That's Amore (Weddings by Bella Book #4): A Novel

by Janice Thompson

  “Well, it looks like Mama has taken over the care of Rosie,” I said to Aunt Rosa. “That should make your job a little easier.”

  “She has to leave for the opera house in an hour or so.” Rosa went back to work on the gravy. “But don’t you worry. I’ll manage. I’ve always been good at multitasking. How else do you think we handle the restaurant and the television show?”

  “You’re remarkable.” I gave her a kiss on the forehead. “I learned from the master.”

  “She did, for sure.” D.J. stuck his finger in the pan of sauce on the stove.

  Rosa slapped his hand. “Stop that, boy.”

  He did. After taking one more little nibble, anyway.

  “We’ll be on our way then,” I said. “Call if you need us.”

  “Oh, before you go . . .” Rosa stopped me with her words. “Just wanted to remind you that our show is set to begin filming again in a couple of weeks.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “You haven’t forgotten that you’re going to be our guest on September 15, right?”

  “Oh, right.” I had forgotten. Well, almost. Why my aunt and uncle wanted me to appear on a food-themed show was beyond me. My cooking skills weren’t my strong suit. And I had enough on my proverbial plate already. Maybe I could just say no? Tell her I didn’t have time?

  “You’ll be sharing ideas for parents of young children. Yummy, healthy foods for kids of parents on a budget. All with an Italian theme, of course.”

  “Of course.” Hmm. Should I tell her that the only Italian food my kiddos ate was whatever she and Laz prepared at our weekly Rossi get-together? Probably not. More often than not, my kiddos ate burgers that I picked up at the local fast-food restaurant on my way home from Club Wed. Better not mention that, or she would have my head.

  Rosa lit into a lengthy conversation about Brock and Erin Benson’s upcoming arrival to the island. “I’m dying to get those two on our show,” she said. “Do you think Brock will go for that idea?”

  “I’m sure he’s going to be busy filming a show of his own,” I said. When she frowned, I added, “But he loves you, Rosa. He’d do anything for you.” And he probably would. Just one more person who worked around the clock. Brock Benson fit right in with the Rossi/Neeley clan.

  “Isn’t he just the sweetest boy ever?” Rosa giggled. “And aren’t you all so excited about that new sitcom?”

  I was excited that a Hollywood producer had chosen to film portions of a new show here on the island, and even more tickled that particular scenes would be filmed at our family restaurant. But I was also a little scared. With my workload so high already, I wondered if I could serve in an advisory position as I’d promised. Maybe I should call the producer and ask him to minimize my participation. That would probably be for the best.

  D.J. cleared his throat and I got the message. He wanted to get this show on the road. We said our goodbyes—again—and headed out to the truck. Less than ten minutes later we arrived at the OB’s office. We would see Dr. Mullins later, but right now we had to start the visit with the ultrasound tech, a chatty young woman who, from all appearances, had swallowed down far too much caffeine today.

  We walked into the ultrasound room, and I did my best to push back the nausea that gripped me. I’d never cared for the smell of a doctor’s office before. The weird mixture of odors—rubbing alcohol, antibacterial cleansers, and a host of other things—always made me feel sick. I settled into place on the examining table, exposed my belly, and shifted my gaze to the monitor.

  The tech squeezed the cold, gooey gel onto my tummy and set the wand down on it. She shifted it around, chatting all the while. “There you are!” she said to the image on the screen. “Thought you could hide from me, eh?” A click-click sound emanated from the machine as she locked in the images. Then she went back to work, enlarging an up-close-and-personal shot of our baby.

  My eyes filled with tears as the image of my child filled the screen. Sure, it didn’t really look like a baby yet, but that lovely little image always made my heart sing.

  D.J. leaned toward the monitor, and I noticed his eyes brimming too.

  “Too early to tell if it’s a boy or girl?” he asked.

  “Way too early,” the tech said. “But I say we definitely have a baby here.” She chuckled and moved the wand around, clicking photo after photo. She continued to capture images, the wand moving this way and that, carrying on and on about our little one.

