Baby by Design: Designing Love Book One (Crimson Romance) (13 page)

Tony took a turn at rolling his eyes. Vin thought everything he did was a big deal, which made it extra fun to mess with him. “Somebody classy, right, like Monica from Princess and the Pole. She wears sequins.”

“She also wears Lucite stilettos. No.”

“I was kidding.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not. This is a classy night for a classy lady. Nonna deserves it.”

Yes she did, and Vin didn’t have to worry, because Tony wasn’t bringing a date that would embarrass him. “I’ll be bringing Trish DeVign.”

Vin’s eyes bugged. “Playing with fire, aren’tcha, man?”

“I don’t want to hear it from you, Vin. Angie’s already said her peace, and believe me, that’s enough.”

“So why are you pushing it?”

Tony shrugged. “I like her.”

Which was true. He’d always liked Trish, but now there was even more to like about her, like the way she dug her fingernails into his neck, all needy and hard and… He shook off the wayward thoughts, and focused on the real reason he was doing this.
Puttana
wasn’t a name he wanted associated with Trish.

“I still think you’re digging your own grave.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“We shall see. Just do me a favor and don’t let the shit hit the fan during this concert. I want it drama free. Make sure Ange knows, too.”

Oh, that would go over well.
Ange, Vin doesn’t want you causing trouble with me and Trish at the concert.
He could almost hear her maniacal laughter.

Vin smacked Tony’s arm and then jogged down the steps. When Tony heard the main door clang, he knew there was no reason to be standing in the hall, but hell, he couldn’t move, couldn’t face what came next. He needed to ask Trish to Vin’s shindig, parade her around his family like she was his girl, in front of Angie and Vin, Nonna, and Ma.

What had he gotten himself into?

• • •

Trish stared at her figure in the full-length mirror, which was not a favorite pastime. When she looked too long, she saw all the things she didn’t like about her body, all the things that separated her from her flawless, ballerina-built adopted mother, things like freckles splattering her chest, a higher-than-normal waistline, broad shoulders, and crooked breasts, with the right one smaller than the left. But she’d forgive the size difference if her breasts ever managed to feed a baby. That would be miraculous. Nursing a baby was the direct antithesis of surrendering a baby.

With an exhale that dropped her shoulders a smidge, Trish patted her stomach below her belly button. If she ovulated and Tony’s sperm managed to survive the twenty-four hours of upheaval that followed, she was technically pregnant. She frowned, because it was still a long shot. She was too practical and realistic to think one time would work.

But there was a chance. And as long as there was a chance, she couldn’t take any chances with Stu, who left a message two hours ago. She hated the thought of ignoring him, but she hated the thought of further complicating what was already complicated.

Trish shook her head and shuffled into her closet. She ruffled the clothes until she settled on a CMU sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants. As a rule, there were no buttons or zippers after work hours, and that wasn’t going to change because Tony was on his way with pizza.

He tried to get her to go out, but with all this chaos swirling around her, she only wanted to hide, which was better done alone, but for some reason Tony insisted. Maybe he was still nursing a guilty conscience from the confrontation with Angie. They were supposed to be dating after all, and this was what dating couples did. They ate pizza and watched episodes of
Gossip Girl
on DVD. Okay, that was her version of what dating couples did, but ultimately this was her plan, wasn’t it?

The doorbell rang as she put finishing touches on her braided hair, securing it with a band and tossing the tail over her shoulder. She padded bare feet over the area rug in her bedroom and onto the hardwoods in the hall. With each step, her heart beat faster. She’d read enough about pregnancy to know blood volume increased. Was that the cause of her racing heart? At the bottom of the stairs, she saw Tony’s silhouette through the stained glass, and her stomach tumbled. Could she be getting morning sickness this soon and this late in the day?

With a clammy hand, she gripped the knob and opened the door to find him smiling on her front porch, pizza box in hand. A grocery bag dangled from his other hand.

“Delivery,” he said.

She smiled back. “Hey, you.” And stepping aside, she waved him in.

He didn’t move. He stood there with that goofy grin on his gorgeous face. “I like your hair.”

She felt a ridiculous blush creep up her neck and fan across her face. Silly. “Thank you.”

