab, sixteen years ago."

"That's why I've been sober ever since. I can't afford for you to leave me again," he jokes. Adam and I laugh, as he chases her around the tiny pagoda, peppering with "jesus-annie-just-kidding" kisses.

A stately , older dark haired gentleman wearing an all black suit, comes out slowly, looking extremely apologetic. My heart drops. Did something fall through with getting the license? I'm dead set on doing this now.

"Something wrong?" Adam asks him, putting an arm around me.

"No, no, it's just that...well, it seems that our Elvis Officiant has left the building. But if you don't mind me marrying you..." he grins and deepens his voice. "I do a pretty good Johnny Cash."

The look on Adam's face is pure happiness. "See Shortcake? There is a God, after all."

Ten minutes later, Adam and I are exchanging the standard civil vows. He really did mean to marry me today; he bought me a band to match my "first" wedding ring. I am finally able to pull my one surprise on him. Marianne hands me the small box I retrieved from my purse earlier, and I produce a platinum wedding band, inlayed with a bass string.

I see the reluctance on Adam's face. He doesn't want to remove the "original" string ring.

"Adam, it's okay," I tell him, sliding the twisted string off his finger. "This not your real ring. I had Leed take the real one off your finger weeks ago when you were sleeping off a drunk, and substitute another one. He spent hours trying to get the fake one to look just like the first one. But string in this ring," I hold up his new, beautiful titanium band, "is the string we made our covenant with."

"You are such a bad girl," he murmurs as he holds out his hand and I slide his forever band in place.

"But you love me anyway, right?" I don't need the answer, but he obliges me anyway.

"Like no other, MacKenna Lawson."

"That's MacKenna Heartley, now. In our private, legally married life," I remind him. Adam's gorgeous smile makes my knees weak. I can't wait to get him in bed and...awww dammit.

Cuddle with him. Mmmmmm. Still so nice.

"Yes, that's right." The Man In Black is affirming, "By the power vested in me by the State of Tennessee and that burning Ring of Fire known as the Holy of State of Matrimony, I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Heartley, rock star and rock star, husband and wife. May you both forever Walk the Line. I'd tell you to kiss the bride, Son, but you've gotten that backwards and kissed her ten times in the ceremony already."

"That's how we do," I tell Johnny Cash.

"Second.Best.Wedding.Ever." Adam tells me as he kisses me again for good measure.

Matt and Marianne are clapping and whooping. As we hurry back to the bus, Matt says, "You know, it seems like a lot of fun to be an Impersonator Officiant. I'm gonna become one. That way, I can marry all our kids. I could definitely do Johnny Cash. Also Elvis. And of course, I can always just marry people as me, too. That's pretty awesome, right?"

"Both Trace and Row will love that," I assure him, and Adam throws back his head and crows at the thought of either of those punks ever fucking ever getting married.

We all bundle back into Madam's new home on wheels with the kids, nanny, PA, and even the videographer. Matt scares us all to death by pushing the bus around the downtown Nashville like a maniac. At one point he even makes a super sharp turn and rolls pour little Lane out of the bunk where he's sleeping. Penelope runs into a bakery just as it closes and then a convenience store and returns with an assorted box of gourmet cupcakes, two bottles of champagne and a bottle of sparkling grape juice for me and Lane. Matt practices his Johnny Cash and serenades Adam and I with Ring of Fire  and then three decades worth of Skid Marcs power ballads as we feed each other a strawberry cupcake with cream cheese icing, and watch the beautiful footage of our backwards wedding, where we had sang our wedding song and had our wedding dance before the ceremony.

That's how we celebrate our second wedding-with a del Marco driving the crazy bus. Adam and I solemnly vow to always celebrate both of our wedding anniversaries—neither traditional, but one a little bit country, and the other a little bit rock-and-roll, because that's the way we plan to live happily ever after.

The end.

Okay, just kidding. Not the end. Next chapter...everybody's favorite rock star gets the bad news we've all been dreading! Not sure how many chapters it will take for Street to recover from his injuries...just kidding. Maybe. Not sure. But after we deal with those  pesky tats we are definitely time-jumping to a place in the Soundcrush future. Where some things will be resolved and other questions will be raised.

Thoughts on Madam's (epic) make-up? I think they might FINALLY be on the right track (even if they are on the crazy bus...)  Agree or disagree?