Chapter 7 Holiday Havoc
Holiday Havoc
Iknew she was pregnant.
Okay, maybe I didn’t know, but I had a feeling.
Something in the way she’d been glowing, in the nervous flutter of her smile, in the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention.
Now I just need her doctor to confirm it.
But convincing my wife to let her doctor near her two days before Christmas Eve? That’s a hard sell. Vasilisa treats this holiday like a sacred ritual, her holiday paints are out, there’s garland lining the bathtub, and I’m pretty sure she’s making new ornaments for the tree by hand.
I’m waiting by the front door, trying to figure out how to casually bring up a “teeny tiny blood draw,” when Romeo pokes his head in.
“Boss, a package—”
“Santo?” Vasilisa’s voice drifts down from the stairs, warm and curious. My gaze lifts, and there she is, in one of my shirts draped over her frame, paint smudged on her hands and apron, a soft pink tint to her cheeks.
Ethereal.
Perfect.
She’s wiping her fingers with a rag as she comes down the stairs, brow furrowed in suspicion. “What are you doing, by the door?”
Romeo hesitates.
Vasilisa’s eyes land on him, her eyes lighting with interest. “Did you say package?”
Damn it.
Romeo opens the door fully and reveals a large, gift-wrapped box sitting on the stoop.
The very large rectangular box I overnighted from Le Petit MoonBeam the second Vasilisa blurted out ‘I’m pregnant’ on the bathroom counter last night.
My heart drops.
Her eyes narrow slightly, scanning the tag. “What is that?” she asks, tilting her head. Her voice is playful but tight. “It’s huge.”
“Nothing important,” I lie quickly. “Dea, why don’t you go finish that gorgeous painting? I’ll be up in a minute. I actually have something important to tell you too—”
Romeo glances at the label. “It says it’s from Le Petit MoonBeam?”
Vasilisa freezes mid-step.
Her brows fly up, and her eyes widen, shifting to me with a look of utter betrayal and I swear my soul leaves my body.
“Santo Amato!”
“Romeo, go away,” I grit, glaring at him.
“Yes, boss,” he mutters, retreating fast.
“You bought something from Le Petit MoonBeam?!” Her voice pitches high, that shocked, indignant squeak she only makes when I’ve completely overstepped. “The baby boutique?! Why is it so large?!”
“Dea, calm—”
She cuts me a death glare. One that could peel paint.
I lift both hands in surrender. “Breathe. It’s just a crib.”
Her breath catches audibly. She goes still.
“Just a crib?” she echoes, her voice dropping; soft, low, and laced with danger.
I can almost see the emotions war on her face; shock, disbelief, hurt.
“Just a crib?” she repeats, louder now. “Santo, that’s not like ordering onesies or a blanket! A crib is a major decision! And the baby barely exists right now, we haven’t even seen the doctor, and I wanted to choose it with you!”
Before I can say anything, a soft throat clear sounds behind the box.
“Mr. Amato?” Dr. Almareti, peeks her head around the large package, offering a small smile. “Is now still a good time?”
Vasilisa blinks, her face draining of color.
“The doctor?” she hisses, her cheeks turning crimson. “You had the doctor come here? Today?! If I could turn invisible, I would.”
I wince, one hand running down my face.
“No, I mean yes. I mean—” I stammer, caught completely off guard.
Dea looks between Dr. Almareti and me, her face cycling through emotions faster than I can track them. Shock, embarrassment, anger, and finally, something that looks dangerously close to tears.
“I can come back,” Dr. Almareti offers diplomatically, already taking a step backward.
“No,” I say firmly, finding my footing again. “Please come in, Doctor. Vasilisa and I just need a moment.”
The doctor nods, stepping around the massive crib box and entering the foyer. “I’ll wait in the study,” she says, clearly sensing the tension.
Once she’s out of earshot, Vasilisa turns to me, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “You ambushed me.”
“It’s just a little blood draw,” I counter, reaching for her hand, which she promptly pulls away.
“You want me stabbed before Christmas?“ she huffs, scandalized. “Are you insane?”
“Dea, the dramatics… it was just a little surprise.”
“With a doctor’s appointment I didn’t know about and a crib I didn’t choose?” Her voice cracks slightly. “Santo, these are things we should do together!”
“I know,” I say, stepping closer. “And we will do everything together. I just...” I run a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling foolish. “I got excited. I wanted to make sure you and the baby were healthy right away.”
Her expression softens slightly, but the hurt is still there. “And the crib?”
I glance at the enormous package. “It’s the safest one made. Titanium frame, organic mattress, built-in monitor system. I researched all night.”
“Of course you did,” she says, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “You probably know more about cribs now than the people who make them.”
I take another step closer, relieved when she doesn’t back away. “Dea. I should have waited. Should have included you.”
She sighs, her shoulders dropping. “I want to be mad at you.”
“But you’re not?” I ask hopefully.
“Oh, I am,” she clarifies, poking my chest. “But I also know you did this because you love us. You’re just... overzealous.”
“Protective,” I correct gently.
She raises an eyebrow.
“Control freak,” she counters, but the edges of the words are soft. Teasing. Forgiving.
I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing over her cheekbones. “Let the doctor check you. Please. For my peace of mind.”
She leans into my touch, eyes closing briefly. “Fine. But no more purchases without me.”
“Deal.”
***
Vasilisa’s curled on the couch in our sitting room, one of her hand-painted ornaments cradled in her lap, her expression stormy despite the glittery snowflakes still clinging to her fingers. I step into the room and she looks up, eyes immediately softening when they land on me.
“Blood results confirm it, we’re having a baby,” I say breathless and excited.
Her expression doesn’t change.
I sit beside her and pull her into my arms. “What’s wrong? You’re perfect. Both of you are.”
She exhales against my chest, tension leaving her in pieces.
“Good,” she murmurs, but there’s a hitch in her voice. “Because I think I’m about to have a breakdown over garland.”
I blink. “Garland?”
She pulls back and waves her hand toward the open tablet resting beside her.
“The packages from Mistle snowstorm, delayed manifest, stuck at a warehouse hours away. I sent Romeo and the others to get them. They’ll be back before dinner.”
She stares at me for a long beat. “You sent made men to go steal my holiday garland?”
“Intervene logistically,” I correct gently. “Not steal. They’re delivering it directly to you. White-glove service.”
A slow, stunned smile curls her lips. “You’re the best.”
“I know,” I say simply. “When you were about to cry over missing ribbon… I couldn’t let that happen.”
She launches herself at me, arms flung around my neck, her small frame soft and warm against mine. “I love you.”
“I know that too,” I murmur into her hair, holding her tight. “I’ll call Romeo. I’ll tell him to keep it quiet.”
“Good,” she says softly. “Please make sure the others don’t find out until I say it. Let me have that.”
I nod. “You’ll get it. However you want.”
She pulls back and presses her palm to my chest, right over my heart. Those gorgeous eyes lock on mine.
“Can you open the snack closet now?”