Chapter 42
Chapter Forty Two
Roberto
The gate rolls shut behind me, and I sit for a beat with both hands on the wheel, letting the day roll off me.
I had some office bullshit to handle today, which was inconvenient at best.
Then a stop at the hospital where Antonio opened his eyes twice while I was there, heavy and irritated, like waking up was an inconvenience in itself. They’re keeping him sedated because he keeps trying to fight the tube. If he keeps improving at this rate, they’ll extubate tomorrow.
Nico and Vito stayed tonight, practically shoving Luca and me out the door. I didn’t argue. I haven’t slept.
I still haven’t spoken to Olivia, and with Vito and Nico now closer to finding this Ferro guy, I’m not sure when I’ll get the chance to. Antonio is all right, but everything is still a mess, and I’m exhausted.
I pocket my keys, step out, and the cold sneaks in under the collar of my jacket. I unlock the door and open it, ready for the dark and quiet.
Instead: a low golden wash from the sitting room, the soft crackle of the fireplace, and something delicious in the air.
Pepper and cheese hit me first, then the familiar scent of boiling pasta.
Cacio e pepe?
“Clara?” I call, loosening my tie with one hand, hanging my coat with the other. “You didn’t have to stay.”
No answer. The fire pops. A spoon taps a pan. I step through the sitting room. The flames from the hearth throw flickering light over the room. I round the corner into the kitchen.
Olivia stands at the stove, hair pulled back, sleeves pushed to her elbows, steam fogging the air around her.
She’s tilting a pan, pepper blooming in butter, a bowl of grated Pecorino on the counter, and a scoop of pasta water at the ready. A pot gurgles with spaghetti at a rolling boil.
For a second, my body forgets it’s tired.
She looks up when she feels me, and the punch to my chest is the same as it always is. Her eyes find mine, wary.
“Hi,” she says, softly.
“Hi,” I answer. “You’re… here.”
“Clara let me in,” she says quickly. “If that’s not okay—”
“It’s okay.” I glance at the pan. “You’re making my comfort food.”
A fleeting smile warms her mouth. “With a lot of direction from Clara, so I hope I got it right.” She nudges the timer with her knuckle. “Two minutes until al dente.”
I touch my fingers to her cheek, turn her face back to me. My other arm wraps around her, and I lower my mouth to hers gently, needing her.
Her breath catches, then she presses into me, familiar and sweet.
like she’s been holding herself still all day.
The kiss is slow and comforting, heat and warm and the faint bite of pepper on her tongue.
For a beat, the exhaustion slides off my shoulders, and it’s only her mouth under mine, her hand holding tight to my bicep.
I pull back first, thumb at her jaw, searching her eyes. “Okay?” I ask, rougher than I mean to.
“Okay,” she whispers, and then, because it’s Olivia, “But we should—”
The timer trills between us. We both huff out a breath that’s almost a laugh.
“Finish,” I say, and reach past her to kill the flame under the pot.
She scoops a ladle of pasta water; I drain and tip the spaghetti into her pan.
We work together, splash and toss, Pecorino falls like snow until the sauce goes glossy and thick.
We forego the table and move to the couch in front of the fire, balancing warm plates on our laps.
The cheese is sharp and just right with a burst of pepper on the tongue, and I feel myself unknot a degree at a time. I watch her take a bite, cheeks a little pink from the heat of the stove, the light from the fire catching in her hair.
“How’s Antonio?” she asks.
“Better.” The word comes more easily than any other today. “Awake in flashes. Still on the vent. They think tomorrow for the tube.”
Relief crosses her face. “I’m glad. Are you going back tonight?”
“No, Nico and Vito are there. Lucia will be in by morning as well. She was out of reach for a while, so it took a day to get in touch with her.” Then I add: “Sorry, she’s Luca’s older daughter. Caterina’s sister.”
Olivia nods. “Caterina mentioned her a couple of times over the years. Not in detail or anything. To be honest, the way she talked about her, I thought she was dead.” She looks up at me. “Then, you know, I did some research.”
“We considered her dead for a long time,” I whisper. “It was a mistake, and one we’re trying to fix, though it’s taking time.”
Silence stretches between us, the clink of forks on plates and the fire crackling the only sounds. She twirls more pasta and sets down her fork, fingers finding the rim of the plate and holding.
“I meant what I said at the hospital,” I tell her, because she’s here and because I won’t waste the chance. “All of it.”
Her eyes lift, and there’s a little hesitation in her exhale. “I know,” she says. She draws a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I didn’t come to talk about the past, Roberto.”
