by Bethany-Kris
“I adore those girls.”
“I’m glad for that,” he admitted. “I was hoping they wouldn’t be too hard on you.”
“After they realized I was just another commodity to their father, like they are to him, the nastiness went away. They’re good girls. They miss their mom a lot.”
Calisto raised a single brow. “I miss her, too. She was certainly the better half where Affonso and she were concerned.”
“It’s all right that you didn’t come around,” Emma said. “We managed.”
“But I should have.”
“Better you didn’t.”
Calisto’s gaze narrowed. “And why is that?”
“Because that was what Affonso wanted. He was counting on the pregnancy drawing you into the folds again. He said you probably wouldn’t be able to help yourself, what with the way you seem to need to take care of all his children in one way or another. You sure proved him wrong by making every single effort you could not to come anywhere near me.”
Damn.
Even she couldn’t ignore the hurt and anger in her tone.
Calisto drummed his fingers against leather. “Is that all you want to say?”
“No.”
“What else?”
“I’m pregnant, Cal. Not carrying a disease.”
Calisto straightened in the driver’s seat like someone had shoved a stake into his spine. “I don’t think that way.”
“It feels like it when you can’t even be bothered to share a space with me.”
“Mi dispiace,” he apologized.
All of the little things that Emma had allowed to eat away at her over the last few months came rushing out of her in a vomit of words. She always had to be perfect, compliant, and quiet with her husband. She was never allowed to have an opinion, or make her voice heard.
She was his perfect little thing.
Not a partner.
His thing.
Emma knew that Calisto didn’t think of her that way. He’d showed her once how he thought of her, and exactly what he would do with it all. He could take her anger.
She needed it out.
Not inside killing her.
Out.
“You made me feel so goddamn guilty,” Emma said, refusing to keep it in any longer. “Months ago when you found out about the baby I lost, and all the things you said, you made me feel guilty. Like I did something wrong; like I did you wrong.”
Calisto passed Emma another look. “I—”
“No, shut up and listen, Cal. I would have told you, but you didn’t come around. And then you find out, and you think you suddenly get the right to demand things from me and make me feel like I’m the bad guy? I didn’t do anything wrong! You left me to find out I was pregnant with your child, lie to my husband, and then miscarry the baby on a kitchen floor. Alone. You don’t get to make me feel bad for that, Calisto. I tried, and I would have told you everything had you just given me five minutes out of your life. Instead, you disappeared. Where were you?”
“You’re right,” he said quickly.
“And then you up and do it again!”
“What?”
“This, again. You make a big deal about what I did by not telling you, by losing the child, and then you once again spend months keeping as far away from me as you can. Only this time, I’m pregnant, but it’s not yours, so nothing about it is important.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely fucking are!”
Emma snapped back in the seat, further away from Calisto. She was shocked at the level of his shout.
“You are,” he growled again. “I thought I was staying away for you, Emmy. That you wouldn’t want me around after the last fucking conversation we had. I acted like a grade-A asshole and I know it. You’re right, you didn’t deserve that. And I am sorry that you have spent these last months letting it weigh you down. I shouldn’t have done that. But you are wrong, too.”
“I don’t think I am.”
“I didn’t stay away because you were pregnant with Affonso’s child. I stayed away because that didn’t even matter to me. It didn’t make a single difference that you are married, pregnant, and still not mine. I thought about you too much—I still do. I obsessed over things people said about you, or the way Affonso talked about you. I worried, I wondered, and I still wanted you. I stayed away for you because I didn’t care about your status, your husband, or your pregnancy. And that made me fucking disgusted with myself. What kind of man does that make me? A horrible one. I couldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t put that on you again. We did that once, and look at where we are.”
Emma sucked in a hard breath, stunned.
She tried to speak, and failed.
Calisto hit the gas, making the car lurch forward. “Are you happy now?”
No.
Yes.
Emma didn’t know.
She hated that he hurt. She liked that he hurt for her. Calisto didn’t know it, but Emma was no better than him. It was sick and wonderful.
“Well?” Calisto demanded. “Are you fucking happy?”
“I was once. I got to pretend for a little while. That made me happy.”
Calisto’s jaw ticked. “Don’t, Emmy.”
She still did it, anyway.
“You were happy once, too.”
Calisto glared at Emma, and she glowered right back. The silence in the vehicle stretched on, but Emma didn’t mind.
Shifting in the seat, she tried to find a comfortable position. No matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to soothe the small twangs of pain in her back.
“You all right?” Calisto asked.
“Tired.”
“You said that earlier, too. If there’s something wrong—”
“There’s nothing,” she interjected.
There couldn’t be.
Calisto opened the passenger door and stepped to the side before helping Emma out of the car. They had arrived in just enough time to see Affonso stepping out of the backseat of his own car.
“He left twenty minutes before us,” Emma said.
“Yeah.”
“How is he only just getting here now?”
