Baby by Design: Designing Love Book One (Crimson Romance) (16 page)

But the way things were going, it’d be just his luck.

Trish guided her Volvo around the pothole at the top of her street and glanced in the rearview mirror at the original Andy Warhol painting secured in brown paper and bubble wrap, and wedged into the back of the SUV. Satisfied the painting was no worse for the trip from the framing gallery, Trish returned her gaze to the road and then to her house, looming ahead.

Angie sat on the front porch steps.

Trish blinked. Seeing her there was a dream come true…but why was she there, out of the blue, looking more somber than usual? Trish whimpered. What if something happened to Nonna? Or what if Angie and Tony had a blow out? What if Angie knew the truth?

This time when Trish tried to whimper, the breath caught in her throat. She’d never shared details of her baby plan with Angie, but they talked enough for Angie to know how much Trish wanted kids. Maybe in the midst of fighting with Tony, Angie mentioned Trish’s desire for a family, and maybe Tony spilled the truth. Trish exhaled, because honestly, how could things get any worse? If Angie knew, then maybe they could figure out a way to go back to being best friends instead of distant co-workers.

Trish pulled alongside the retaining wall and into the narrow driveway, tossing Angie a nervous smile.

Angie stood, brushed the seat of her pants and offered a nod as Trish existed the car. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Trish returned, strangling her handbag. “How are you?”

She huffed, and then sat again. “Shitty. So let’s get this out of the way. I’m sorry.” She sat there all stiff, staring at the callused palms of her hands. “I was worried about you. It probably didn’t seem that way, but it’s true.” She smacked her hands against her thighs and wiggled, like she was trying to rid herself of the emotion. “Are we okay?”

Relief washed over Trish, slipping from the corner of her eyes and onto her cheeks. She dabbed at the tears with her fingertips as she walked to the porch and took a seat beside Angie. “We’re good.”

“Good. Now, are you okay?” She frowned as if she already knew the answer. “Tony, um…he told me about Stu.”

Trish’s stomach rolled on the realization that Tony and Angie had been discussing her. Funny, though. She wasn’t bothered by the reminder of Stu. Thoughts of him sort of came and went without any visceral reaction. “You know, I don’t feel anything for him. Something has changed. With him. With me. With both of us. I knew the moment I opened the door and saw him standing there. I’m over him.”

“Because of Tony.” Angie sighed and leaned so far forward her head was almost between her knees. “Am I right?”

After the conversation with her father left Trish thinking about all the ways Tony was “good to her,” she hated to think about Angie’s question, and she sure as heck didn’t want to answer, so she stared straight ahead at cars rolling down the tree-lined street.

How would she answer anyway? If she admitted her lack of feelings for Stu was in any part related to Tony, which part was to blame? The plan for a baby, which complicated reconciliation with Stu, or her troubling feelings for Tony, which twisted her plan and her heart? Neither one was something she wanted to discuss with Angie this soon after mending what was broken between them.

“Do you love him?”

“Who?” Trish gasped, mortified at the thought of loving uptight, overwrought Stu again. But then she was equally horrified that the same quick thought about Tony didn’t conjure similar objections. Certainly she didn’t love him, couldn’t love him. She was just coming to terms with being attracted to him and him being attracted to her.

“Do you love my brother?”

Trish rolled mashed lips between her teeth as her stomach pitched and her heart burned. “I…think I might be pregnant.” It was a diversion, sure, but it was also true. She’d been feeling odd lately, hoping hormones were to blame, but she didn’t know, and she was tired of obsessing by herself. If she couldn’t share random emotions with her best friend, then where did that leave her?

“Shit,” Angie whispered, but then her arm snaked Trish’s shoulder and she squeezed. “I knew something careless like this would happen.” She huffed. “Does he know?”

Trish nodded through a mix of relieved and guilty tears.

Angie squeezed Trish’s shoulder again. “Well, what’s done is done, and he knows what he has to do.”

Trish opened her mouth to breath, not liking the ominous tone of Angie’s voice. What did Tony have to do? Stand by Trish? Of course he would. But the way Angie clenched and released her fist as her hand dangled from the arm perched on her knee, Trish dreaded something more.