  Then her expression shifted to one of concern. “Hmm.” She moved the wand a bit to the left, but I couldn’t quite make out the image on the screen.

  My heart started that rapid thump-thumping thing. “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Yes. Fine.” But her jovial tone didn’t sound convincing. She moved the wand around my belly in several directions, finally pressing hard enough to affect my overly full bladder. All the while I prayed in silence that God would protect my baby.

  Another “hmm” followed from the tech, and then we saw an image of the baby again. The heartbeat seemed normal, at least from my point of view. Still, something was amiss, judging from the tech’s wrinkled brow.

  D.J. seemed oblivious to any concerns. He made easy conversation with the tech, still fixated on the sex of the baby. I tried to do the same, until I took in the full image on the screen. I squinted, not sure I was seeing correctly. Then, just as quickly, I realized my eyes weren’t deceiving me.

  Oh. My. Goodness.

  D.J. grew strangely quiet, his eyes now riveted to the monitor. They shifted to me, then back to the screen.

  The tech grew quiet, then cleared her throat. “You, um . . . you two ready for some baby news?”

  She didn’t need to say it aloud. We could both tell by looking. The Rossi clan wasn’t about to get one new baby . . . it was about to get two.

  5

  Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys

  God will never give you anything you can’t handle, so don’t stress.

  Kelly Clarkson

  I spent the drive back to my parents’ home in a dazed state, hardly able to breathe. Our visit with Dr. Mullins had confirmed what we’d seen on the screen. We weren’t seeing double—we were giving birth to it.

  Several times D.J. and I looked at each other as if ready to speak. Several times we just shook our heads . . . and laughed. He finally broke the silence in the truck with one word: “T-twins?”

  I shook my head, barely able to make sense of it. “I-I don’t think it’s sunk in yet.” I wondered if it ever would. How could I wrap my brain around this?

  “This one’s gonna take awhile to digest.” He brought the truck to a halt at a red light, then looked at me, eyes narrowed. “Do you have twins in your family?”

  I paused to think that through. “My mother has twin sisters, Bianca and Bertina, so perhaps it was inevitable that someone in the family would eventually carry on the legacy. But . . . twins?”

  I tried to imagine in that moment what it would be like to raise two babies at the same time. Seemed impossible. Still, God had given me two arms. And two legs. And two ears. Maybe I could handle this.

  On the other hand, I already had two small children. Two plus two made . . . four.

  Four babies.

  Suddenly I could hardly breathe. In fact, I thought I might hyperventilate.

  And now the whole “let’s build a new wedding facility in Splendora” thing seemed impossible. How could I manage that and Club Wed with two little ones and twins? Terror gripped my heart, followed by crazy giggles. Then back to terror. Then laughter.

  Twins?

  I simply couldn’t absorb the news. Maybe after I slept on it. Or maybe I’d misunderstood. Yes, surely I’d misunderstood. Or maybe I was dreaming all of this. I’d wake up soon and laugh about it.

  I thought about our family’s motto: Finché c’è vita c’è speranza—“As long as there is life, there is hope.” We’d leaned on this old proverb for years. My plate might be full, but everything would tu
rn out fine in the end. I knew it.

  D.J. continued to drive, but a weird silence grew up between us. I hoped he wasn’t too panicked over the news. Knowing my easygoing guy, he would continue to be my rock, and I would . . . well, I would probably have to take some time to adjust. After screaming into my pillow. Or throwing myself a party. I really hadn’t decided which was more appropriate, considering my scattered thoughts. For sure, I would have to take a deep breath and then pray for God’s grace to get me through this pregnancy.

  Pregnancy.

  Twins.

  If I felt like Orca carrying one baby at a time, what would this be like? No doubt I’d be waddling by the sixth month. Today’s news certainly explained why my belly had already blossomed, though.

  I willed my thoughts to slow down and then took several calming breaths.

  “You okay?” D.J. glanced my way.

  I nodded. “I . . . I think so.”

  “Just checking. I thought maybe you were hyperventilating.”

