Love Turns With Twisted Fates 2 (4 page)

“Oh hell,” I blurt out as the image of us as a beautiful
knot of naked limbs and sweat plays out in my mind.

“What’s wrong, Izzy? You don’t like bunk beds?”

“Oh, I like bunk beds, but I’m not opposed to the floor, the
couch, or the beach. Ever have sex on the beach, Diego?”

There’s a cough and a sputter. I think he may have spit out
his drink. “Fuck. Whaaa—?”

“The drink, have you had it?” Having regained my wits, I can
turn the tables on him.

“I have not had one. I’d be willing to try it with you.”

“Mr. Charming,” I reprimand. “Why if we did that, I’d be
breaking the law and furnishing alcohol to a minor,” I say in mock horror.

His laugh is unmistakably filled with amusement and
frustration. “And you said I was trouble? Since sex is on the table, or beach.
What’s your number?”

“My number?” I can’t hide my confusion. “Umm, you do realize
you just called me on the only number I have, right?”

His chuckle is cute and teasing. “Not exactly the number I
was talking about.”

The wheels are turning in my head, but fuck if I can think
of a numbe—
ohhhh
. “Wow. Guess we really are going to test whether or not
we want a second date.”

“Oh, we want a second date,” Diego tells me as if it’s the
plain and simple truth. “And while I don’t doubt that given your fucking
hotness your number could be high, I seriously doubt it could be high enough to
send me away. Then again…” his voice fades with a light-hearted laugh.

I never answer the question and a hush falls over our
conversation. It’s not awkward or pressured. The lull allows me to calm my
breath and steady my racing heart.

When the moment passes, the conversation starts as it
stopped alternating between question and answer. I learned that his mom got
really sick when he was little, but never got better. He didn’t give details
and I didn’t pry. He asked about my major and was clearly shocked that I was a
graduate student. I asked about his major, he was undecided. We stopped keeping
track of whose turn it was and we fell into an easy conversation. We kept
things simple, not exposing much below the surface.

He told me about his grandfather and Sebastian and I may have
choked a little at the mention of his friend. He relieved me of my guilt by
accepting responsibility for making our running into each other tonight happen.

“How could that be possible, D?” He doesn’t call me on my
nickname for him. “I didn’t plan on going to the gym tonight.”

“Nor was I planning on going to
that
gym.”

A silence stretches between us. I’m waiting for him to
explain. I don’t see the connection.

“Every day since that night I met you when you were out with
Sebastian, I’ve gone a little out of my way to cross your path, Izzy.” His soft
chortle sounds a little self-deprecating. He explained that he’d tried to get
someone in admissions to help find me. “But the woman was a battle axe, all by
the book and snarly.” He admitted he broke down and asked Sebastian about me. I
don’t know if I should feel bad or what, but apparently, Sebastian just wasn’t
‘feeling it’ with me. I feign hurt feelings, but Diego doesn’t buy it.

“Tonight, I went to the record shop Sebastian met you at.
The little punk princess behind the counter is quite the fan of you.” I can
hear the sarcasm in his voice. “She gave me nothing but a headache with no
information. I was headed back to the campus when I ran into some of the guys
from the team. Having failed at properly stalking you, I decided I could work out
some frustrations. They chose the gym and to my surprise you were there.”

The other end of the line goes silent.

“You were on the elliptical when we walked in and I couldn’t
stop staring.”

“I didn’t see you,” my voice a whisper.

“You know you run with your eyes closed?”

He can’t see me nod. “For a little bit. After a while, I’ll
get lightheaded and fall.”

“Well, before that happened the guys I was with started
giving me shit about staring at you as much as appreciating what caught my
attention,” sounding a little put out and reticent. “We headed to the back
where the weights were and you were out of sight.”

Now, I remember. “You were part of that noisy group of
jocks.” Laughing at my earlier assessment and shocked I hadn’t noticed him.

“Sorta,” he replies.

“I thought we were done with the vague?”

“Sorry. While that was likely the group I was with, I must
have left to get more water when you passed by. The guys were at the studio you
were dancing in when I got back. It fucking pisses me off they got to see more
of it than I did.” I hear ire in his voice. I fail to stifle my sleep-deprived
giggle.

“I think I then offered to break noses and turn myself in to
the coach if they didn’t leave.” Seriously, my giggles are sounding drunk.