“It’s all very preliminary,” Trish said, hoping to soothe. “We haven’t talked about details beyond the possibility that I might be…”

“He has to marry you. That’s the honorable thing to do. And this time he’ll shirk his responsibility over my dead body.”

Maybe over Trish’s, too, because this was way more than her heart and head could handle. Marry Tony? Her stomach pitched again. “It’s not like that, Ange. Please, don’t. I might not even be pregnant. There’s still a week before I can test. But…if I am, you have to let Tony and me work this out…alone. I’m begging you.” She reached up and squeezed Angie’s hand.

Angie snatched her hand away and dropped her arm, returning to her rigid position, leaning forward so Trish couldn’t see her face. “Don’t beg. Dogs beg.”

Ouch. The coldness in Angie’s tone was worse than her words.

“Fine,” Trish said, trying to sound assertive rather than overly emotional. “I’m
asking
you from the bottom of my heart. Let it be. Tony and I can work this out.”

Angie’s shoulders slumped, and her head fell forward further. Her breaths echoed in the evening stillness, leaving Trish to struggle for something to say.

But Angie beat her to it. “You know what I wouldn’t give for a single day without worrying about the people I love?”

The knot in Trish’s belly floated into her throat. This wasn’t fair of Trish to put more strain on Angie and Tony’s relationship, to give Angie one more thing to worry about when she was already worried out about Nonna. Trish patted circles over Angie’s back. “I’m so sorry, hon.”

Moments of raw emotion were far and few between them, even as best friends. Angie was stoic as a rule. This…this killed Trish, and she leaned her head into Angie’s shoulder, not knowing what else to do. They sat like that for several minutes, absorbing the misery of the day.

“Ah, screw it,” Angie finally said, straightening and sniffing like she wanted to vacuum up and seal away the emotional mess. “Just, ya know, be careful. And remember…I’m here if you need me.”

A small smile tilted Trish’s lips. “I always need you. And if things get complicated and I need you to take charge, I’ll tell you. I promise.”

Angie eyed her suspiciously, but then propped her elbow on her knee and lifted her hand, pinky finger crooked and extended. “You swear?”

Trish’s smile broadened, and her laugh wrapped in sniffles from lingering tears. “I swear,” she said, locking her pinkie finger with Angie’s.

And just like that Trish’s world was right again. Except for the part that included Tony. That part was going to take a bit more time to settle. Whether she was pregnant or not, she was going to have to face the fact that this plan was more complicated than she ever imagined, starting with her feelings for him and the feelings he seemed to have for her. Those feelings were going to be part of everything they did together from work to parenting—if she was carrying his child. Could they suppress those feelings, even if they didn’t want to? And if they couldn’t, what happened then?

She had the sinking feeling there was only one way to find out.

• • •

Shitty day
, Tony thought as he opened a beer and settled on the couch. He’d been seeing Nonna’s face in his tired brain since he left her house, trying to outrun Angie and all her questions about Trish. “You be good, Antonio,” Nonna had said as she weakly pinched his cheeks. “Be happy.” It was like a damn conspiracy between her and Vin, only Vin wanted Tony to become some alter-version of himself so he could
be happy
and win Trish.
Win Trish?
What kind of game was this? All he ever wanted was to make Nonna happy.

He leaned his head on the back of the sofa and balanced the bottle of beer on his thigh. After leaving Nonna’s house, he rode miles with nothing but the wind in his face and pressure on his brain. He did a pretty good job of keeping coherent thoughts to a minimum, until he cut the engine and climbed these stairs, eager to be home.

But this didn’t feel like home with its water-damaged plaster and flimsy single-pane windows, doing nothing to keep the cold wind and street noise out. Certainly it wasn’t a home where he could bring a baby when it wasn’t home enough for him.

Since when wasn’t it home enough for him? He raised the bottle and chugged.
Since Trish
was the reply. Her house had him spoiled, what with all the master upholstery. He smiled, thinking of all the pieces he’d perfected for her, but then the expression faded. Lifting his head from the couch, he looked around the room, realizing not a piece of furniture was designed or modified by him. The uncomfortable couch he sat upon was a hand-me-down from Vin, a casualty of his doomed marriage. The piece was well-made and expensive, and Tony never felt the urge to make a change. From the bed to the dining table to a couple armchairs, the story was the same, all stuff given to him to take up space. Not a damn piece meant a damn thing.

