Chapter 15
Niko
I can tell that Bianca doesn’t believe me, or my intentions, about showing up for her and our baby. And, on some level, I get it. She’s used to being independent and in control of her decisions.
Pregnancy has thrown a wrench into every aspect of her life and she’s adjusting. Adapting.
But I don’t like that she doesn’t trust my word. And I intend to prove to her that I’m invested in this pregnancy, in our baby’s life, just as much as she is.
Which is why I fake the flu, clue Stavros in, and miss an entire day of practice.
I book an early morning flight back to Germany, knowing that dinner at Luca and Carla DiBlanco’s house will go late.
I refuse to rush the meal and give them the chance to think less of me or my commitment to Bianca and the baby.
Once my lie is firmly in place and the logistics of my visit are sorted, I take a shower and relax for the night.
Bianca was exhausted after our conversation. I think the mental load of preparing for it drained her on top of the pregnancy fatigue and she admitted that she was going to get an early night’s sleep.
I kick back on the sofa in my suite and dial Ellie and my brother. I haven’t told anyone about Bianca being pregnant, but now that her family knows, it feels like I should tell mine. Well…some of my family members.
“I thought you’d be sleeping,” Dimi answers, glancing at his watch to confirm the time.
“I’m in Spain,” I admit. Spain is one hour behind Germany and while it’s getting late, I can’t sleep yet.
“For soccer?” Ellie questions, her face popping up on the screen.
“What’s wrong?” Dimi presses, accurately reading my expression.
“I have to tell you guys something,” I share.
Dimi arches an eyebrow. “Yeah? Who’d you knock up?”
I frown, but don’t reply. Silence hangs between us and the longer it stretches, the more stifled the moment becomes.
Understanding dawns on Ellie’s face first.
Her mouth falls open and her eyes widen. “Shut the fuck up. Seriously, Niko?”
“Huh?” My brother scratches his temple.
I swipe my tongue over my bottom lip, gathering my words.
“Who is she?” Ellie asks.
“Wait, you seriously knocked someone up?” Dimi clues in. “Holy shit, bro! What the fuck were you thinking? You’ve been in Germany for like…three months.”
“It happened in New York,” I admit.
“The woman you met in New York!” my brother cries out, pointing at me accusingly. “Wait. Why are you in Spain?”
“Let him speak, Dimi.” Ellie cuts in, staring at me. “Niko, start at the beginning.”
“Her name is Bianca DiBlanco,” I say, filling them in on the entire story. Well, I leave out some details, but I sketch a pretty accurate timeline of the events.
When I’m finished, Dimi whistles between his teeth. “Bro, Baba’s going to fucking kill you.”
“Not helping, Dimi,” Ellie mutters.
“Mama’s going to cry. Oh, she’s going to be so upset. You have to tell Alex next so she can manage Mama. You’re going to propose, right?” Dimi continues.
“Dimitri!” Ellie snaps. “This isn’t constructive. How do you feel, Niko? What are you thinking?”
“I’m…overwhelmed,” I admit. “I mean, I obviously didn’t plan for this. But I’m all in. It’s my baby. I want to be involved and have a say and…it’s my baby, too,” I repeat.
“Of course,” Ellie replies, understanding in her gaze.
“Maybe Mama will be happy to have another grandchild,” Dimi murmurs thoughtfully, half to himself. “Alex can really help you spin this.”
I sigh. “I have to go back to Stuttgart.”
“Obviously,” Ellie agrees.
“But I fucking hate the idea of not being supportive of Bianca,” I continue.
“There’s nothing else you can do, bro,” Dimi says. “I mean, you need to make money if you’re going to support her, especially if she’s taking a step back from work.”
“I know,” I groan. “I’ll just have to…make it work.”
“Do you think YiaYia will make me her favorite grandson now?” Dimi ponders. “Having a child out of wedlock is not the Karas way.”
Ellie rolls her eyes. “You can figure this out, Niko. Bianca sounds rational and open to having some sort of arrangement with you. She’s not blackmailing you—”
“Oh, God, that would be epic.” Dimi cuts in.
“Or threatening your reputation,” Ellie continues. “Or anything sinister.”
“Not at all,” I say, offended on Biana’s behalf.
“So…” Ellie shrugs. “It’s going to be fine.”
“My God, Eleanor,” Dimi clucks, shaking his head, “your bar for relationships is so damn low it’s literally rolling across the floor.”
Ellie flips him the middle finger and he grins.
“Are you going to tell Mama and Baba?” my brother asks me.
“Not yet,” I reply. “You were right; I should tell Alex first. Besides, I need to get through tomorrow night’s dinner with Bianca’s family and have a better understanding of how everything is going to work. Mama and Baba will want answers, and right now, I don’t have any.”
Dimi shakes his head. “You better get on that, bro.”
I snort. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Stavros
Doing my best, mate. It’s not looking good.
Niko
No sweat, dude. Appreciate you.
Stavros
All good?
