Chapter 12
Bianca
“How are you settling in?” Carla asks, leaning against the doorframe of the guest bedroom.
It’s a beautiful space, with three large bedrooms and floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the Mercat Colon.
I turn away from the window and smile at her. “I’m okay. Thanks for having me, Car.”
She waves a hand. “You’re always welcome here, you know that. This is your home, B.”
The sincerity in her tone causes tears to fill my eyes and I silently swear at myself for being such a pussy. Pull it together!
Carla notices my tears but doesn’t comment on them. Instead, she steps farther into the room and sits on a chair in the corner. Gathering her long blonde hair into a high ponytail, she regards me thoughtfully. As she braids her ponytail, she asks, “What’s going on?”
“Did Luca put you up to getting the story?”
“No, he’s planning on doing that himself. I’m worried about you, too. I know there’s no way you would leave New York, leave your job, if there wasn’t a serious reason. Luca’s worried out of his mind that you’re sick, like your mom was.” She lowers her voice. “And you’re too scared to tell him.”
Shit. My chest tightens. Our mama battled breast cancer for years before her body, brittle and beaten down by disease, took her. Those years were pure agony as I was her primary caretaker in New York and Luca was our primary breadwinner.
The fact that my spontaneous decision to come to Valencia and not talk about what brought me here would plunge my brother into those memories, into that ice-cold fear, hurts. I would never knowingly put him, or Carla, or even a stranger through that.
Blowing out a sigh, I nod. “Can you ask Luca to come in too? I’d like to tell you both together.”
Concern streaks across Carla’s face but she nods, stands, and moves from the room.
I look back out the window. The mercat, or market, is really an open, airy public market that resembles a church with its architectural shape and intricate stained-glass windows.
It’s a hub for cafés and restaurants as well as a place to purchase local goods and handmade specialty items like earrings or pottery.
I watch the people flit in and out, some with friends, others with significant others and children, a handful by themselves, listening to music or podcasts or audiobooks on headphones. What I wouldn’t give to escape into the mercat right this minute.
“Bianca.” My brother’s voice interrupts my musings.
Pulling in a deep, cleansing breath, I turn.
Luca’s dark brown eyes are guarded. His expression is severe.
He hasn’t shaved in several days and he looks worn-out, like he hasn’t been sleeping.
Guilt cuts through my abdomen, twisting my intestines with shame.
I know how much he worries—about me, Carla, his elderly friend álvaro, his teammates and friends.
My brother is a caretaker by nature and I’ve done a piss-poor job honoring his empathy and concern by keeping him in the dark this long.
“Are you sick?” he murmurs, sinking to the edge of my bed. His hands are clenched, his knuckles paling as he squeezes his fists. Carla stands behind him, one hand on his shoulder. Soothing and comforting and present. “Just tell us.”
“It’s nothing like that,” I say, wanting to put them at ease.
Relief fills Luca’s expression and I note the tears that gather in the corners of his eyes. His reaction makes me feel worse. How much more of a mess can I make of things? How much more of a burden can I be on his life?
“What’s going on?” Carla presses.
I lift my arms out to the sides before letting them fall. “I’m pregnant.”
My brother’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open. Carla tilts her head, studying me. Silence wraps around us and I feel it—the weight of it—pressing down.
I rub my fingers against the center of my chest, as if to dilute the pressure that’s concentrated there.
“Who the fuck is he?” Luca bites out, jumping to his feet. Now that the shock has worn off, he’s furious. Blazing mad. “Where the hell is he?” He looks around the room to accentuate his point. And that’s the last thing I want to tell him. Don’t I owe it to Niko to clue him in first?
Carla touches Luca’s forearm and he stills. Still, his eyes are lethal when they meet mine. “Tell me this was consensual, Bianca. Tell me—”
“It was,” I cry out, moving toward him. “Nothing happened that I didn’t want—”
Luca swears a colorful litany of words in Italian.
“But, obviously, this wasn’t planned,” I continue.
