Baby by Design: Designing Love Book One (Crimson Romance) (18 page)

That thought got him moving again, eyeing each piece he’d created. Some of his best work lived in this house. He swelled with pride, and then he thought about his child, being raised here, climbing all over that couch. Something sparked beneath his breast.

The spark lingered, even after a lightning-quick bike ride to his apartment through the dark and driving rain. Hours later, in the late of day, standing in the middle of Angie’s garage, the flash of feeling only intensified. The next thing he knew, he was sketching plans for a rocking chair. Suddenly, nothing seemed more important than taking care of Trish and his kid.

“I’m headed over to Nonna’s. You wanna come?”

Tony looked up from the sketches and blinked a few times to clear his head. Somebody else was pretty damn important. “Yeah. I do.”

Angie nodded, glancing at the papers pressed beneath his hands. “You ready now?”

“Yep,” he said, folding the papers and stuffing them into his pocket.

“Top secret plans?”

“Maybe.”

Angie narrowed her eyes as she hit the button, raising the garage door. “Would you show me if I asked?”

“No. You called my table trash.” He fell in step beside her as she walked to her car.

“I was kidding.”

“You hurt my feelings.”

“You’re an ass.”

When they were both inside the car, she gripped his headrest and narrowed her eyes again. “Show me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m curious.”

“You’re nosy.”

“Whatever. Same thing.”

Tony propped his elbow on the door and stared at the basketball hoop missing its net outside the window. “They’re plans for a chair.”

She started the engine and backed the car from the drive. “For Nonna?”

Tony closed his eyes and rested his forehead against his palm. He’d been hoping his family wouldn’t ask questions about his contribution to the list. Chaos surrounding Nonna’s decline bought him some time, but not enough. With Vin’s concert at the end of the week, the list had once again become the family’s favorite topic.

“Yeah, sorta,” he said, partly to get Angie off his back, and partly because it was true. The chair might be for Trish and the baby, but as far as he was concerned, the baby was for Nonna.

“What kind of chair?”

“Ange, forget about it. You’ll see it when everyone else sees it.”

“I’ll see it as soon as you start working on it, dork. My garage is your workshop. Remember?”

He dropped a fist to the vinyl-clad door.

“Is it a recliner?”

“No.”

“A wing chair?”

“No.” She wasn’t going to let it go. “Fine. It’s a rocking chair,” he said, none too happy he caved.

She nodded, eyes never shifting from the road. She drove a few blocks before she spoke again. “Maybe she’ll rock the baby to sleep.”

Tony looked at her long enough to notice a single unshed tear, gathering at the corner of her lashes. “Maybe,” he said with the image clogging his throat.

It was amazing how the separate pieces of his life had become so intertwined.

Trish stretched her arms behind her back and struggled with the gown’s zipper. If only her breasts weren’t aching monstrosities… If only Tony had brought his dress clothes with him when he spent the night… Then, she wouldn’t be having this problem. She’d have help with the zipper instead.

She glanced at the mounds of flesh screaming for release from the heart neckline. “No,” she snapped, forcing the zipper up her back, much to her bosom’s chagrin.

There was no way she was going to wear something comfortable and sensible to Nonna’s concert. Trish smoothed a hand over the bodice of the black satin dress. If she was as pregnant as she suspected she was, then this would be the last time she could squeeze into this blessed thing.

Leaning forward for a closer look in the bathroom mirror, she wrapped a thin strand of hair around her index finger and doused the spring with hairspray, careful not to breathe the fumes. She did the same thing on the other side, and then walked to her closet where a silver clutch perched on a shelf.
Big enough for tampons
, she thought. And immediately she followed the thought with a frown. She hated planning for both outcomes, but what was the alternative, blindly believing she was pregnant and ending up a mess at the concert? She shuddered. No way. Besides, she was being proactive, not negative. Carrying supplies wasn’t tantamount to a jinx.

Nodding twice for good measure, Trish swiped the purse from the shelf and filled it with lipstick, tissues, and a tampon. Then, she slipped into silver strappy heels.

“Not fair. Not fair.”