He moved then, brushing by her, angling the pizza box toward the living room. When he passed, she leaned a smidge closer and drew a lungful of his air, as if on some level she knew just the scent of him would banish the worry of the day. They were in this together after all. In a matter of weeks he’d become her sole confidante.

“Where do you want it, kitchen, living room, dining room?”

Bedroom.
She shut the door harder than necessary.
Where the heck did that come from?

“Family room,” she said slowly and deliberately. “I’m all set up in there.”

He faced her, raising a brow. “Right. No televisions allowed in formal living rooms, which is another reason why they’re wasted space.”

“Televisions are welcome in a formal setting as long as they’re hidden. If you prefer to watch in the living room on my nineteen-inch screen, then we can certainly forego the sixty-incher.” She walked by him with a smirk, grabbing the heavy bag from his hand.

He followed, chuckling behind her. “I’m good with sixty inches.”

“I figured you would be.” She looked inside the bag. A clear plastic container of the salad she requested rested alongside a two-liter of diet caffeine-free soda. This time, he didn’t come bearing beer. She wasn’t sure what to make of that.

On one hand, beer represented his need to calm both their nerves before they… Thinking about having sex with Tony while he was walking behind her did uncomfortable things to her skin. She fidgeted against the prickles. On the other hand, beer sort of signified the plan to relax and maybe take things too far. She fidgeted again. What did soda signify?

“Half pepp, half cheese, just how you like it.” He put the box on the wet bar counter next to the paper plates and flipped open the lid. Drawing a deep breath over the pie, he hummed. “Mm, mm. There’s nothing like pizza.” And then he picked off a piece of pepperoni and tossed it into his mouth. There was something charming about the mannerless adoration. And that was Tony in a nutshell, charming despite the lack of refinement. He was good company, too.

She unloaded the bag, placing the soda on the counter near the sink, and dumping the salad into a nearby bowl. As she worked, Tony wandered over to the big screen, where he whistled.

“What are you a fan of that requires a TV this big? Wait…” he held up a hand, “don’t tell me. Mixed martial arts?”

She wrinkled her nose.

“You’re a gamer then, aren’t you? Call of Duty? Halo?”

She nodded. “You caught me. I’m a regular sniper.”

He picked up the DVD case which was resting on the end table. “No way. This is what you do? That’s a slap in the beautiful face of this screen.”

“That’s what
we’re
going to do. And it’s good, mindless entertainment. You can handle it.”

“Yeah, but why would I want to? The only reason a guy watches this crap is to get lucky with the girl who wants to watch it in the first place.” He stared at her with a sparkle in his eyes and a hitch in his lip.

The deafening sound of an opening soda bottle filled the room. Trish had no idea what was coming over her, but flirtatious words she could never imagine saying pushed against her lips, demanding to be said until she couldn’t hold them back any longer.

“So, are you going to watch it with me or what?”

She needed sunglasses to weather his full-blown smile. “Sure,” he said, walking to the bar, grabbing a piece of pizza and taking a generous bite. “As long as we’re clear on the motivation.”

Oh, they were clear. He wanted sex. For fun. And the same mischievous part of her that spoke those flirty words couldn’t be giddier. Of course, the sensible part of her would commence worry any minute now.

“If I watch that garbage, then you’ll be my date to Vin’s concert for Nonna.” He nudged her with his elbow. “It’ll be our first official appearance at a family function as a couple.”

Let the worrying begin.

Trish had been to dozens of Corcarelli family functions over the years, but always as Angie’s guest. Going with Tony was going to be weird. But if she was gutsy enough to make a baby with him, she better be gutsy enough to face his family while hanging on his arm. Nonna and Mrs. Corcarelli might find it strange. Vin might be hostile. She could handle that.

Mostly, Trish was worried about Angie.

“I’ll deal with my sister,” Tony said, like he could read her mind. But he couldn’t, he probably saw her staring at the picture of Angie and her in Cabo last year.

Now Trish couldn’t get Angie to follow her across town, let alone out of the country, and the distance between them weighed heavy in Trish’s bones, making her tired enough to let Tony fight this battle with his sister. But that wasn’t fair to him. Angie and Tony’s relationship was already strained. He didn’t need Trish and her cockamamie plan making things worse.

