by Sam Mariano
He smiles, recording my score. “He doesn’t deserve you, you know. But he’s lucky he found you, and I have to believe he’s not going to screw this up.”
“I won’t make it easy for him,” I assure him.
He places some tiles on the board. “Neither will I.”
“His penchant for self-destruction is no match for the pair of us.”
“Damn straight,” Adrian replies, leaning back and smiling as he lazily jots down his 66 points.
Chapter Twenty Nine
Mia
All of my hopes and dreams have been resting on this appointment.
Adrian and Maria took my mind off things that night, and though things have remained tenser between us than is the norm, Mateo and I have not discussed my pregnancy again. I think we both figured until there was verification of the problem, there was no point. No point further damaging our relationship, no point hurting each other—why do all that if there was still a chance it was all for naught?
Until today, when the doctor—the poor, terrified doctor with his trembling hands and his dry lips, deeply and profoundly apologetic—had to stand in that sterile, white and gray exam room and tell an imposing, stoic Mateo Morelli that the woman he was marrying was not carrying his baby.
I was so sure he would be the father. I had convinced myself of that long shot because it was the truth I wanted.
It just wasn’t the truth.
The truth is that Vince got me pregnant. After all this, after finally getting the life I wanted with Mateo, now I’m going to have Vince’s baby.
At least, that’s my plan. I’m too terrified to let my mind go to any place dark enough to consider what Mateo could do now. I know he loves me, and with any normal man that would be enough assurance that he’s incapable of any horrendous crimes against me, but Mateo has committed them before. He loves me, but he loves his way. At the end of the day, he’s the boss. He has the final say in all things. We walk his lines and he gives us his love as a reward. It goes without saying that if we fail him, he could rescind it.
So now I have that to worry about. Now I have to worry about everything. Now I have to prepare for a fight. Now I have to oppose fucking Mateo Morelli. Me—the softest, least powerful person who’s ever encountered him.
Vince could actually cost me Mateo, after everything.
I have no words as we leave the doctor’s office. I climb woodenly into the car and stare out the window. Adrian doesn’t ask. He can tell what the news was by looking at us.
Mateo doesn’t talk either. Considering how he reacted last time when there was only a decent chance, I’m not at all looking forward to this. Now he knows he isn’t the father. Now he’s going to dig in, and it’s going to kill me. I don’t know how we survive this. I don’t know how far he’ll take it. I can weather his storm, I can handle his anger—if he just blusters, I can handle it. If he takes it beyond that, though, we won’t make it. And I consider it quite likely he will. Mateo isn’t all bark and no bite. Vince barks; Mateo bites. What will that mean for me? Even if he manages to make me stop loving him, there’s no way out for me. I’ll just be Beth, if she hadn’t tried to escape.
So many scenarios fly through my mind. The “best case” scenarios are depressingly bleak. Maybe when he’s done playing nice, he’ll lock me in the dungeon until I relent. But I won’t relent. When will he stop trying to convince me, and what happens then? What happens when he realizes I will not bend on this? I fit him so well because I always bend.
Now I need him to bend, and Mateo doesn’t bend.
Does he force his will? Does he trick me? Does he turn to his dirty, underhanded tricks to get the job done without any trace back to him? I know him too well now. I’ll know his fingerprints are all over it, whether I can prove it or not. How do I live with him after he wrongs me so egregiously? There’s typically a reprieve at the end of his torment, a rainbow after the storm, but not this. I can only forgive him for hurting me.
He’s my everything, but this is over the line. I won’t forgive this. He’s going to destroy me, and he’s going to go down with me. He won’t be happy without my love, but like Maria said, he won’t realize he’s losing it until it’s too late. He’s so infuriating, he thinks he can fix everything, and he can’t fix this. It hasn’t even happened yet and I already want to cry my heart out and pound my fists against his chest, demanding to know why he’s such a bastard.
This is the clear downside of loving a self-destructive maniac who has to control everything.