If he could tell a lot about a person from their furniture, then what did his say about him?

He took a longer drink, draining the bottle on a single breath. How was it possible Trish owned more “Tony Corcarelli Originals” than he did? And what did that say about her?

He didn’t care, couldn’t care. Questions like that put him right back in the middle of senior year, and his high school philosophy elective, which he failed. No. Thank. You. So he stood, stretched and headed back to the kitchen for another beer. With any luck he’d get good and drunk, and forget everything.

Two steps from the fridge, the intercom buzzed.

Tony blinked at the clock above the stove, and then he glanced as his father’s wristwatch, double-checking the time. Nobody would stop by this late. Must be a mistake, or an attempt to get in by somebody who shouldn’t be getting in, so he ignored it, hoping they would move on to another sucker.

The intercom buzzed again.

Maybe it was the beer he’d guzzled while bone tired, but curiosity won out. He crossed the room and hit the button as the buzzer sounded a third time.

“Who is this?” he asked, sounding gruffer than he should, but hey, it was late, and it could still be someone up to no good.

Two heavy breaths echoed over the crackling line. “It’s me, Trish.”

Shit.
All he could think about was her standing alone on his dark and dumpy street.

He hit the button extra hard. “Come on. Third floor.” And then he met her on the stairs.

She was wrapped in a bright green raincoat, one that reminded him of the dress she wore to the wedding. Only the raincoat—and boots—covered every inch of flesh, especially when she clutched the collar tight at her neck.

Was it too much to hope for fishnets?

With her eyes wide and lips straight, she glanced up at him. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”

He shrugged, still captured by the vision of her sweeping up his filthy stairs. “I’d say I’m surprised you didn’t call first, but hey, that seems to be the norm around you.” He grinned, and automatically slipped a hand beneath her elbow as she reached the landing. “Is everything okay?”

She blinked, nodded and then exhaled. “I think so.”

An odd reply, odd enough for him to bite his tongue and lead her into his apartment before he asked any more questions. He closed the door behind them, and watched her walk into the center of the living area. She loosened her hold around her coat collar, letting it fall open at her throat. For some reason he stared at the pastel skin, like a man starving for a taste.

She touched a finger there, traced it back and forth along the faint line of bone. “This is…nice,” she said.

“Don’t lie.” He didn’t take his eyes off her finger, toying nervously, slipping in and out of the cover of her collar’s hem. “It’s shit. Certainly not a place for a woman like you.” His voice faltered, scratching over the last few words. He wished he’d time to grab that second bottle of beer.

She flattened her palm against her chest, the tips of three fingers hidden beneath her collar and resting overtop her heart. “Me? Please. I’ve seen worse. And everything has potential. It’s just a matter of seeing beyond the roughness.”

Why did he feel like she was talking about him? His skin tightened and his mouth dried. He rubbed his fingers across the stubble on his jaw, desperate for something to say. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I, uh, probably won’t be staying long. I just wanted you to know that I told Angie I think I’m pregnant.”

He didn’t know which one of her statements bothered him more. One, that she wasn’t planning on staying. Two, that Angie knew. Or three, that Trish thought she was pregnant. He rubbed his hand along his jaw again and then up over his face to his forehead. After a few more rubs, he said the first thing that came to mind. “What did Ange say?”

Trish laughed. “Let’s just say she’s promised to stay out of our business unless I ask for her help.”

Tony didn’t like the idea of Trish asking anyone but him for help, not when it came to their baby, their family, and he would’ve said so if he didn’t realize he was getting way ahead of himself. “Are you pregnant?” He almost couldn’t say the word, not because he didn’t want her to be, but because the idea of her saying no had him breathing with his chest clamped.

“Technically it’s still too soon to tell, but I’m feeling like I am. I don’t know. Maybe I’m imagining it.” She looked at the sofa behind her, and then sat.

He watched her shoulders rise and fall. Nonna wanted him to be happy. Tony wanted Nonna to be happy. Who’d have thought Trish having his baby could be the answer to both?