Coming Home (Morelli Family, #6)

by Sam Mariano

  Coming Home

  (Morelli Family, #6)

  By Sam Mariano

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Coming Home (Morelli Family, #6) Copyright © 2017 by Sam Mariano

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Thank you for not being a pirate!

  Dedication

  To all the wonderful people in my reader group, Mateo’s Sweethearts! I know I’ve tortured you with anticipation these last couple of books, but your responses are so much fun. ;) Whether you love, hate, or love to hate these characters, your passionate conversations are so much fun to read; you guys rock! Thank you for your support!

  Winter Blues

  Takes place after Resisting Mateo, but a few months before Coming Home…

  "Red pepper, please."

  I flick a glance over at Meg. She’s standing at the stove, happily domestic as she takes the lead preparing dinner. I don’t argue because she’s a far better cook than I am. The aroma is already wafting over my way; I don’t know which spices she tossed in that pan, but I already want to dive in and eat my way out.

  Now she holds a hand out to me expectantly for the next ingredient.

  "I'm still chopping," I tell her. To emphasize my point, I bring my knife down over the slice of crisp red pepper on the chopping board.

  "Why are you so slow?" she asks dramatically.

  I pause in my chopping to raise an eyebrow at her in disbelief. "Do you remember two minutes ago when you tried to juggle them? And I was like 'you probably shouldn't do that' and you were like 'Maria isn't here to stop me.' Remember that?"

  Shaking her head dismissively, she tells me, "That sounds made up. I don't think that happened. I mean, obviously I could juggle them if I wanted to, but you're clearly just making excuses for how slow you are."

  I dismiss her craziness and continue chopping up the pepper. Once finished, I take them over and dump them into the pan of deliciousness. "There you go."

  "Good girl." She gives me a little wink.

  "Don't praise me," I complain, taking the chopping board to the sink to rinse it.

  "It's only hot if Mateo does it, huh?" she teases.

  "Being Mateo does help make things hot," I admit, nodding.

  "Do you think Mateo could make juggling hot?" she asks conversationally.

  "Probably. But he would never juggle. He's not the same kind of crazy as you."

  "It’s like we’re curating all the different kinds of crazy in the world. Just between the three of us, we have a large portion of the market cornered. I wonder if the baby will be a new kind of crazy we haven't encountered yet."

  Frowning in response, I turn off the faucet and glance over at her. "Rosalie isn't exactly a baby anymore. And she's unquestionably your kind of crazy. She's a mini Meg with little bursts of Mateo. Look out, Chicago."

  Now Meg grimaces, looking at the food she's stirring to keep from looking at me. "Whoops."

  It takes a minute to land. My mind doesn't quite wrap itself around the implication of her words.

  Then it hits me. Then her words start to make sense in a different context… in the context that she is talking about a new baby. A current pregnancy.

  Somehow Meg being pregnant with Mateo's baby feels like a thing of the past, a thing that happened before me. Even though he has no son and I understand logically he has to keep trying until he gets one... I don't want Meg to be pregnant again. I reject that reality.

  Only it doesn't matter, because now Meg shoots me a sheepish look. "I wasn't supposed to tell you."

  My stomach twists and sinks with the verification. I don’t want to make her feel bad, but it’s like I just had the wind knocked out of me. As if in search of physical evidence, my eyes run over her still-thin frame.

  She keeps talking. "I mean, you were obviously going to find out. But Mateo wanted to tell you. Don’t know what he was waiting for, but… It just slipped out."

  I nod a bit woodenly, all twisted up in the vines of jealousy and sadness. The faintest hint of betrayal stabs me in the gut. It's absurd and out of place; this isn't a betrayal. I was aware of Mateo's desire for a son. I was aware of—and I'm the one who insists on respecting—Meg's rule that I'm not allowed to get pregnant. I know he splits time between us, and I know he hates condoms, so this was inevitable.

  But it still hurts. It still stabs me in my heart of hearts and digs a new wound right down the center.

  It feels like an eternity has passed, but it's only been a minute.

  "Are you okay?" Meg asks, watching me carefully.

  I force myself to take a steadying breath, bracing my weight on the edge of the counter. "Yeah. Congratulations," I offer belatedly. "That's great news."

  I don't sound convincing to my own ears, but she accepts it and nods, smiling. "I'm excited. This had better be a boy. I'm running dangerously into Henry and Catherine territory. Since I'm letting him have his little Anne Boleyn lovefest on the side, maybe it'll keep me in the game, but my eggs better have my back this time."

  She jokes, but it's barely a joke. "I'm not on the side," I mutter.

  "Oh, sure," she says, kind of dismissively. "I didn't mean it pejoratively."

  I'm too sick to my stomach to even respond. Anxiety thickens in my chest and makes it difficult to draw a steady breath. Everything vaguely aches. I need air.

  Since my portion of work is done anyway, I tell Meg I have to pee and flee the kitchen. I go out the front door instead.

  It's a chilly, dreary day. The dim gray sky is full of dark clouds. A bitter gust of wind hits me and I rub the soft, thin fabric covering my arms. I already wish I’d have grabbed a coat.