I’m so goddamn depressed by the time I cycle through all the horrible potential things he could do to me that I can’t keep from crying. I manage to do it quietly, at least. I turn my face away from him to look out the window—the closest thing to privacy I can get right now.
All I wanted was for the doctor to say it was his baby, it was just a little bit smaller than he expected. Just one week—that was all I needed. I missed having Mateo’s baby by one goddamn week.
I feel so robbed. Motherhood has always been a dream of mine, a dream I was told on several occasions would never come true. Now it has, and it has to be a war. Now it has, and it makes me cry. Something that should be so joyful instead threatens to ruin everything else I love about my life.
Maybe I haven’t always been the best person, but do I really deserve this?
My breath hitches and it practically echoes off the walls of the Escalade. Since no one else is speaking (and of course today Adrian doesn’t have his goddamn Bowie CD on) it’s all any of us can hear.
Adrian glares murderously at Mateo in the rearview mirror.
My face flushes with mortification.
Mateo sighs.
Finally, he speaks. “Mia, stop crying.”
“I’m not crying.”
It’s a ridiculous response, clearly a lie, but I say it anyway. I direct my gaze more obviously out the window, trying to hide the evidence.
Placing a hand on my shoulder, he urges me to face him. His dark eyebrows rise and he uses his thumb to brush away the wet track of tears down my cheeks. “Then what’s all this?”
I roll my eyes, averting my gaze. “I’m sad, okay? Can I just be sad for a minute?”
Mateo sighs again, tugging me against his chest. It’s the comfort I wanted and didn’t expect to get, so of course it triggers new waterworks. He holds me against him, letting me cry it out. His big, strong hand caresses the back of my head, petting my hair, offering me empty, wordless reassurances. Lies.
I can’t even let myself enjoy it though. I’m braced for him to strike, to use my weakness, to take advantage of my sadness. I know how he operates. I know I need to be on guard if I want to be prepared for him this time. When I pull back, he’ll turn on the sympathy and be all soft and sweet. He’s going to try the nice way first—he’ll sell taking my baby away from me as a way to end this sadness, to mend the rift between us. It can all go away in the snap of his fingers. I don’t have to cry myself to sleep alone in our bed. I don’t have to worry about our halted wedding plans. I don’t have to wonder if Meg is scheming behind my back. I can be the uncomplicated sweetness at the end of Mateo’s long day again—all I have to do is let him have his way. He’ll assure me he can fix the ache, remind me he can refill my womb himself with a nice, shiny Mateo-baby.
God, he’s a bastard.
I’m so mad at him.
I’m still clinging to his chest with my arms wrapped around him, but I’m so mad. He’s so manipulative. I want to punch him in his evil, handsome face.
His deep voice distracts me from my tumultuous thoughts. “Can you turn up here? Take us to Flavor.”
Sniffling, I pull back and look up at him. “What?”
“Not you,” he says, lightly pushing my face back into his chest.
I stay there for another few minutes, enjoying the moment of numb peace. I’m a little drained from crying, but I somehow still draw energy from Mateo. It makes me feel recharged, just letting him hold me like this. Even if
he’s the one I need energy to fight.
I don’t leave his arms, but I do look up at him once I’m calm again. “We’re not going home?”
He shakes his head, his thumb brushing my cheek. There are no tears left, I can tell by how dry and icky my face feels, but he still does it. “We’re going to lunch.”
“Lunch?”
He nods faintly, his eyes lingering on my face. “I told you I’d take you after the last appointment. I got… distracted. We didn’t go. I owe you a lunch.”
“Honestly, we can just go home. I’m tired. My face is a mess. I don’t need to be in public.”
“Your face is not a mess. You’ll have more energy if we go do something.”
“Mateo, I’m tired.”
“Then you don’t want to go to the baby store today?”
I blink, then frown in utter bewilderment. “Huh?”