The smooth voice echoing in the bathroom made Trish smile. She glanced over her shoulder and batted her lashes at a grinning Tony. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He wrapped around her from behind, nuzzling his lips against her neck. “You were supposed to wait for me to get back so I could zip you.”

She giggled. “Uh huh, I can only imagine how that would’ve ended up.”

“With this dress on the floor,” he said, sliding his hands over her waist and hips, and then up over her breasts.

She flinched. “Careful.”

He lightened the touch of his hands and the pressure of his lips. “Still sore?”

“Still sore.” She worried about the resounding hope in her voice.

“That’s a good sign, right?”

“Right,” she answered, worrying about the resounding hope in his voice even more.

For a week now, they’d been living on the fumes of the hypothetical. If she was pregnant… If they got married… But they were building a house of cards. One negative test, and it would scatter.

Of course, they could try again, they would try again—as long as Nonna hung around. But there were no guarantees of that. And then what? Would Tony hang around and continue to play this game just so Trish could have a baby? She hated to think he wouldn’t. Each night they spent together led to another morning with Trish staring at the ceiling wondering who she wanted more: the baby or Tony.

He turned her in his arms, pressing her body to his, brushing his lips over her forehead. “You look beautiful.”

She smiled, taking her mind off her worry by admiring him. She’d seen the slim fit suit before, how the sleek black wool kissed every angle of his body, how the crisp white cotton shirt contrasted against his tanned throat. And yet each and every time she saw him dressed like this, she melted.

“You look beautiful, too.” Trish rolled onto her toes and craned her neck, placing her lips along his jaw, tasting the spice of his aftershave, breathing him into her soul.

She didn’t want just any baby. She wanted his baby. Because she wanted him. Period. The revelation forced her onto flat feet, where she stared at him like a lovesick fool.
Love.

A little sound escaped her lips.

“What?”

“Nothing. I…the dress is tight, I guess.”

He grinned, glancing down at her overflowing neckline. “I like it tight.”

“I’m sure you do.” She swatted him to tease, but also to gain some distance.

Love was not part of her plan. Like? Yes. Respect? Absolutely. She wanted to co-parent with someone she could tolerate. The all-consuming attraction complicated things, but she figured that would fade. After all, how hot could he be for her when she was thirty pounds heavier with swollen feet, unshaved legs, and her face buried in a half-gallon of Rocky Road?

And how hot could she be for him when he was taking off on his motorcycle or throwing back a couple beers while she was walking the floors with a colicky newborn? Attraction would definitely fade, and then they would be left with common sense and commonalities like the baby, Angie, and work. But love?
Crap.
Love changed everything, especially if it was one-sided.

“We should get going. Vin said absolutely, positively nobody gets in late.”

Trish flashed a smile at Tony in the bathroom mirror. “Uh huh.” There was so much more to say, but there wasn’t time to say it, especially since what she wanted to say could rip their heads from the clouds and drive a wedge between them.
Love?
She had a feeling that one word would have Tony Corcarelli running away.

“You okay?” He slipped a hand across her lower back.

“Yep.” But she’d be better once she took a pregnancy test and she knew where they stood.

• • •

Tony looked around the Hillman Center lobby, wondering how Vin planned to uphold his no-late-admissions policy, considering the guest of honor was the one who was late. He’d be worried if Angie hadn’t just arrived, saying Ma, Aunt Connie, and Nonna were on their way. He’d be even more worried if Trish’s hand wasn’t nearby to hold. Having her here, with him, made him mellow.

“You need to clean up the garage. I swear if I trip over another tool, I’m going to beat you with it, and then I’m kicking you out,” Angie said.

The harsh words made him smile, considering they were delivered by a woman who could be considered a knockout if she wasn’t his pain-in-the-ass, know-it-all sister.

It was nice to know things were back to normal.

“How are you feeling?” Angie whispered to Trish.

Okay, so things weren’t exactly back to normal.

“I’m good,” Trish said, but when she smiled, the expression didn’t reach her eyes.

Tony wondered what was bothering her. He wondered if Angie caught on to the fib, too. This was a new kind of normal. Him, with Trish, knowing her well enough to decipher clues to her mood. Trish, with him, carrying his baby. Surreal, for sure, but normal now, too. He touched a hand to the small of her back and then cupped her waist, moving her closer.