  The fountain at the center of our driveway is dry right now, shut off and drained for the freezing season. I take a seat on the edge and look down into it. In the summer I would dip my hand into the gleaming pool of water, but now it's just a dingy, empty well.

  I thought someday I would take pictures of my daughter in front of this fountain. Every year on her birthday she could pose in front of it. She would ride her bike around it when she got older, first with training wheels, then without. She would grow even older and sit on this same edge with her friends while they talked about boys, since they couldn't talk in the house without Mateo potentially overhearing. As a teen, her terrified prom date would stand in front of this beautiful fountain with his hand around her waist so I could take a million pictures while Mateo stood beside me, offering him a vaguely threatening smile.

  But I don't get any of that. I don’t get to have that daughter. My womb is as empty as the fountain’s stone basin.

  Unlike Meg's, apparently.

  I don't know where Adrian is, but suddenly I realize no matter how delicious dinner smelled, sitting at the table with Mateo and Meg will feel like Chinese water torture tonight and I'm not going to do it. It's not a Sunday; Meg and I are only doing dinner because Maria has a cold and we wanted her to have the night off. But it's not a mandatory dinner. I can leave this one.

  So, I text Adrian and tell him I need a ride. I would normally go to Mateo and he would arrange a ride for me, but I don't want to see Mateo right now.

  A few minutes of sitting in the cold pass while I wait for Adrian to come fetch me.

  Mateo comes out the front door instead. He pe
els his suit jacket off as he walks toward the fountain, then drapes it around my shoulders once he gets there.

  "What's wrong?" he asks, without preamble.

  I pull his jacket around me a little more snugly, catching the faint scent of him on the expensive fabric. "Nothing's wrong."

  "Why did you ask Adrian for a ride? Dinner's almost ready."

  Since I don't want to get Meg in trouble, I lie. "I need to go to the bakery. I have to help Francesca with something. I'll just get food while I'm out."

  He frowns. "The bakery closed twenty minutes ago."

  "It's inventory stuff. We got behind and she needs help. I won't be long."

  I don’t think he buys a word of it, but he doesn’t waste his time calling me on my bullshit. "You're distant,” he says instead.

  Smiling faintly, I meet his gaze. "I'm like eight inches away."

  He lightly grabs my arm to pull me up, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me against his hard body. "Too many inches."

  I don't melt into his embrace like I usually do. I resist, not intentionally, but my body just doesn't want to be near his right now.

  Now his scowl comes back with a vengeance. "What is wrong, Mia?"

  "I just need to go help Francesca. Can you please give me Adrian and just leave me alone for a little bit?"

  My stomach bottoms out as the words tumble from my mouth. My gaze snaps to his face and I intuitively lean into him, wanting to take the sting out my request. I reach a hand out to caress his handsome face and flash him more of a smile than I expected myself to muster.

  He knows I'm full of shit, but he doesn't say so. He watches me for a moment, taking a mental inventory, then he finally goes back into the house and leaves me here by the fountain.

  Several minutes later Adrian does finally emerge from the house with his keys.

  I level him a look to tell him I'm not impressed. "Way to be a nark."

  "Hey, you know who the boss is." He leads the way to the car and opens the door for me to climb in. Once he slides into the driver's seat, he asks, "So, where are we really going?"

  "I told Mateo I needed to go to the bakery."

  "You did, but I texted Francesca and she has no idea what you're talking about."

  "Goddammit," I mutter.

  "You're an awful liar,” he tells me.

  "Whatever." I look out the window at the house. "I don't care where we go; I just needed to get out of the house for a minute. Do you have any errands you need to run?"

  He fires up the engine and navigates us down the drive and onto the road. He lets me stew for a few minutes before he asks, "What level of crisis is this? Ice cream run? Shoe shopping? I already have a wife whose mind I have to read; I would appreciate not having to read Mateo's wife's, too."

  "I'm not his wife," I tell him glumly, leaning my head against the side of the car and watching the trees as they pass.

  My tone must effectively convey the level of and reason for my blues today. Adrian nods and sighs to himself, but he doesn't bug me anymore.

  So, we drive around. I don't think we're really heading anywhere, but then he pulls into a parallel parking spot at some south loop storefront. I take in the sombrero decal on the window and the name of the place.

  He brought me to a taco joint.

  I smile faintly at him in the rear view mirror. He shoots me a wink and climbs out, walking around to open my door.

  "Thanks," I murmur as I climb out of the car and step past him.

  He shuts the car door and heads toward the restaurant to open that door for me, too. "Tacos make everything better."

  ---

  Three tacos and two margaritas later, I am feeling much better about life.

  "You know what," I tell Adrian, grabbing my giant margarita and taking a drink. "Not being pregnant is awesome. I couldn't have a margarita if he got me pregnant."

  "Look at that silver lining," he says, a bit dryly. "What's the joy of parenthood compared to having a three dollar margarita with your dinner?"

  "Exactly," I say with enthusiasm, like he's legit agreeing with me. "And it's not like I don't get to enjoy their babies. I adore Rosalie. And I'll adore this baby. Who cares if I never get any of my own, right? That's not such a big deal."

  His eyebrows rise and fall, but he does not offer further comment on this.