“That was the plan, right? After lunch, you wanted to go to the baby store to look at things we already have? I assume more for the experience than because we actually need any of it, but that’s what you wanted to do, right?”
I’m so completely confused.
Furthering my confusion, he splays his hand across my stomach. It doesn’t make me tense this time, though. His vibe isn’t threatening like the other night. This is how I would’ve expected him to touch my stomach if the doctor would’ve just given us the opposite news.
For a split second, I question reality. Could he have been testing me? Had the doctor lie for some reason? I can’t find a logical reason behind it, but sometimes I just can’t grasp the things he does. Maybe there is some benefit to doing it, and I’m just too basic to see it.
God, I hope he did that. It would be mean, but it would mean he is the baby’s father. It would mean I wouldn’t have to fight him over this pregnancy. It would solve all my problems. I wouldn’t even complain. I wouldn’t even care. I wouldn’t even demand to know why the hell he would do it; now I’m just hoping and praying this is an elaborate hoax.
I don’t know how to ask though. So I go for honesty. “I’m so lost. I don’t understand.”
“Which part?” he asks, patiently.
“Is the baby yours? Did you trick me for some reason? Why are you being nice?”
Adrian nearly chokes stifling his own laughter in the front seat. He’s lucky he wasn’t drinking anything, because it would definitely be sprayed all over the steering wheel.
“No,” Mateo says, ignoring Adrian and shaking his head. “No tests, no tricks. I just don’t want to cause you any further pain over this. You’ve been through enough. Do you still want to have the baby?”
I nod, still not fully trusting his words.
Nodding once, he says, “Okay. Then that’s what we’re doing.”
I’m still so confused. Pointing to my own chest, I ask, “You’re letting me call the shots?”
Amusement finally enters his brown eyes. He bestows one of his little looks on me, the ones where he thinks I’m adorable. “Don’t get used to it. But I’ll let you call this one.”
Helplessly brightening, I ask, “Really? You’re not going to fight me?”
He shakes his head, tugging me back against him. I go easily, nestling into his chest. “I don’t think we should wait to get married though. We need to move the wedding way up.”
Relief and exhilaration swirl through me like an emotional tornado. Not only is he giving in about my pregnancy, he still wants to marry me—and sooner!
“I couldn’t agree more.” Tilting my head to look up at him, I give him a little smile. “Thank you so much, Mateo. I love you.”
Giving me a little wink, he says, “I know.”
Just like that, he gives me back my hopes. Repackages my dreams. I can’t resist grabbing hold of his tie and yanking him down for a kiss. His strong arms draw me to him like he can’t get me close enough and he deepens the kiss. I wind an answering arm around his neck; I can’t get him close enough, either. After a week of distance, I need to feel his hunger for me. I need his mouth buried in my neck, his hand skimming my thigh, creeping up under my dress.
Still, I smile and reach down to catch his hand when he tries it. “Keep that up and we’re going to be giving Adrian a show,” I warn him.
“Right, ‘cause we’ve never done that before,” he remarks with a roll of his eyes.
“I cannot be held liable for the actions of drunk Mia,” I inform him.
Quirking an eyebrow, he calls me right out on that bullshit. “I’ve had sober Mia in this backseat, too.”
“I was drunk on you. It still counts.”
Nonetheless, he stops trying to get me out of my clothes and settles for holding me against his chest while Adrian takes us to Flavor—one of the restaurants they deem relatively safe. After lunch, Mateo takes me to peruse aisle after aisle of merchandise for the teeny tiny little Morelli in my womb.
Once or twice I feel skeptical, wondering if this could still be a trick. Of course it could be. It’s not the most fun part of being with him, but it is a risk. Just not one I want to waste any time considering. If he’s performing for me, he’s doing a really good job.
But I don’t think he’s performing. I think he’s letting me have a win. I think this time Mateo is bending.
Because he loves me.
---
“What if it’s a boy?”
“Then I drown it.”
Glaring over at him lying beside me in bed, I hit Mateo hard in the stomach. He half groans, half laughs.