“All right,” I say, and set my fork down. “Then talk to me about now.”
She looks past me into the fire, as if trying to find the right words.
Finally, she sets her plate on the coffee table in front of us and turns toward me fully. I mimic her movements.
“First, I have to tell you something,” she says quietly.
Concerned, I pull my brows together.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me,” I assure her.
“Easier said than… said, I guess.” She blows out a breath and looks me in the eye. “First, I need you to know that… I love you too.”
For a beat I don’t breathe. The words render me speechless. I reach for her hand without thinking, and she lets me have it, fingers tight around mine. “Say it again,” I hear myself ask, hoarse.
“I love you,” she repeats. Her grip tightens once more. “I’ve known it for a while, but it scared me. “She swallows, eyes on mine. “And then, when I found out about…”
“Olivia, I’m sorry,” I say. I reach out to touch her cheek with my fingertips. She closes her eyes. “I’m sorry you found out the way you did. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you the truth about my family.”
She’s shaking her head, but I continue. “I told you yesterday that you could ask me anything, and I’d answer. Ask me.”
But she just shakes her head again. “No. That’s not why I’m here,” she says.
Confused, I let my hand drop. “Okay, what is it then?”
She’s starting to worry me. An unnamed fear starts creeping into me.
“Olivia, what’s wrong?”
“Remember, at the donor center yesterday, they took me back for further screening.”
My vision goes black at the edges. “Yes,” I say, hoarsely.
They found something. Something’s wrong. She’s sick.
The familiar grief of losing someone I love comes back and nearly bowls me over. “Olivia, I—” My throat closes, and I punch through it. “Whatever it is—"
“Roberto,” she says, reaching for my hands.
But my mind is somewhere else.
“What is it? We’ll take care of it,” I say, in a rush.
“No,” she says firmly. “It’s not like that.”
“I’ll get you the best doctors in the world.”
“I’m not sick, Roberto,” she snaps. “I’m pregnant!”
The spinning in my head slows and narrows in on her. I stare blankly at her.
“You’re what?” I ask, still lost.
“They took me back and tested me,” she says, gentling her voice. “The results were positive. I’m pregnant.”
“You’re pregnant,” I repeat slowly. “That’s why you couldn’t donate blood.”
“Yes.”
“You’re pregnant,” I whisper.
She sounds concerned when she says, “Yes. Are you all right?”
I stand, pulling her up with me.
I can’t breathe again. It’s too much, the feelings inside me. I have to do something with them.
I grab her upper arms and squeeze. “Olivia, you’re pregnant.”
“Yes,” she says, and there’s a laugh in her voice now. “Roberto—”
The rest of her sentence is lost when I pull her in and take her mouth. I wrap my arms around her, trapping her arms at her sides.
She makes a startled sound against my lips, then opens to me, warm and alive in my arms.
My relief is so sharp it’s almost pain. I kiss her as if my life depends on it, until the spin in my head stops and I can breathe again.
I run my lips over her face, kissing every inch of skin I can. She laughs and says my name. Just my name.
I ease back, touch my forehead to hers, and finally release her arms. She wraps them around me and holds me close.
“Sorry,” I say, rough and a little hoarse. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
She nods, eyes a little wet. “So… it’s good?” she asks hesitantly.
I pull back and cup her cheek.
“Good?” I repeat. “No. It’s not good.” She stiffens, but I just hold her close. “It’s amazing. It’s the best. It’s everything.”
“I was so scared to tell you,” she says, her voice wavering. “I thought…”
She shakes her head and buries her face in my chest.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the moment I laid eyes on you,” I murmur, stroking her hair. “Olivia, I love you. I want a life with you.”
I pull back and search her face. “You feel okay? Tired? Sick?”
She shakes her head. “I feel fine. I haven’t been able to eat properly since I found out.” She looks into my eyes with her watery ones. “I’m actually kind of hungry.”
The laugh rumbles in my chest. I press a kiss to her brow, her nose, then her lips before pulling back and letting her sit back down. I take her plate and put it back in her lap.
“Eat. All of it,” I add. “You’re going to need it.”
She shoots me a puzzled smile. “Why?”
“Because you’re going to need the energy,” I say. I lower my voice, letting it go deep. “Because I’m going to spend all night reminding you of exactly who you belong to.”
Her breath hitches audibly, and the look in her eyes turns hot.
“Roberto,” she says, her voice going husky.
“Eat,” I repeat.