“How are you feeling?” Carla asks softly.
Shame washes over my brother’s face. “Si. Come stai, davvero?” How are you, really?
Emotion sweeps through me, bubbling up into my throat and causing a wave of tears to fill my eyes. I ball my hands into fists and press them against my eye sockets. Then, I look up at the ceiling to keep the moisture from forming into tears. As if I could control this shit.
“Merda,” my brother swears, reaching for me.
The second Luca’s arms wrap around me, I fall apart. I melt into my brother’s embrace and sob against his chest. I cry my fears, my guilt, my shame. Worry and paranoia seep into the material of his shirt as sobs wrack through my body.
His arms hold me, his large palm centered against my spine like an anchor.
For years, it’s been him and me against the world.
We took on our parents’ illnesses together, grieving them as a team and rebuilding our lives without them.
But now, he’s married. He has a family and a career and I don’t want to burden him.
Again. I don’t want to be one more person he has to take care of, support, and show up for.
Not when he’s already been doing that for years and I’m old enough to stand on my own two feet.
I’m supposed to be responsible now.
“Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you found out?” he mutters against the crown of my head and I hear the pain in his voice. “We could have been here for you.”
“I’m so sorry,” I sob, shaking my head against his chest.
“You have nothing to apologize for, B.” Carla cuts in smoothly.
When I pull back from Luca, I note the hurt in his expression and it guts me. Not wanting to face him, I turn toward my sister-in-law and willingly go into her arms next.
Carla hugs me tightly. “You’re not in this alone, Bianca. We’re here for you. We’re family.”
Her words are as soothing as they are painful because I hate that they need to step up for me and help me weeks after their wedding. They should be focused on their own family, on enjoying this honeymoon period together.
“You shouldn’t have to help me,” I manage to say between sobs.
“I should be responsible enough to handle this. You guys just got married. You have demanding careers. And here I am, once again the fuckup, who appears on your doorstep, alone and scared and pregnant.” I move away from them and pace to the window.
“I don’t want to be this person anymore,” I say to the pane of glass. I don’t want to be this person again.
Carla sighs. “We all need support sometimes, B.”
“It seems like I need more than most people.”
“So what?” she counters. “Even if that is true, why is that a bad thing? You’ve dealt with a lot more shit, grief, than most people.”
I close my eyes and feel more tears leak out.
“How far along are you?” Luca asks. And I know he wants to mentally calculate when this happened and then blame himself for not knowing sooner.
“Ten, almost eleven, weeks,” I admit.
“So, still early,” Carla adds as if to assuage Luca’s mind.
I turn back towards them. “I collapsed at work.”
Luca’s neck snaps up and his eyes bore into mine.
“That’s why I came here. I took a leave of absence from work. I was pushing myself too hard. Dehydration, exhaustion…” I tick them off on my fingers. “And then I started bleeding.”
Carla blanches.
“A subchorionic hematoma,” I explain, resting my palm on my abdomen.
I don’t miss the way my brother’s eyes drop to where I hold my stomach. My baby.
“The baby’s fine,” I assure them. “But I freaked out.”
“Of course you did,” Carla interjects. She sits on the bed now, threading her fingers together.
“Work doesn’t know. I mean, they know something happened, but they don’t know the particulars. I asked for some time off and came here,” I add.
“Does anyone know?” Luca asks.
“Marlowe,” I admit.
Luca and Carla stare at me.
I shrug. “I knew she’d give me solid advice and wouldn’t judge.”
My brother hangs his head. “I’m not judging you, B.”
“It’s okay if you are,” I say quietly. “I’m judging me.”
“What did Marlowe say?” Carla prods.
“And where the hell is the guy? Who the fuck is he that he isn’t weighing in on any of this?” Luca points a finger and flails it around the room.
“Marlowe said I need to tell the guy,” I say, looking at my brother.
His eyebrows lift. “He doesn’t know?”
I shake my head, miserable. More tears fall as I note Luca’s bewilderment.