  I don't need him to, anyway. He just has to be an ear for me to fill up with my problems.

  "Sharing is hard sometimes," I inform him, firmly planting my drink back on the tabletop.

  Adrian nods. "Westley would agree with you. I can't relate, personally. I'm a grown-ass man; I don't share."

  Nodding a bit dolefully, I say, "I bet that's nice. Don’t get me wrong, I'm used to sharing. I don't even mind it mostly, but this makes my heart hurt."

  "Meg shouldn’t have told you.”

  "It wasn’t on purpose, she just slipped up."

  Adrian rolls his eyes. "Sure she did."

  I glance at him, but I don't put much stock in it. The Morelli men are all suspicious of everyone's motives, and Adrian is no exception. I'm sure it benefits him to be cautious for his job, but this is... well, actually, managing us probably is sort of part of his job.

  “Last time he got her pregnant, it was before we got together. For some reason I convinced myself…” I trail off, shaking my head. It sounds too stupid even in my head, so I can’t let the words out.

  Adrian nods, seeming to understand.

  "Do you think she'll ever change her mind?" I ask, suddenly meeting his gaze. "Do you think she'll ever let me have his baby? I thought she would have already changed her mind by now."

  Appearing reluctant to weigh in on this, he eases back in his chair. "I think it's not really my business."

  At that, I have to roll my eyes. "Please, everything in this family is your business."

  He shrugs like he wishes he could help, but can't. "I don't understand how you guys manage this whole sharing thing to begin with. The way you feel right now, that's probably how she feels when she thinks of you having his baby. You're feeling like this because he got her pregnant and he's already done it before. Do you think Meg is going to voluntarily put herself through that for the sake of your happiness?"

  No.

  I droop when he frames it like that.

  Meg is never going to let me have his baby. Not ever.

  I suck down the rest of my drink. "I need another margarita."

  Adrian is checking his phone at this point. He shakes his head. "I think you've had enough."

  "Adrian, I don't get a baby; I need a margarita."

  Since he can't argue with that, he sighs at me and goes up to order another.

  By the time I finish that one, the ache is effectively numbed. Hanging out with Adrian is nice. We normally don't hang out by ourselves because Elise is a dragon if she thinks anyone's trying to inch up on her territory, and even though it's absurd, she trusts me least of all. I'm not allowed to have any fun friends, so if I want to play, it's really just Mateo or Adrian. Mateo isn't here, plus he's on the naughty list tonight for impregnating Meg. And Adrian bought me tacos.

  So when the third margarita kicks in, I can't help lightly flirting with him. It's harmless for literally every reason, but he cuts off our night out and hauls me back to the car.

  "No fair," I tell him as he opens the car door and ushers me inside.

  "You've had enough to drink."

  "It's never enough," I object buoyantly.

  "Once you start talking about my shoulders, it's enough."

  "Well, I'm sorry you have such sexy shoulders," I tell him, shrugging. "That's really your fault, not mine. Eat a doughnut once in a while. Sleep in instead of going to the gym."

  He shakes his head at me and closes the door.

  I grin. It's so much fun to mess with him.

  My good cheer fades without a playmate though. By the time we're halfway home, I'm floating in thoughts of all the things I won't get to experience. I don't
want to just borrow Meg's baby; I want my own.

  "Do you think he'd hurt Meg?"

  Adrian flicks a glance at me in the rear view mirror. He remains stoic so I can't tell what he's thinking. "Are you asking because you want him to, or because you don't?"

  My eyes widen and I sit up a little straighter. "Because I don't, of course."

  "Then how 'bout you don't bring it up to him," he suggests.

  "So you think he would?"

  He doesn't answer.

  I watch out the window and keep quiet the rest of the way home.

  Adrian and I part ways once we're in the door. He goes back to his place with Elise, the only woman he loves, so naturally the mother of his child. Longing wraps itself around my heart and I try to untangle it. Ugh.

  I go to the kitchen for more wine. Meg has Mateo tonight so I'm in for a full night alone with these shitty thoughts and feelings. It's bound to get ugly. I don't pour myself a single serving; I grab a glass in one hand, a full bottle in the other, and head upstairs.

  I plop down on the couch in my sitting room and start on my first glass of wine. There's a television in here, but I never really watch it. I want to sulk right now, wallow a bit, purge all my icky feelings so I can be happy for everybody tomorrow.

  Only before I can finish my first glass and settle into my sulk, Mateo comes in.

  I'm a bit drunk, so I grin and lean back against the couch, gazing up at him with unrestrained adoration. "Hello, there. Come back to get your jacket?"

  "Oh, yes," he says dryly, pausing behind the couch to look down at me. "I was lost without it."

  I smile and he walks around to take a seat beside me on my couch. "You probably were," I tell him, my eyes raking over his body. God, he's sexy. Abandoning my wine glass on the end table, I curl my legs up behind me and snuggle into his side. "How was your day?"

  He secures his arm around me, pulling me closer. “It would be better if you weren’t mad at me.”

  “Do I seem mad at you?”

  Cocking a knowing eyebrow, he says, “You only flirt with Adrian when I’ve pissed you off.”