“That isn’t funny coming from you,” I inform him.
“You really think I’d drown a baby?” he asks, quirking a skeptical eyebrow. “I’m not a monster.”
“I think there are a lot of people who would disagree with that assertion,” I inform him.
“Probably. But I’ve never drowned any babies, so I don’t think I’ll start with yours.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. You know I’m hoping it’s a girl, but what if it isn’t?”
Mateo sighs, glancing down at the baby booties I’ve placed on my tummy, as if the baby can wear them already. “If it’s a boy, he’ll be a second son. Thank God Meg is having a boy. This would be an insurmountable disaster otherwise.”
“Would you let this baby have your seat?”
“I couldn’t.” He cuts a glance my way, probably not wanting to piss me off. “Can you imagine Vince with my power? He would be a monster. It would kill any good you think is left in him.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I don’t know the effect power has; I’ve never had any.”
He rolls his eyes like that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever said. “You have me.”
“And you have all the power in this relationship,” I reply.
“Clearly,” he says, looking pointedly at my stomach.
Power’s not my thing, so I brush it off. “This baby may not even be anything like Vince. I didn’t really talk to Vince’s dad in Vegas, he apparently doesn’t think I’m worth all the fuss, but Vince doesn’t seem anything like him. Everyone says Vince is more like your dad. If blood was all that mattered, wouldn’t you be a hot-headed psychopath?”
“I have enough sense to realize I have to keep a leash on myself. I have it in me to be angry, too, I’m just smart enough to control myself. Anger is destructive. You can rule with fear, but you have to have your own house in order. You have to be careful about letting your anger get the best of you. People will follow someone they’re afraid of, but they need to know what to expect and what’s expected of them. If you’re a loose cannon, they can’t get a read and you become a problem people want to get rid of—like Vince was for me. Vince doesn’t have enough self-control. That’s Ben coming out in him. And yet, he has more of my dad in him than his dad. It happens sometimes.”
It’s probably a little twisted, but I love listening to him talk about how he thinks and operates. His brain is so uniquely wired.
His words make sense, though. I don’t think Vin
ce’s desires were hard to read, Mateo and I just refused to ever meet them. Vince didn’t have power then, but he had more in Vegas and it did seem like he wasn’t going to use it very wisely since it involved—perhaps revolved around—kidnapping me and keeping me there even if I didn’t want to be.
Of course, Mateo had a similar strategy; I just want to be here.
“There’s no chance you guys are brothers, right?”
He smirks, shaking his head. “No. I already had that thought and checked.”
“Also, I’m amused that this is you on a leash,” I comment. “What would life be like if you weren’t?”
“A literal nightmare,” he replies, catching my hand and running his thumb over my knuckles. “I’d like to remind you, my own father in my current situation physically attacked his pregnant wife. Then when she ran from him, he spent years hunting her, and when he found her? Killed her, her lover, and their children. Then when he was done with that, he killed her friend who knew where she’d been hiding all the time he’d been searching for her, killed that friend’s husband, and set her son on fire—even though he may have believed he was that kid’s father. I’m willing to play house and raise Vince’s kid as my own. I am the Disney version of my father.”
I sort of want to laugh at the idea of this man who has tormented me on so many occasions being the Disney version of anyone, but it seems inappropriate given he also just reminded me that his evil father was responsible for such atrocities.
“What about Rafe’s dad?”
“Alessio was the nicest of the brothers. The least fucked up, too. Maybe because he was the youngest? I don’t know. He’s dead now. Rafe’s mom is still alive. She retired to Florida, got remarried—to a police officer, hilariously enough.”
“He has a mom? That’s nice.” I don’t know why this surprises me. It seems like Mateo’s generation of Morelli men were just hatched and left to figure out how the world worked. Maybe Rafe was actually raised. Maybe that’s why he seems a little less fucked up.
Smiling slightly, Mateo says, “Yes, I imagine it probably is.”