“Why would you turn yourself in?” not understanding the
significance of that act.

“I’d be suspended for a minimum of three games if I were to
punch a single one of them.”

I’m laughing hysterically. “You’re shitting me. You were
willing to be suspended for
threeeee
,” emphasizing the number, “games to
stop them from watching me dance?”

“I was simply removing obstacles and opposition. Not that
they’re in my league, but I didn’t want to wait for you to shut them all down.”

“You’re presumptuousness never ceases to amaze me,” I
declare.

“I don’t know why or if we’ll ever know why, but tonight was
meant to be, Izzy.”

We continued well into the early moments of morning. We
watched the sun rise, together but apart. I felt the sun warming my face as I
started to give in to the pull of sleep.

“Hey, Izzy,” I hear Diego whisper, “sweet dreams.”

August 2006

I was grateful for the quiet time in the car to just let it
set in.
I’m gonna be a mom.
The smile on my face is as big as the truth
that put it there. It wasn’t a long trip to the hotel. After my nursery room
daydream, Diego was pointing on some places of interest before he starts on one
of the two books he purchased from the hospital gift shop.

By the time we arrived at the hotel, Diego is through the
introduction and into the first chapter of
What to Expect When You’re
Expecting
. He’s reading to me. It’s absolutely adorable. I’m impressed that
he isn’t immediately predicting a son. Instead, he’s more focused on…well, on
what to expect.

Without skipping a beat, we’re traveling through the lobby
and towards the elevators. Once inside and behind closed doors, he continues
where he left off.

“D, slow down. We don’t have to get all the info tonight.”

His wide-eyed disbelief makes me chuckle. “Izzy, the sooner
we know what we need to know the better.”

The elevator dings when we reach our floor. He guides me out
and to the left down the hallway. Without skipping a beat, he has the book
tucked under his arm and the key to the room out of his pocket and in the door.

Swinging open the door, Diego ushers me into what appears to
be a penthouse suite of the hotel. As he hurries me through the foyer, a passing
glance reveals my luggage from today’s flight. He starts to set the book on the
foyer table, but I can see the thought fleeing his face.

“Are you planning on reading to me through dinner?” I
implore.

I get “mmm hmm” and a nod. “And maybe through your bubble
bath.”

“A bubble bath?” the excitement kicking up the pitch in my
voice.

Diego just smiles at me. I see delight and love in the eyes
staring back at me and…complete adoration. He leads us to the living room area
of this mansion in a hotel. There are a set of stares off to the left that
leads to the second floor. The opulence is distracting.

“Diego, don’t you think this was a bit much for just you?” I
start to interrogate, but soften my tone.

His smile irritates me. With a lift of his eyebrow, he teases
me, “Well, Mrs. Nosey, since you asked so nicely, I’ll let you in on something.
On Friday, the Orcutt Hotel hired me for a rebranding ad campaign. So…”he gives
me that smug smile again, “as of yesterday afternoon, my stay here is covered.”

The cheeky bastard.

He picks up the phone on the coffee table, “Still want
French toast?”

The mention of the sweet breakfast dish has my stomach
shouting and me drooling. Taking a seat on one of the oversized couches, I nod
enthusiastically. Toeing off my tennies, I curl up on the giant cushion,
grabbing the pregnancy book from Diego’s outstretched hand. He’s on the phone,
placing our order for room service and headed toward the kitchen area.

“Izzy,” Diego shouts from across the way, “is there anything
else you want? To eat? Drink?”

Wanting to order a mimosa, I ask for orange juice and
sparkling water. Thumbing through the book, I discover that they recommend not
announcing the pregnancy in the first trimester due to the possibility of a
miscarriage.
Well, Grace already knows, and there’s no way I couldn’t tell
Mazzy or Sebastian or Lito.
I shrug off the possibility of jinxing as Diego
returns to the couch.

“Should be about twenty minutes. Oh, and I ordered you a
double order of sliced avocado.”

My eyes light up when he informs me he thought of something
I didn’t. Since I was a teenager, I’ve been eating an avocado a day as part of
my regimen to get the nutrients to manage my anemia. Clearly, I’m not thinking
straight when I realize I’ve forgotten a staple, but I feel like I have an
excuse with all that’s transpired today.

“What are you smiling about,
bella
?”

