22. Lucia
Chapter twenty-two
Lucia
A bass-heavy beat echoes around the room, and all I want to do is bury my head under the pillow and ignore the alarm blaring from my cell.
I peel open my eyelids enough to see the empty pillow beside me, the indent still visible where my husband slept last night.
Since our honeymoon, we haven’t slept apart, and already, I miss waking up next to him.
Boom, boom, boom , the alarm grows louder before I shut it off.
I think I need to change the tune, because this one hurts my head.
Although I haven’t needed one lately with Antonio taking it upon himself to be the one waking me with gentle fingertips caressing up the middle of my back or along my side from thigh to hip.
Of course, he never stops there, and I wouldn’t want him to.
Antonio’s lovemaking is the perfect wake-up call and another reason I’m going to miss him.
A yawn pulls my mouth wide. I’ve been so tired lately, probably from all the international travel we’ve been doing. It’s like I’ve got permanent jet lag weighing down my limbs, but today I can’t just curl up and go back to sleep.
I have a ten o’clock meeting with the owner of an exclusive Fifth Avenue boutique.
Marielle saw my latest collection at the show in Tokyo and wants to discuss stocking my designs exclusively in New York.
I can’t believe how my career has taken off after London Fashion Week.
All those years of hard work, and I’m gaining recognition I’d always hoped for within the industry.
A sudden burst of energy has me throwing my legs over the side of the bed.
But the moment my body is upright, my stomach rolls and bile rises in my throat; I only just make it to the bathroom in time to lose the contents.
Slumping down onto the tiles with my shoulders against the wall, I drop my head back and close my eyes until the wave of nausea passes.
I can’t be sick today of all days. Placing a hand on the towel rail, I drag myself up to standing, feeling a little better now.
Showered and dressed in one of my own designs, I do a final spin in front of the floor-length mirror in the walk-in closet.
Ant hasn’t skimped on the luxurious fittings here, and I can’t wait to move more of my things in.
While his side is filled with rows of starched business shirts and custom suits in navy, charcoal, and black, my side only has a few dresses, one pantsuit, and some casual trousers and shirts.
The shoe racks look even more pathetic. I hook my finger through the straps on the one pair of black low-heeled sandals, slip them on, and I’m ready to go.
A short while later, my meeting with Marielle is done. She walks me past racks of designer clothes that soon will carry five of my designs. I want to jump for joy, but with my stomach doing flips again, that probably wouldn’t be a good idea.
“Lucia, darling, I’m so excited for our new partnership.
” Marielle waves her arms dramatically in the air like she’s an Italian nonna.
She isn’t. Marielle is an eccentric New Yorker oozing charm, money, and obviously good taste.
After all, she’s going to be selling my dresses.
I smile to myself while holding a hand to my whirring stomach.
She leans close, her heavy perfume cloud surrounding me as she air-kisses both of my cheeks. I hold my breath and pray everything in my belly stays in place. Then I smile my media smile as I inch closer to the door and fresh air.
“I’ll call you, darling,” she says with another wave of fingers that drip with diamonds and other precious stones.
She wears more jewelry than my mother, who believes there can never be too many diamonds.
I glance down at the ring Ant placed on my finger nearly two months ago.
It’s beautiful, simple, and all the jewelry I need.
“Sì, Marielle, and I’ll have those samples delivered to you.”
Finally, I’m through the door of the exclusive boutique and on the sidewalk, drawing in gulps of air. Even cooler air filled with traffic fumes feels good with perspiration beading on my forehead and my stomach ready to eject the half croissant I ate for breakfast.
Thankfully, I asked Tom, our regular driver, to wait for me, and he’s pulled up a little farther along the street.
I sink into the back seat of the town car with a grateful sigh wheezing from my lungs.
This bug I’ve picked up is strange as it comes in waves; one minute I’m perfectly fine, and the next I want to heave.
Unless …
No . It’s impossible.
“Could we please stop at a drug store?” I ask Tom, my hands wringing in my lap.
“Of course, Mrs. Barbieri.”
***
Two blue lines taunt me from the shelf above the bathroom sink, proof of the impossible. In fact, that’s four blue lines in total, because I did two tests, not believing the first one. I definitely don’t have a stomach bug. I’m pregnant.
I guess I fall into the 1 percent category of birth control ineffectiveness. Although, with all the different time zones and the fact we’ve never used a condom except for that first time, I shouldn’t be surprised.
Checking my phone, I wonder if Antonio has landed in Naples yet. If not, then it shouldn’t be long till he does. With shaky fingers, I send him a message to call when he lands. There’s no way I can keep this news to myself when I’ve no idea if he’s ready for children.
Does he remember that weekend in Capri when I said I wanted to be a mother?
My hand flies to my mouth, and this time, it’s not because I’m going to be sick.
Cavolo! I hope he doesn’t think I planned this.
And when my cell buzzes and the name big-guy flashes on the screen, I don’t immediately answer because I’m not sure how to tell him.
“Hey, sweetheart. Are you missing me already?” If only he knew how much I wish he were here with me so I could see his reaction. We haven’t talked about children—well, not since we decided to turn our arranged marriage into a real one.
But my nerves get the better of me, so instead of telling him why I need to speak to him, I answer his question. “I needed to hear your voice.”
A chuckle rumbles through the phone, and for the first time today, my stomach settles. “You really are missing me.” His voice holds surprise, and I imagine his raised eyebrow and a satisfied smile plastered across his perfect mouth.
“I just need to hear you tell me again that you love me,” I plead as a wave of tears close my throat, turning my voice croaky.
“I love you, beautiful,” he says, and a couple of tears escape down my cheeks. “Hey, how did your meeting go with the boutique?”
“R-r-really good,” I stammer, my voice hitching. The initial enthusiasm has paled into insignificance, given the news I’ve had since.
“That’s great. I’m so proud of you, and when I’m home, we’ll celebrate.” He’s so happy for me that more silent tears flow unchecked. Google said hormones would already be wreaking havoc on my body, making me feel sick and emotional. I just didn’t expect it would be all at once.
“Luce, are you okay?” he asks, concern etched into his voice, and this time, I can’t hold back a sob. It’s pulled from my chest in a spluttering gasp.
“I’m pregnant,” I blurt out, completely overwhelmed. The tension of trying to find the right words to tell him releases in a messy, emotional display, and now I’m glad he can’t see me.
“Did you say … pregnant?” Antonio stutters. I guess my words weren’t very clear.
“Sì, we’re having a baby.” My breath hitches. “I know we haven’t talked about this, but—”
I don’t get to finish before he interrupts. “I’m going to be a dad.” He sounds happy, but I can’t be sure.
“Is that okay?” I ask, biting down on my bottom lip as I wait for his reply.
“Okay? I’m fucking ecstatic. My beautiful wife, who has my heart, is having my baby. That’s amazing. Fuck, I wish I was there with you.”
Another wave of tears overwhelms me, but this time the sobs are intermingled with laughter.
“Are you okay?”
“Sì, sì. Perfect. Well, a little sick, but I’m fine now that I’ve told you. Just a bit emotional, and apparently, that’s normal.”
He asks a million questions about babies, most I don’t have answers to, with only my hour of Googling knowledge on the subject. I’m sure we’ll figure it out together.
“I have to go now, but we’ll talk again tomorrow. I love you, my beautiful wife, mother of my child.”
“I love you too, papa-to-be,” I whisper, and with the words comes a shiver that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “Stay safe and come home soon,” I add, though I’m not sure why I feel uneasy about him being away this time when he’s always traveling. It hasn’t bothered me in the past.
Again, I put it down to hormones.