Calisto shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
The ache in Emma’s back started up again as she watched her husband lean into the backseat like he was chatting with someone. Emma ignored the pain that traveled around to her front and down to her thighs. She had mentioned the issue to her doctor the week before, but the man said it was likely just her body growing with the child.
A little pain was expected.
Still, it made her nervous.
Blowing out a breath, Emma took another look at Affonso’s car. Calisto was looking that way, too.
“Jesus,” Calisto muttered.
Emma didn’t bother asking what warranted his cussing. She could plainly see just by following his gaze. The shadow of a woman’s delicate features were clear through the back window of Affonso’s car.
She wasn’t surprised.
“He has women all over the city,” Emma said. “He doesn’t bother to hide it.”
“He’s leaving you alone,” Calisto said under his breath.
“You could say that.”
It did bother Emma on some level that Affonso couldn’t even try to at least hide his affairs, but she had learned that questioning him did nothing. It certainly didn’t help.
“I’ve become good at turning my cheek,” Emma said.
Calisto smiled sadly. “I can see that.”
She smoothed her dress over her swell, and Calisto closed the passenger door. By the time they had turned back to the restaurant, Affonso was smacking the top of the car and moving back to the sidewalk like nothing was amiss. He must have caught sight of Calisto and Emma, because he waved a single hand in their direction, beckoning them over without even looking at them.
“Any advice for this breakfast?” Emma asked Calisto.
“Sm
ile. Let Affonso do the talking. Carl Calabrese is a flamboyant man that likes to show off the things he has. Try to pretend to give a damn, but I know it’ll be hard. It’s hard for us all. His wife is … nice, but a little in the clouds, if you know what I mean. Their adult children are spoiled rotten, but they probably won’t be here today. His son, maybe. Be your usual self, Emmy.”
“Okay.”
“You’ll do fine,” he assured.
Without asking, Calisto hooked his arm with hers, bringing her closer and moving her to his left side, away from the cars zooming by on the street. It was an innocent enough gesture, but it still made Emma shiver. She could smell his cologne, teasing her senses in a way she couldn’t explain.
Like she was fucking hungry.
And needy.
Maybe Emma could finally understand what Calisto meant when he said he was disgusted with himself for the way he felt. She suddenly felt dirtier in her own body than she ever had before. It didn’t seem to make a difference that she was married and carrying her husband’s child, just being close to Calisto turned her on.
She knew that telling Calisto to keep his distance was the right thing to do.
Calisto’s hold around her waist tightened.
Emma decided not to say a thing.
“Where’s Matteo?” Affonso asked. “Your boy always makes for good conversation, Carl.”
Carl Calabrese laughed loudly, waving his fork full of pancake over his plate. “I knew you liked him more than me, Affonso.”
“He’s young. A little mouthy, but decent.”
“Mouthy is one way to put it,” Carl replied.
Calisto smirked, but quickly hid it with his palm. Emma had still seen it.
“He’s off with that wife his,” Carl added, shrugging. “The baby is due in a few months.”
“Ah,” Affonso said. “And your wife?”
“She’s helping Courtney get settled into Chicago. She’ll do her final year of high school out there.”
“I heard she got into a bit of trouble,” Calisto said.
Carl chuckled. “She’s also young.”
Emma couldn’t help but notice how the Calabrese Don seemed to make excuse after excuse for his children. If there was anything that was good about Affonso as a father, he didn’t excuse his daughters’ bad behavior. Emma might not always agree with Affonso’s way of handling his children’s issues, but he made some kind of effort, no matter how bad it might end up being.
“And how is married life the second time around treating you, old friend?” Carl asked Affonso.
Affonso’s hand landed gently on the top of Emma’s stomach. “Well.”
“The second is always better.”
Emma shuddered, revulsion filling her to the brim.
Affonso chuckled, seemingly unaware of his wife’s distress. “Especially when they’re younger, hmm?”
“Zio,” Calisto said quietly.
Emma forced herself to stay quiet, and nibble on a slice of toast. At least with her mouth filled, she wasn’t likely to tell her husband to shut up. It wouldn’t lead to anything good if she did.
“Oh, calm down, Cal,” Affonso dismissed. “I’m joking. Emma knows. Right, Emma?”
“Sure,” she said.
Emma drowned out the conversation between Affonso, the Calabrese boss, and the other men who had come for the breakfast. Their talks of business, what to expect over the next year, and other things were boring.
The more Emma picked away at her food, the heavier her stomach felt, and then the nauseous feeling came back with a vengeance. It rushed her throat, sending her flying up from her chair. The small ache in her back ratcheted up a notch, shooting straight around her sides and into her stomach when she stood.
“Emma?” Affonso asked.
“I …” She couldn’t form words.
Something felt off. It didn’t help that her vision was suddenly swimming, too.
“You okay, Emmy?’ Calisto asked.
She held a hand out, wanting to reassure the faint questions around her.
Somehow, Emma found her voice. “Where’s the bathroom?”
Affonso grumbled something low before saying, “Cal?”