“Technically I got you into this mess, so I’ll be the one to smooth things over with Ange,” Trish said, hiding a yawn behind her hand. “I may not look like it now, but I’m a formidable negotiator.”

He grinned. “Yeah, I know what you’re capable of.” His hand rested on the granite inches from hers, and she had the irrational hope he would touch her. Irrational because he’d touched her enough—this month anyway. Wanting him to touch her more was overindulgent and a one-way ticket to messy, considering the way he confused her plans and left her feeling chaotic. She stared at his tanned hand until her vision blurred, wishing messy wasn’t also attractive.

“So, are we going to watch this thing or what?” Tony said, moving his hand away from Trish’s.

She blinked and then saw him carrying a plate of pizza toward the couch. Disappointment reigned, but it was better than guilt or regret, two emotions that would be in high supply if she succumbed to basic desire while her friendship with Angie was floundering and Stu was back in town.
Stu.
She should’ve called him back and told him…what?

“Aren’t you hungry?” Tony asked as he sat.

That was when she realized she was shuffling toward the couch with nothing but the two-liter of soda in hand. “Of course, I…” she lifted the bottle, “I was wondering if you wanted some.”

He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “Nah. That’s for you. My cousin drank it while she was pregnant, so I figured it was safe in case…you know…you’re pregnant, too.” He shrugged and bit into his pizza, working the dough with a mouth that mesmerized her, from the perfectly pale lips to the dark dip in his cheek. “I also figured you had beer left from the other night, so I’ll grab one of those.”

He wanted a beer. After her earlier thoughts about beer being an antidote for nerves and a booster of vulgar behavior, she wondered if it was possible he only came tonight to eat and drink. She was thinking too much, wasn’t she? It was just a beer, for God’s sake.

Trish inhaled away her stupor and turned toward the kitchen.

“Hey. Ho. Sit. You don’t have to wait on me. Power up your prissy show, and I’ll be back.” He sauntered past with a delicious smile and a piece of pizza in hand.

For a man who was nowhere near her perfect fit, he sure had moments when she wished he was.

An hour later, with the lights dim, and her legs crossed at the ankles as they rested on the cushion beside her, she realized Tony was the perfect fit for her oversized couch—a couch he’d upholstered a year ago, which he pointed out. Not that she needed the reminder. Ever since her cousin’s wedding she was acutely aware of the pieces of Tony Corcarelli upholstery littering her house. It was like a part of him was always here.

She’d spent the last ten minutes watching him watch the television. A slow smile played on his face except when he was drinking his beer. She liked having more than his furniture around. She liked having him. His presence made the place homier. She wished she didn’t feel that way, not about him. This house was made for a family, but Tony wasn’t exactly a family man. He loved
his
family, but they seemed to be enough. She had no doubt he’d love a child if they managed to create one, but he’d made it clear he wasn’t looking for a wife, which was fine because Trish wasn’t necessarily looking for a husband, not right now, and not a husband like him.

Tony wrapped a warm hand around her bare ankle and squeezed, causing her to jump.

He chuckled. “Apparently you think this crap is boring too, because you’re staring at me instead of the TV.”

She looked at the screen, where nothing registered in her cloudy head. “I’m sorry. I’m…tired.” She yawned liked she’d done throughout the evening, but this time was more for show.

He angled his body so he was facing her instead of the television, his hand remaining hot on her skin. “Could that be a sign?”

“A sign that I work and worry too much, yes. A sign that I’m pregnant, no.”

“Oh.” He nodded. “So you don’t think it worked?”

At first, the furrow of his brow came as a surprise to Trish, but then she remembered his reason for being disappointed. Nonna. Not Trish. Not the baby. Not a family to fill this house.

“I just think it’s too soon to know. Maybe it worked.”

He nodded again, but the furrow didn’t fade.

“How is Nonna?” Without her easy connection to Angie, information was limited.

“There’s fluid.” Tony squeezed her ankle again. “She’s tired. Uncomfortable. It’s not looking good.”

“I’m sorry.” Trish had said it too many times where Nonna was concerned. It had probably lost its impact by now, but she didn’t know what else to say.