  “I think. Maybe. I. Am.” He knows me too well.

  “Slow, deep breaths, girl. You can do this. We can do this. Finché c’è vita c’è speranza.” It sounded a little funny with the Texas twang attached, but his words calmed me a bit.

  “O-okay.” I did my best to steady my breathing further, but now I had that strange sensation of hearing my heartbeat in my ears. Weird.

  It wouldn’t help anything if I passed out cold in the car. I needed to get myself under control before arriving at my parents’ place. Sure didn’t want to raise any red flags with the family. They had enough going on without a fainting pregnant woman in the driveway.

  D.J. turned the truck onto Broadway and we approached the Rossi homestead. “Well, speaking of hyperventilating, are you going to tell your family today, or should we plan some sort of party to make the announcement?”

  Man. I could only imagine what Mama and Aunt Rosa would say. Of course, Aunt Rosa would be happy if we had a dozen babies. But I needed time to think this through. I couldn’t just blurt out, “We’re having twins!” without processing it on my own first. On the other hand, we didn’t have time to plan anything, did we? Besides, I didn’t think I could keep this news to myself for long. Likely I’d blurt it out in a panic.

  “Bella?” D.J. sounded concerned now.

  “I’m fine.” Mostly. “Just thinking that we should wait until dinner tonight. Your parents are coming over to my parents’ place, right?”

  “Right.” He nodded. “I was about to suggest the same thing. But speaking of my parents, there’s something else I want to talk to you about.”

  “Hmm?” I only half heard him. “Something wrong with your parents?”

  “No, they’re fine. Busy with the motorcycle ministry, of course, but that made me think of what I wanted to talk about.”

  “Oh?” I found myself doing those weird calming breaths again.

  D.J. looked at me again as he pulled into my parents’ driveway. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Mm-hmm. I think.”

  “What I have to say can wait until after dinner, I guess.”

  “Right. The news about the baby.”

  “No, what I was going to say about my parents.”

  His comment intrigued me, but right now I could barely get past the whole “we’re having twins” thing to think about his parents. Managing two kids and one business was tough. How could I handle four kids and two businesses? No way. With all of this in mind, I would have to bow out of the sitcom advisory role, no doubt. Yes, a phone call to the producer was definitely in order. Brock would be disappointed—I would be disappointed—but how could I possibly manage all of this and stay healthy . . . with twins?

  We walked hand in hand to the veranda, where I found my father in his undershirt and boxers on the porch swing. Reading the paper. Typical.

  “Pop?”

  He looked up and folded the paper. “Did you realize that new gal who’s hosting the news used to be an exotic dancer?” he asked. “What is this world coming to? I tell you, there’s no such thing as decency anymore.” He stood, scratched his backside, then rolled up the paper, which he used to smack D.J. on the arm. “Good to see you again, son-in-law.”

  “Good to see you too, sir.”

  “You two been out painting the town red?”

  “No, Pop,” I said. “We were at the doctor’s office.”

  “Your mom’s been trying to get me in to see the doctor for weeks now.” He reached to open the front door. “If she would stop stealing my hemorrhoid cream to use on her wrinkles, I wouldn’t have a problem. I keep telling her that, but will she listen?”

  Alrighty then. And to think, the lucky duo in my tummy would inherit these same genes.

  Pop headed up the stairs, and D.J. and I made our way through the foyer toward the kitchen, where I was startled to find everything covered in a film of white powder. Rosa and Mama were down on the floor on their hands and knees, cleaning.

  “What in the world?” I took several quick steps toward them. “What happened? Is everything all right?” And why was Mama here? Wasn’t she supposed to be at the opera house?

  “Oh, it will be.” Rosa gave me a halfhearted smile. “Little Rosie didn’t mean to knock over the flour jar. She’s such a sweet little thing. Maybe a little on the clumsy side, but that’s to be expected when you’re two, I suppose.”

  “Oh no.”

  Rosa brushed the back of her hand across her cheek, leaving a white, powdery mark. “It was really Tres’s fault. He pulled out that plastic sword of his and was pretending to stab her to death. Like last time. But he promised he wouldn’t ever stab her again in the kitchen. I really think that’s for the best. The kitchen is for cooking, not stabbing.”

