Chapter 32 #3
I narrow my eyes on him while he pretends he doesn't see me. Mm. Odd.
Wait. A. Minute.
Chicory instead of coffee. Mara hasn't touched her glass with wine. Glow dialed up past ten. The loose dress. Paul's unexpected blessings line.
My eyes dart between her and Paul. Oh my god. Mara is pregnant.
Mara gives me the kind of smile that says everything's fine, exactly the same, really, why are you staring at me like that?
Yup. Totally and definitely pregnant.
So what do you do when you find out such a huge thing? You spill the secret to your boyfriend's ear when you're alone, washing dishes.
Ben pauses, suds dripping off his hands. "Hell no. They just got married." He whips his head to the living room, then back at me. "No."
"Uh-huh. Because people never have sex before marriage, right?" I counter. "She's glowing. That dress isn't strangling her ribs, and have you seen how Paul looks at her?"
"That's just them repressing PDA in front of my parents," he throws back with a smirk. "Paul's been gripping that couch cushion to keep from dry humping the air."
I drop my head to my chest and sputter a laugh. "Yeah. Knowing them, I bet they must be pressure cookers inside. Still—want to bet?"
Ben's eyes spark in a second. "Yeah."
I blink at him, stunned. "Jesus. You already thought of something, didn't you?"
"Yeah." He nods, eyes dark. "Loser hands over their socials. Winner posts whatever they want."
I frown, shake my head. "Absolutely not. The last thing I need is one of my indecent selfies online."
"Are you insane? That's for me," he says, indignant, and points at himself to make it clear. "My hands. My eyes only. I'd shut down every server on earth before I let that happen. Poke some eyes out."
He sounds angry. Touché.
"Fine. Deal," I say, lifting my hand but he catches it and pulls me into a kiss just when Carmela walks in.
The second she sees her son's hand on my butt, she stops cold. Doesn't say anything, though.
I pull away from Ben, heat rushing to my face, but Ben hands me the plate calmly. His mouth is twitching toward me, though, so I scowl at him to stop it, otherwise I'm an idiot and I'll laugh.
"Join us for Scopa?" Carmela offers, forcing her tone to be neutral.
"Yeah, sure," I say, smiling.
The night stretches on, loud and rowdy.
By the time the dining room table has been cleared and turned into a casino, it's nearly midnight.
I've always been trash at cards. Lucky in love though, I guess, because across from me is my man, and every time I glance at him I think, yeah—no trade in the world.
Playing with his family is dangerous. I mean full-on yelling, card slamming, accusations flying.
Mostly at Antonio, who barely says two words the whole night but somehow manages to win most rounds and shout "Scopa!
" like it's a war cry. I swear it's suspicious, but I don't get the game enough to figure out how he's cheating.
Ben? Competitive as hell. His jaw's tight, his hands slap the cards like we're in Vegas, and every so often the table teeters toward an actual fight.
The rest of us are losing so badly that we keep getting bullied into drinking shots of the good grappa Dino smuggled in from the pantry.
Except Carmela, who isn't playing, Antonio, who can't drink because of his heart attack, and Mara, for hidden reasons. Paul though? Sloshed.
Game's ending, everyone's loud, and Paul leans into me, breath warm with alcohol. "I'm really happy for you guys. Don't break him again, Em," he says. It's not cruel. It's soft, weirdly sweet.
He presses a sloppy kiss into my hair, then downs another shot, which means another shot for me, too.
So yeah, I'm drunk— the kind that gets into your cheeks and makes everything in the world seem easier for a moment.
Which is probably why I might have kissed Ben on the mouth, in front of everyone, when he won. Might have.
Carmela drops her gaze into her wine glass, face unreadable, and Dino does some Italian gesture that I think celebrates our love.
Ben smiles at me, all flushed and boyish, and then his eyes dart straight at Mara.
She's by the window, half-tuned out, scrolling her phone.
He swivels to her with grappa in hand, about to pour her some, when Mara—cool as ever—blocks the glass with her hand, attention on her socials.
"You know I don't drink hard liquor."
"Ben," I say, coming behind him, but his game's on. His smile is too smooth, laced with suspicion.
He sits on the armrest, watching her. "What have you been drinking?"
She bristles, staring him down. "Why do you care what I drink or cook? Mind your own business."
"Just being a good host." He shrugs. "Wine? I'll get your favorite from the cellar."
"I'm good." Nails flick. Dismissal. "Sit down, you're making me nervous."
