“If I eat anything else, I’m going to explode,” I whisper, but Justin sits up and takes a spoon and then cuts a piece of tiramisu and brings the spoon to my mouth.

“Taste it,” he says, holding the spoon to my lips. I open my mouth, and the cool of the cake hits my tongue, and then the sweetness follows. “Good, right?” he says and takes another piece and eats from the same spoon.

Dylan is eating his own piece, and I swear the kid has a hole in his stomach sometimes. “Dylan, don’t make yourself sick.”

“Mom, it’s so good,” he says, finishing the whole piece.

“Here, taste this,” Justin says, holding the spoon to my mouth.

“I can’t,” I say, trying to duck from him, but he doesn’t let up.

“Just taste a bite,” he says, and I open and take the spoon, and I swear I will never taste anything as good again. “Good, right?” I nod my head.

I watch the two of them finish the dessert, and then Justin stands. “Let’s go, sweetheart,” he says again. I look at him, and he just smirks at me. Then he turns to Dylan. “Ready, champ?”

“Yup,” Dylan says and gets up, and Justin grabs the bag with the takeout. I follow Justin out of the room and expect him to walk ahead of me, but he doesn’t. He waits for me and then puts his arm around my shoulder. When we walk past the hostess stand, he doesn’t even look their way.

“Thank you for coming,” the two women say, and all he does is nod. We are almost out of the door when a couple of fans come over and ask for pictures. He is very polite to them, and they pose for pictures.

“It’s so cool,” Dylan says next to me, and I have to agree that it really is. When he finishes, he comes to us, and we walk back into the lobby.

“Let’s get you guys home,” he says as we walk through the lobby and to the elevator. I try not to look around too much, and when we get into the garage, I follow him to the SUV.

“Look at that red car,” Dylan says, pointing at the sleek red car next to the SUV.

“You like that one?” Justin asks, opening the passenger door for me and then the back door for Dylan.

“I bet it goes fast, fast,” he says, sitting in the car seat.

“I’ll take you out in it this weekend,” he says to Dylan, and Dylan squeals while I just stand here looking at him. He slams the back door and turns to me. “You ready?”

“That’s your car?” I ask him, looking at the red car. I don’t know what it is, but it just looks expensive.