  “That boy.” D.J. shook his head. “I’ve told him a dozen times or more that he’s going to lose that sword if he doesn’t play nice with it. Looks like it’s time to take it away.”

  “But he’s such a cute little pirate.” Rosa’s downturned lips showed me her take on this. “We don’t mind, as long as he’s careful.”

  “Still.” D.J. looked aggravated. “Where is he?”

  “Laz took both of the kids out to the back porch to read them a book, the one about the pirate king. I don’t really think Rosie meant to tear up his new copy of the book, but, well . . .”

  “The good news is, it’s still readable.” Mama shrugged and continued her work. “Well, except that one part where the pirates board the ship. I think she decimated that part, right, Rosa?”

  “Right. But I never liked that part of the story much, anyway. No one wants a pirate to board their ship. Unless it’s Jean Luc Dumont, the character that Brock Benson played in his first pirate movie. He was just dreamy.” Rosa went off on a tangent about Brock, but I couldn’t make sense of any of it. I fought the temptation to slap myself on the forehead.

  “Anyway, they’re just kids.” Mama rose and stretched her back. “They’re going to do the things that kids do, whether you arm them with swords or books. You know?”

  “I do know, but that doesn’t make me any less sorry,” I said. “Maybe we can replace the book?” I knelt down on the kitchen floor beside Rosa and took the dustpan and broom from her. “Please let me finish this.”

  “In your condition?” Rosa clucked her tongue at me and took the dustpan back. “Over my dead body.” She continued to clean, all the while singing the praises of my children, telling me what angels they were. When they weren’t knocking things over or tearing things up.

  “I think you should have ten or twelve more just like them,” she said.

  Ironic.

  As I rose I noticed the mess on the kitchen table. Looked like Tres had done a little artwork with his new crayons on the glass tabletop. I reached into the cupboard for the glass cleaner and went to work getting rid of the marks while Mama washed out Rosie’s sippy cups.

  “I sure hope you were able to get the rest of the gravy made,” I said. “Hope the kid
s weren’t too much of an interruption for that.”

  “Oh, we managed. Laz and I finished up right after you and D.J. left.” Rosa attempted to stand but couldn’t seem to get up off the floor. I gave her a hand, and seconds later, though looking a bit stiff, she managed to stand upright. Well, mostly upright. “This old body of mine just can’t get up and down like it used to.” She rubbed her back. “But don’t you worry. Your mama decided she didn’t need to go to the opera house today. She stuck around to help with the babies.”

  Hearing all of this almost sent me into a panic. Mama gave up her day at work just to help Rosa with my kids? My family members were getting older. They could barely manage babysitting my two children, let alone four. I couldn’t keep bringing the kids over for Rosa to watch once the twins—Are we really having twins?—were born. Not that I called on her very often. Okay, not more than two or three times a week. Maybe four. Or five. And not that she ever complained. But the woman wasn’t getting any younger, and she had a life of her own. A business of her own. A television show of her own.

  Suddenly I felt very, very dizzy.

  “You okay, Bella-bambina?” My father ambled his way into the kitchen, still in a state of semi-undress.

  “Hmm? Oh yes. I’m good.”

  “Baby’s okay?” Mama looked worried as she glanced my way.

  “Babies okay,” I echoed back, my meaning a little different from hers.

  I managed to make small talk with everyone until my sister arrived a few minutes before five. Sophia took one look at me and pulled me by the arm into the living room for a private chat. “What’s going on with you today? You’re acting weird. Are you and D.J. okay?”

  “Of course.”

  “What is it then?” Sophia’s gaze narrowed. “Are you sick?”

  “Not sick, really. Why do you ask?”

  “You just look kind of . . . pale. And you’ve got that worried look on your face, the one you always get a couple of days before a wedding.”

  “Ah.” I forced a smile. “Is this better?”

  “Not really. What’s up? Something business related or something to do with the pregnancy?”