Niko
Getting there.
Stavros
Best case, you’ll be fined. Worst case, benched.
Niko
It is what it is.
Stavros
Where are you?
Niko
Where I need to be. Speak soon.
I slip my phone into the pocket of my new blazer and straighten my shoulders. Clutching the bottle of wine and balancing the bouquet of flowers in one arm, I hit the buzzer number for Luca DiBlanco’s apartment.
The main door clicks a moment later and I push inside, riding the elevator up to the top floor.
I pull in a breath, rolling my neck from side to side. Tension gathers in my shoulder blades, pinching the back of my neck. But I can’t appear tense or nervous. I need to prove to Bianca’s family that I’m stepping up. I need to prove it to her.
When the elevator doors open, I note Luca standing in the doorframe of his apartment. His legs are planted, his arms folded across his chest, his expression stern.
Fuck. Here we go.
“Luca,” I say, stepping forward and extending my free hand to shake his. “I’m Niko. Thanks for the invite.”
He nods, his eyes hard as they pierce mine. He shakes my hand, squeezing a little too firmly, and holding on for a little too long. But I understand why he’s sizing me up. To be honest, I’d be kind of pissed if he didn’t.
He moves to the side and I follow him over the threshold of his apartment.
“Niko.” His wife, Carla, smiles warmly. Her eyes are a brilliant blue-green and her hair is pulled back in a ponytail braid. “So glad you could join us.”
“Thank you for the dinner invitation,” I reply, extending the wine and flowers toward her.
“Aw! Thank you. You didn’t have to bring anything,” she says, leaning in to kiss both my cheeks hello, as is the custom in Spain.
I smile as some of the tension seeps from my limbs. I glance around, noting the space is gorgeous. It looks like it was designed by a professional. While it’s polished and modern, it’s also inviting and lived in.
Luca clears his throat.
I dip my head toward Carla. “You have a beautiful home.”
“Gracias.” She beams.
I turn toward Luca. “Is Bianca here?” I glance at my watch. “She said seven p.m.”
“She’s here—” Carla starts as Bianca walks into the foyer.
Shadowing her frame is a guy I’ve never met but know on sight. Andrés Huntington is the half-Australian, half-Spanish goalie for League Valencia.
He places his fingertips lightly against the small of Bianca’s back and she doesn’t move away from his touch. If anything, she leans into it, as if drawing strength from his presence.
What the hell is that about?
I work a swallow, feeling my throat constrict. Is he just a supportive friend? Or is there something more between them?
“Niko, you made it,” Bianca greets me, stepping closer to kiss my cheeks.
I place one hand on her waist as I dip down. “Wouldn’t miss it, Bee,” I murmur, shortening my nickname for her.
She smirks but her gaze darts over my expression, assessing.
“Niko.” I take a step forward, wrapping one arm around Bianca’s shoulder, and extending my other toward Huntington.
He glares at my hand for a heartbeat before reluctantly shaking. At the pressure he applies, I internally swear. He’s got a fucking thing for her. Of course he does.
“Andrés,” he replies coolly. Then, lowering his voice, he tacks on, “Didn’t think Stuttgart players could skip a practice.”
“We can when it matters,” I reply, keeping my tone even.
Luca sighs heavily.
I pull back from our handshake and rock back on my heels, glancing around the dinner party just as the doorbell rings.
Luca pulls it open.
“Are we late? Is he here?” a woman asks, moving into the foyer with a baby boy perched on her hip. “Oh!” She blushes when she sees me. “Hi! I’m Marlowe.” She kisses my cheeks. “This is Antonio.”
“Nice to meet you, Marlowe. I’m Niko.” I ruffle her son’s hair. “Hi, Antonio.”
“Alejandro.” Alejandro García, one of the top soccer players in the country, hell, in all of Europe, steps behind his wife and shakes my hand in greeting.
“I didn’t know you were all joining for dinner,” Bianca murmurs.
“Thought you might need support,” Andrés replies harshly.
Marlowe shrugs, her eyes gleaming as they dart around the group. “Didn’t want to miss the drama.”
“Marlowe!” her husband scolds her.
But I chuckle. “I don’t blame you.”
Her grin widens. “Us Americans have to stick together,” she whispers.
I smirk back, relieved to have someone, anyone, on my side.
“Let’s relocate to the kitchen,” Carla suggests.
We move from the foyer into the open-concept kitchen, which extends into a living area and out onto a beautiful, spacious terrace. The table is already set and the center is lined with tapas, bottles of wine, and sparkling water.
“You okay?” Bianca whispers.
I nod, tugging the ends of her hair. “I’m fine. You have nothing to worry about.”
She snorts. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“Trust me, Honeybee.”
Her eyebrows pull together at that. “I want to.” Her voice is soft, as if she’s nervous to share the truth.
“I know,” I reply, lowering my hand to the center of her back.
“Niko, wine?” Luca asks, gesturing toward me with a bottle.
“Sure,” I reply.