“You bought us a beautiful house and we’re having a baby!” I
squeal in utter delight.

He snuggles into me, placing his hand over my still flat
belly and smoothing out the t-shirt, “I can’t wait to see your belly big with
our baby cooking in it,” he teases.

“Ugh,” I groan out, “I’m gonna get fat.”

“You’re going to be sexy as fuck,” he retorts.

“Since when are you a chubby chaser, D?” I quip.

“Only when you’re the chubby I’m chasing, Iz,” he deadpans.
It gets him an elbow to the side and a swat of my hand to his leg as I pull
away from him. He catches me around the waist and pulls me into his arms and onto
his lap. “Have I told you how much I love you?” he asks.

As I always answer, I shake my head and ask, “How much?”

“So much, so much.”

We settle into the couch while we wait for dinner. One of
the things I’ve always loved about us is the comfortableness of silence between
us. We’ve never felt the need to fill it with small talk. He continues to flip
through the pregnancy book and I trace his abs through his shirt.

“Careful, Izzy. You keep doing that and I might just have to
knock you up again.”

I shake with a silent laugh. “I’m already pregnant. I can’t
get knocked up while knocked up.”

“We could always try,” he says grabbing his water bottle and
wiggling his eyebrows at me. My answer is a shake of my head.

“
Mi amor
, how come you haven’t mentioned anything
about an heir to the Santo throne?”

He spits out the sip of water he’s just taken from his
bottle, choking on his laugh. There he goes with those eyebrows. I swear
they’re an indestructible arsenal aimed at my self-control. “Honestly, Iz? I
kinda like the idea of a little you running around. Hanging all over me and
every word I breathe.”

“In other words,” I pipe in, “you want a pretty little princess
to worship you?” It’s my turn to tease him.

“Funny, Frizzy,” he ruffles my unrestrained and wild hair.
“Seriously, I can’t wait to worship at her feet like I do at yours.” He grabs
my foot and places a light kiss to the top.

A knock at the door and my answering tummy reminds me that I
am starving and the knock should be room service. Rather than walk around the
ginormous couch, Diego hops over the backside like one hops up a curb. I love
seeing how graceful he is. It’s even more amazing watching him on the field.

Diego directs the room service attendant to place all the
food on the coffee table. Thank goodness, the table is large; it looks like he
ordered half the kitchen.

Fully sated from the unusual meal choice and my plate of
sliced avocado, I snuggle into the couch, letting the cushions cocoon me.
Diego’s been on the phone with someone from the team for the last ten minutes
or so. I can’t tell by Diego’s side of the conversation what it’s about, but he
sounds excited nonetheless. I drift off; thoughts of our future turn to my mom.

****************************************

It’s been a few days since the news of my dad not being
my dad, my subsequent teenage tantrum, and then Dad’s pep talk. So many
questions still crowded my head.

“Hey mom?” We’re sitting in the covered outdoor living
room, she’s reading and I’m flipping through a Rolling Stones magazine.

“What is it, Izabella?”

“Maaaa,” I groan my displeasure of here use of my full
name. It’s so frustrating when she refuses to use one of my many nicknames.

“Izabella Zoe Marino, I gave you the name for a reason
and one of those reasons was not so I could call you by a different one. Now,
get on with what you were going to ask.”

I roll my eyes at her stubbornness. Dad says I get it
from her. I refuse to believe I’m that much like her. I shudder at the thought.

“Why didn’t you tell me about my bio dad sooner?”

She snaps her eyes from her Danielle Steele book. Shock
and uncertainty stare back at me before she schools a cooler expression into
place. Clearly, and based on her initial reaction, my question came from out of
nowhere.

Placing her book on the table to the side of her, she
questions my curiosity. “Izabella, what’s wrong? Why do you want to dredge up
that rubbish?” She swishes her hand at me as if trying to shoo away the
question I just asked and my curiosity with her gesture.

“Mother,” irritation laces my voice.

“And before you start repeating what Dad said, please just
tell me
everything
. I promise I can handle it, as long as it’s the
truth.”

Her dropped shoulders and the resignation on her face
says she’s going to explain. I know what Dad said, but I haven’t heard her
story.

“Izabella, I don’t think any of it will make you feel
better, but if it’s what you want to hear, I’ll tell you everything.”

“Your bio dad,” she scrunches up her face repeating the
words I used for ‘him’.