“I still have to tell him,” I admit, sniffling.
Luca averts his gaze but not before I clock the disappointment shading his irises.
“Is he a good guy?” Luca asks the windowpane.
“Yes,” I murmur.
My brother sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Who is he, B?”
I shake my head. “I need to tell him before I share his name.”
“That’s fair,” Carla interjects, keeping my brother from blowing a fuse.
The doorbell rings and I look between Luca and Carla.
Luca swears again. “That’s Andrés, Ale, Marlowe, and the baby. I invited them for dinner.”
“Marlowe’s a great buffer,” Carla offers brightly.
Shit. I close my eyes.
“You don’t have to tell anyone else,” Carla murmurs.
“No, it’s okay. Marlowe knows and now…the cat’s out of the bag. I’ll call Ni—the guy, after dinner.”
Carla links her arm with mine as we follow Luca into the foyer.
“?Qué pasa?” Ale asks as he steps into the foyer. He frowns as he bounces Antonio on his hip. “Tienes mala cara.” What’s up? You look upset.
Luca sighs and drags his hand through his hair the way he does when he’s frustrated. Then, he turns to glance at me over his shoulder.
Understanding flashes in Marlowe’s eyes and she scurries into the apartment, places herself at my other side, and links her arm with mine. Bookended by my sister-in-law and one of my best friends, I admit, “I’m pregnant.”
Surprise crosses Ale’s expression as his gaze swings to his wife. “You knew?”
Marlowe shrugs sheepishly.
I turn my attention to Andrés and wince as shock, quickly followed by fury, moves over his expression. “Pregnant?” he repeats, horror growing in his eyes. “Who the fuck is the father?”
“Tranquilo, tío,” Ale murmurs. Calm down, man.
Luca winces but his eyes find mine as he says, “Bianca’s not ready to share that information. Right now, we are taking things one day at a time and prepared to support her however she needs.”
I have to give my brother credit. Even though I know he’s upset with me, he always has my back.
“Of course,” Ale agrees, closing the space between us and kissing each of my cheeks. “Here, you can start practicing right now.” He passes me Antonio.
Marlowe sighs and takes her baby from my arms, shooting her husband a look.
“Too soon?” Ale jokes.
“You think?” Marlowe replies as Carla smacks her brother in the back of the head.
Ale shrugs. “Are you okay, B? How are you feeling?”
I nod, managing a watery smile. “Yes, thank you. And thanks for the joke. I honestly need some humor.”
Ale grins back and pulls me in for a hug. “You’re going to be okay. No matter what. We’ve all got you, B.”
“Thanks, Ale,” I say, patting his back.
As my brother and Carla lead their friends into the kitchen, I hang back to accept Andrés’ ire.
My old friend looks devastated, piling on the guilt that’s been swimming in my stomach since I first learned of my pregnancy.
“You okay? Honestly?” he asks, his Australian accent thicker, demonstrating how twisted up he is over this news.
“I’m okay.”
He pulls me into his arms and I melt into him. He holds me close and I relax, burying my face in the crook of his neck. “Bianca,” Andrés whispers my name and I hear the words he doesn’t say.
How did this happen?
Why?
Who the hell is the father?
I wrap my arms around his waist and press my palms into the material of his Henley shirt. “I’ll be okay,” I repeat.
“I know you will. Of course you will.” He pulls away to give me a small smile. “I wish you would have told me.”
“You sound like Luca.”
“Is that why you’re back in Valencia?”
“Yes. I need to take it easy.”
Understanding washes over Andrés’ expression and he kisses my temple. “I’m here for you, B. Whatever you need. Always. You know that, don’t you?”
“I don’t deserve you as a friend, Andrés.”
Something flares in his eyes, but he averts his gaze before I can read it. Instead, he pulls me into another hug.
We stand like that, in silence, for several minutes as I regulate my breathing and come to terms with everything that happened.
I’m pregnant. My family knows.
Now, I have no choice but to tell Niko the truth.