“Attention, everyone,” Vin called over the crowd from his perch on the staircase. “We’re going to go ahead and open the house, so you can be seated. As soon as Nonna arrives, we’ll start.”

He looked like hell, collar crooked, deep wrinkles marring his shirt. Tony had a hunch some serious pit stains lurked beneath that suit coat. “He’s going to have a heart attack before he’s fifty.”

Angie swatted Tony’s arm. “Did you ever think of helping him? This is a big deal. He planned this all by himself.”

“With minimal help from the girls in his office, I’m sure.” Tony shot Angie his don’t-give-me-any-of-your-bullshit look, but then he smiled and winked.

She wrinkled her nose. “Fine, then I’ll ask if he needs help.” She stormed away.

“You can go, you know? I’ll be okay.” Trish’s head followed Angie’s path through the crowd.

“I don’t want to go,” Tony whispered against her ear. “Why would I leave the most beautiful woman in the room? Somebody’s bound to make a move.”

She pushed a palm against his chest, but then she gripped his lapel, leaning into him. They stayed that way, wrapped in a hug, while the rest of the Corcarelli clan filtered into the auditorium. A few cousins waggled their brows as they passed. One even gave thumbs up. Warmth fizzed in Tony’s chest. Approval from his family definitely felt weird.

He smiled overtop Trish’s head at the last cousin to leave the lobby, and then he kissed her temple. “We should sit.”

Her grip tightened on his lapel. “I have to…use the lady’s room.” And then she left him to watch her erratic steps as her ankles wobbled in the too-high heels.

The warmth in his chest turned ice cold, causing him to rub a hand over his heart.

“Tony, hold the door.”

He blinked, shook his head, and then turned toward his mother’s voice. She was poking around the jamb of the exit door. A horrible sound, like a sick dog barking, filtered into the lobby from behind her. He didn’t ask whose dog. He didn’t care. He simply rushed forward, taking the edge of the door from her hand.

The barking grew louder as Ma and Aunt Connie helped a coughing Nonna into the building.

Tony pulled his brows together above his nose. “Hey, Nonna.”

Her eyes rolled in his direction, and her lips twitched, but another cough foiled her smile and words.

He looked at his mother, who was shaking her head in a not-now motion. “We’re late. Vinnie’s going to have our heads.” She offered a quick smile as the small group shuffled toward the auditorium door.

There had to be more to her tension than punctuality.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw Trish emerge from the ladies room. She smiled at him, a gesture that injected relief into his veins. Then, she stumbled when she saw the other women.

“Hello,” she said, offering a little wave with her shiny purse.

Tony watched his mother and aunt smile in return, but then Nonna coughed again, and all attention gravitated to her. Something told him to go to Trish, to let Nonna see them together. At first, he balked. He’d spent most of his life ignoring his conscience’s little guilt trips where his family was concerned. That didn’t feel like the right thing to do anymore.

Crossing the lobby, he took Trish by the hand. “Nonna, you remember Trish DeVign, don’t you?”

Nonna stopped, eyes on Trish and Tony’s interlocking hands. She shook her elbow until Ma released her, and then she did the same to Aunt Connie. “I remember,” she said. Every syllable soaked in breath. She coughed as she reached both hands into the air, taking Tony by the left cheek and Trish by the right.

A lump formed in Tony’s chest. Nonna didn’t have the strength to squeeze, but the gesture was powerful nonetheless.

“Good,” she managed before dropping her hands on another coughing fit.

“Mother, you need to sit,” Aunt Connie said.

Vin burst through the auditorium doors. “There you are.” He took Nonna’s face in his hands and kissed her nose before he accepted her hand from Tony’s mother. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Ma fell behind, into step with Tony and Trish. “It’s the fluid,” she whispered. “Again. Only it’s worse. Connie and I tried to get her to let us take her to the ER. She’s so stubborn.”

Ma moved ahead when Nonna coughed again.

The coughing attracted the attention of the rest of the family. One by one, they turned in their seats, smiles on their lips but fear in their eyes.

Tony knew the feeling.

Trish squeezed his hand, and somehow that helped enough to get him down the aisle to his seat and through the first set of songs despite Nonna’s coughing.