“Would you prefer ‘sperm donor’?”

“Really, Izabella?” she levels her eyes at me in
frustration. “Your biological father’s name is Steven. He was a musician,” this
time it’s her turn to roll her eyes. “We met when we were both performing at a
local music festival. He was the end-all, be-all,” she sighs dreamily. “A bit
of Jim Morrison mixed with Slash and undeniably, all bad boy. But when he set
his sights on me, I couldn’t look away, much less deny myself the attention of
the hottest rocker at the entire festival.

“We hit it off well. Every day with him made me question
the truth in his bad boy persona. I was the center of his universe. When the week-long
festival was over, he stuck around. He talked about a future with me,” she’s
shaking her head.

“I was so foolish to think that he was anything less than
what the masses were saying. But the heart wants what the heart wants, and mine
was dead set on him.

“A few weeks passed and I realized I was late,” looking
up at me to see if I understood what she meant. “A doctor’s visit confirmed my
suspicions and I was thrilled. I’d had no family for so long, this was my
chance to give myself a family.”

If it’s possible, she looks sad and happy all at once.

“At first, Steven seemed okay. In hindsight, I think he
was just resolved to his fate. Eventually, the weight of it all broke him. He
started drinking more than usual. He was gone more often than not.

“I’d gone to my first prenatal check-up at about eight
weeks. Steven couldn’t go, something about a ‘meeting’,” she frames the last
word with air quotes. “If meeting was code for packing his stuff up and
leaving, then he did have a ‘meeting.’ ”

She’s silent for a moment; I’m starting to feel guilty
for asking this question.

“I didn’t hear from him again until you were about three
or four. I’d heard he’d popped and fizzled as a musician, but I never expected
he’d contact me.”

She went on to tell me he demanded money to not make
trouble for my dad and her about my paternity. He said he would run to the
tabloids with his story about the multi-million dollar music producer stealing
his baby. Mom couldn’t care less about Steven’s threats. She said she told him
to do what he had to do, but he wasn’t getting a cent from her.

“A week later, he was arrested in London for drug
trafficking and I haven’t heard from him again. I think he was convicted, but I
didn’t concern myself with the details. His leaving was fate’s way of opening
the door for
your
dad.

“One day, when you’re a mom, you’ll know what it means to
protect your child at all costs. Steven would have only brought you more pain
than anything meaningful and he could never be the dad you needed.”

******************************************

“Izzy?” I can hear Diego calling for me, but my eyes are
refusing to open. I think I could sleep on this couch forever.

With slitted eyes, I manage to wake up enough to see his
beautiful face. “Hey, sleepy head, you still want that bubble bath?”

Noting the soreness in my body—probably from traveling, I
stretch with a nod. Before I’m finished with my stretch and my feet could hit
the floor, Diego swoops me up, cradling me in his arms. “Diego, I’m perfectly
capable of walking myself to the bathroom.” I swat at his shoulders to put me
down.

He dips low, but doesn’t relinquish his hold on me. “Grab
the book,” he commands. Once, I’ve complied with his command, he uprights us
and continues to the stairs. “
Bella
, let’s just call this practice for
when the baby comes.”

Words escape me. I can’t decide if his admission, even in
jest, is adorable or annoying. “You’re so sexy when you screw your face up like
that,” he teases. I level a glaring stare at him. “All right, you’re not that
sexy when you screw your face up like that,” he counters.

Mr. Clueless. “Are you saying I have a screwed up face?” I’m
barely able to hold my bothered look when he starts going over what he’s said
in his mind. I watch as the wheels are turning, but before too much time passes,
he starts rambling.

“That’s not what I meant. That’s not what I said.” The near
frantic tone in his voice collapses my annoyed farce.

“Izabella Santo, you fucking…” he halts our progress halfway
up the stairs. The shudders my hysterics have me in are making it a challenge
for him to proceed. “You’re in so much trouble. I’m considering taking you over
my knee instead of letting you soak in a bubble bath.”

The very thought of punishment at his hands breathes new
life into my tired body. I stretch up to his ear, breathing softly across his
lobe and neck. “You could do both.”

Diego sucks in a quick breath. I pull back to see the rest
of his reaction. His eyes have widened into pools of black trimmed by a ring of
blazing copper. The longer I look the more the irises of his eyes resemble
solar eclipses.