"Am I?"
Mara looks past him, arches a brow at me. "Babe? What happened to him?"
He doesn't give me a chance to answer, turning almost nose-to-nose to Mara, voice pitched so only we hear. "We know."
She blinks, but doesn't give anything away. Goes back to her phone. "No idea what you mean."
"How many months?" he whispers.
Mara's eyes blaze as she nearly rockets off the armchair, and she hisses, "Shut your mouth."
His brows lift, like he still didn't believe it till now. Then they narrow and his voice comes out reproachful. "Seriously? You didn't tell me?"
"We just found out, two days ago. I haven't even seen a doctor yet."
A breath catches in my throat and I hug her. "Mara! Congratulations. You will be the best mother." I try my best to whisper, too excited.
"Thank you, but don't tell anyone," she whispers too. Then looks at us curiously. "How did you know?"
"Emma sniffed it out," Ben says with an arched brow, like he's just realized I'm dangerous.
"And you, my love, lost our bet." I jab my finger at him with a boss-face. "Pay. Up."
He groans, long and miserable, but pulls his phone from his pocket and slaps it into my hand.
First thing I find? That gym selfie I pried out of him. Arms flexed, mirror gaze, bicep practically sculpted for worship.
I smile devilishly. "Sweet."
"Oh hell no." He slides across the chair with a speed that's almost feline, but somehow, I'm faster.
"Deal is a deal." My thumbs fly. "Caption: Just a humble guy hustling, manifesting, hydrating. #boyboss."
He hisses, hands clamping over his face, and the sound is full frustration. "You don't want to do this, Emma. I will make you pay, over and over."
"Oh wait," I tease, "PS: I eat bacon, but spiritually I'm plant-based."
Mara laughs and snatches the phone before I can post it. "No, wait. I have a better idea." She holds up a hand when his expression sharpens, ready to snatch his phone back.
"Don't worry. I'm not looking. Not looking. Don't see anything indecent," she singsongs knowingly, but the tension doesn't leave me and Ben, because some of the photos are... well, borderline...
Finally, she clicks her mouth playfully and spins the screen back to us. "Here you go."
I look at it and my mouth drops a little.
It's our kiss—perfect fall light spilling around us in Central Park, his hand cupping my cheek with that effortless ownership. Our first online photo.
Caption: Look who finally figured it out. Took a decade and divine intervention — Mara. Hashtag: My Roman Empire.
"Alright. That's way better," Ben says and kisses her forehead.
Carmela appears out of nowhere, hand on Ben's shoulder. "I prepared fresh sheets in your room."
"Mamma, I told you, we can't—"
"Not one night?" Her eyes fill with hurt. "One night you cannot sleep home? You only come here to eat? I barely saw you these two weeks."
I smirk faintly, because Ben definitely inherited nonchalance from her.
He closes the distance to her in one small step, folding her in his arms. Even with all his hard edges, his home still melts him.
"We'll stay," I say before he can protest for my sake.
Because he's a good boyfriend, his eyes snap to mine, questioning if I'm sure. And because I'm a good girlfriend, I smile and nod.
"We'd love to stay. Thank you for having us, Carmela," I tell her.
He tilts his head slightly and the bloom on his face means more than the fact that I'm not a fan of sleeping in new places.
"Good, Emma. You make me happy." Carmela beams. "This way, you don't skip breakfast. Tradition!"
"If you're tired," she adds, eyes cutting to me like she's granting me mercy. "You go sleep."
It is merciful.
We hug everyone good night and stride up to the fourth floor. Even with Ben not living at home for many years, the whole floor still belongs to him.
He hauls me into the bathroom right away, hands me a towel, and says, "Those fishnets stay on."
I frown. “What? No. Your fetish wasn't in the bet."
He grips my hips so tight that for a second, I'm almost sure that he'll be insane enough to actually take me right here.
"You'll be the first girl to sleep in my bed here," he says.
"Yeah, right."
"Swear." He looks at me, putting a hand to his chest dramatically. "You saw my mom. No teenage girl would survive her."
I give him the fine, you're not wrong look, but still shake my head.
"Come on. Don't pretend you don't like it, being the first, wearing exactly what I asked," he teases.
I exhale loudly. "Fine. But tomorrow, when I've got a chain-link tattoo etched into my ass, you're paying damages."
His smile is all sharp edges like that's precisely what he wants, and he's gone.
I sigh. Seriously, I'm so freaking weak when it comes to him.