“Yeah, I’ll take her.”
Emma blinked, her skin heating all over. Calisto’s hand rested on her wrist, and his fingers held tight. Another deep pain sliced through her middle, taking her breath away. This time, the pain was familiar. It didn’t only hurt in her body, but in her heart, too. Her eyes stung with unshed tears—something was wrong.
She was too scared to say it out loud.
“This way, Emmy,” Calisto said.
Emma stared up at Calisto, finding him watching her with wary, concerned eyes. She put her hand to the side of her eighteen-week swell, feeling the tautness of her midsection under her palm. Her stomach was harder than it normally was. The sudden, sharp cramping made her heart drop to the floor.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
It shouldn’t be happening.
She was past the danger-zone the doctor talked about. She was young, and healthy. Everything had seemed fine.
Her body wouldn’t do this to her again, right?
“Emma?”
Emma opened her mouth to say something, but only a quiet sob escaped. They were far enough from the table, and already walking down a hallway toward lit signs showcasing bathrooms for both genders.
It didn’t matter, she knew.
Whatever was happening … it was already too late.
Emma
Closing the bathroom stall door behind her, Emma hiked up the skirt of her dress and sat down on the toilet. In just a couple of quick minutes, the harmless ache had turned into long, familiar cramps that wrapped her midsection with each one.
She pulled her panties down to her knees, and froze. Bright red spots had soaked her white underwear. A trickle of blood began to make a pathway down her inner thigh.
Emma’s first reaction was to freeze, but her heart clenched and her lungs stopped working at the same fucking time.
It was happening again.
Her body was failing.
The baby …
A sob caught in her throat, hard and loud. She struck out with her hand, hitting the metal bathroom stall with a bang. It didn’t help the anger that was suddenly swirling in her blood.
She ate right. She never touched a drink, or smoked. She stayed away from Affonso when he puffed on those awful cigars. She exercised, took her vitamins, and got more than enough rest.
Emma was healthy.
Why was this happening?
What had she done to deserve this?
Hot, wet tears slid down Emma’s cheeks as she sobbed again. The guilt and shame compounded in her chest. Something was wrong with her. That was the problem. She wasn’t good enough, or she had done something terrible to deserve this.
The fear crippled Emma even more than her other feelings. She was scared to touch the blood staining her leg, but she could hear the drip-drip-drip of more falling into the toilet bowl. A chill ran down her spine, and her hands trembled.
It hurt.
In her heart, she hurt.
“Calisto,” Emma rasped.
She wanted to yell, but her voice was too weak. Holding the side of her small swell, Emma tilted her head to the side until it rested against the stall wall. For a moment, she closed her eyes and breathed like this wasn’t happening.
“Calisto!”
Her second call of his name was much louder. Her throat protested, and she let loose another fresh round of cries and tears.
Leather shoes smacked hard against tile. The soft tap of knuckles hit the outside of the stall.
“Emmy?” Calisto asked.
A brief bite of relief washed through her, but it only lasted until another stab of pain made her hunch over the toilet, and grab her stomach.
“Open the door, Emmy,” he demanded.
She blindly waved at the latch, luckily hitting it. Th
e door swung open almost immediately, and Calisto didn’t bother to stand there and stare. He was down on his knees in front of her in a flash.
“Something is wrong,” she told him. “Help me.”
Calisto sucked in a ragged breath, his gaze snapping between the blood in her panties, the smear on her leg, and the tears streaking down her face. “Cazzo Cristo.”
She sobbed at his cursing. “I’m sorry.”
For what, she didn’t know.
Calisto’s hands found her cheeks, and his thumbs swept over her skin with tender, knowing swipes. “God, no. Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. It’ll ... it’ll be all right, Emmy.”
She shook her head.
It wouldn’t be.
“I’m past the first trimester. They said this wouldn’t happen again. Why is this happening to me, Cal?”
His fingers trembled against her cheeks. “I don’t know.”
Agony rippled through Emma’s midsection again, sending her forward. Calisto wrapped her tight in his embrace, let her hide her tears and cries in his suit jacket, and rubbed her back as he shushed her.
“I don’t want to lose this baby,” Emma mumbled.
God had already taken one from her.
Wasn’t that enough?
Why take another?
She shattered.
In that moment, she knew there was nothing that could be done.
It broke her.
“I’m sorry, Emmy,” she heard him say.
Disoriented wasn’t a good enough word for how Emma felt. It was almost as if her body had shut down the moment she was rolled into the back of an ambulance, like her mind didn’t want to deal with what was happening and it simply turned off.
She was shuffled from a stretcher to a wheelchair, and then asked to move to another bed. She was poked and prodded by gloved hands, and sweet, concerned faces shadowed her vision every so often, asking questions and getting no answers.
Emma barely felt the needle for the IV.
There was bustle in the room, but she didn’t care to find out who.
The tears still fell. She had started to bite on her palm to hold back the sobs.
Another hand grazed her cheek, but it was ungloved and felt familiar.
