Belle
"She went to the restroom, kids are all in the dressing room with Marc." Mickey said before hugging a sweaty JC. "Thanks," Justin smiled running off to the dressing room. He opened the door, there in the floor sat his son, his flesh and blood. A mini-creation of himself, with his outrageous curls and his mother’s bright blue eyes. Once those bright blue eyes caught sight of his father, he grinned. Justin walked over and picked up his son. His son. It doesn’t seem that strange to say anymore. He’d quickly adapted to the routine every father goes through, the morning sickness, the cravings, the swelling, the discomfort of his pregnant girlfriend. It was her decision to get married, she didn’t want her baby born out of wedlock. It didn’t matter to Justin. Just as long as he got to have Belle in his life. The door opened and Justin turned holding his son. Fear swept over him as thoughts of who it might be rushed in his head. Was it press? Or a lost fan? No, it was just Belle. His Belle. |