Chapter 5 #3
“If people started to question the veracity of this, it would probably be because you slapped me outside in broad daylight.” He winked cockily, and passed me by, walking down the stairs and away from me.
It felt like there was a drum set in my chest. “Lover’s spat,” I nearly shouted, rolling my lips as I abruptly turned around.
My eyes narrowed, and I hoped they scorched his back, penetrating a hole through him, anything to dare him to glance over his shoulder.
To give me one look. To acknowledge me. Which meant maybe this union wouldn’t be pure hell.
Because so far, we were like two caged animals, a punishment to one another with no way out and no way of letting anything in, including peace.
He got down to the bottom of the stairs and then gazed up at me. “Not possible,” he finally responded.
“And what makes you an expert on the subject?”
Tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants, he sighed. “Never said I was. Although, I’m pretty sure you have to actually be lovers for that to be true.”
“Fine. Screw this all up.” Slowly walking to meet him, I glided my hand down one side of the handrail.
“What do I care?” I pursed my lips. “Engagement photos are supposed to be authentic. They’re supposed to be of couples, real couples, walking hand in hand, strolling down Fourth Street, and gazing into each other’s eyes instead of looking for oncoming traffic. ”
“What engaged couples do you know? Because they sound stupid. I hope to never meet them.” He angled his head. “In any event, you really like to hear the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”
“You think I care that I’m going to—”
He gave new meaning to the word opportunist, bypassing everything that was right, speeding through every metaphorical red or yellow light, and paying the toll to cross the river of lost souls.
He kissed me. Swallowing anything else that was on the tip of my tongue that I was ready to hurl his way with all my might.
With my lips parted from not getting out my last thought, I tasted an interesting sweetness, like that of honey, and…and…mint. Definitely spearmint. Maybe even vanilla.
A sinful melody played as our lips touched.
“That’s the one,” Frankie yelled with excitement, interrupting us as he got the photo he was probably hoping for the whole time.
Placing a hand on my hip, the corners of my lips tilted upward into a smile. “Well, that’s just us being—” My stomach rolled. Fiercely. With a determination I found almost as revolting as the nauseated feeling that was overtaking me.
Frankie talked between bites of his sandwich, which from the smell of it, was a tuna sandwich.
“I’ve been doing this for a while, and I can usually pick up on which couples are going to make it and which aren’t.
” He waved a finger in the air. The smell of his breath carried over to me with the wind and tested my ability to hold back a gag.
“You two are definitely in it for the long haul.”
I tried not to make a scene, forcing deep, steadying breaths in and out, but I wasn’t entirely sure what had come over me.
I had never been sickened by the smell of tuna before.
In fact, I quite enjoyed the sandwich. Sometimes with pickles.
Maybe even hummus. Never mayonnaise, though, because on any given day, that was unacceptable.
Marco came up behind me and tapped my butt, which earned him a deep V that formed between my eyebrows and heavy wrinkling on my forehead as I attempted to make it as clear as possible I wanted his hand off.
Clearing his throat but keeping his hand firmly there, he offered me a bored look, his expression nearly stoic. His mouth opened as he turned to Frankie, but I completely tuned him out.
I had other things on my mind.
If the tuna was odd, then what did that make the fact that I was two weeks late?
It wasn’t like me to miss a period.
It also wasn’t like me to have an exceptionally great sense of smell.
I wasn’t like polar bears. I could hardly smell my own perfume after a while, let alone the contents of someone’s lunch.
Yet, I could pinpoint the notes in Marco’s cologne.
At least, I thought I was right about them.
And that tuna may as well have been right in front of my face with the intensity to which I smelled it.
But it wasn’t impossible.
I couldn’t be—
Nah.
It added up, but—
That would mean I was—
Well, it would mean I was pregnant.
But the last person I had sex with was—
My mind began to reel.
—and there was no one I had slept with in close proximity before him.
So, that only left him.
If I was pregnant, then the father was Robert Lyons.
“The christening. You’re free, right?”
Marco’s words had my eyes widening, my throat bobbing as I tried to figure out what it was I wanted to say. How did he—
“It’s going to be a family affair, especially since it’s Maria and Dom’s kid.”
Of course, he was talking about Maria and Dom’s baby. I remembered Capri telling me that they had a son. They named him Nicolo.
“Yes,” I finally answered, nodding. “I love babies.” I just wasn’t sure how I felt about having my own.