Her Designer Baby: (Loving Over 40 Book 1)

by Washington, Shawna

  For a moment, we stand there, looking at each other. I can smell his aftershave, and he’s so near the impression of his warmth is vibrant. For a moment, his eyes sparkle and, for a moment, looking up at him, I think about how his lips will feel against mine. He looks so good, like he’s walked out of a magazine into reality. Into my reality. I can’t believe how lucky I am.

  His fingertips brush my arm as I step around the table. It sends a small shiver rising up my spine.

  I can’t stop myself from smiling. I can’t even stop my smile from going wider.

  “Thank you.” I sit down, and I wait for him to walk back around the table to take his own seat. “You look handsome.” I mean to say it in a kind of teasing way, but it comes out much too sincerely and I feel the heat rise into my cheeks again. He does though. He looks so handsome. Really, how did I get so lucky? To have him just sit down next to me in a bar? I hadn’t expected to meet a man who would catch my interest for a long, long time.

  “Grazie,” he says, and my stomach fills with butterflies. “But let’s be honest, here. No one is looking at me. You look absolutely beautiful tonight, Radiah. Of course, you always look beautiful. I’m sure you’d look beautiful in a paper bag. Or a plastic one.” He gives me a dazzling grin. “Or in anything you decided you wanted to wear.”

  “Oh?” I eye him across the table. The amber lights of the small lamps glitter between us. It feels like the restaurant is in perpetual, soothing sunset. “Are paper and plastic bags all of the rage in Italy? I’ve always thought of Italy as fashion forward and trend setting but...maybe I’m wrong.”

  “Actually. No.” He laughs. “You’re right. We do like our fashion in Italy.” His grin widens into a full-fledged smile. “Well. I remember being a young boy. And running through the streets. And I remember stopping to stare at all of the beautiful women. They would lower their sunglasses down the bridges of their noses and say to me, ‘aren’t you a little young?’ But in Italy, when we see something we want, we don’t hesitate.” He shrugs. “It’s how we are raised.”

  He’s already ordered wine, which he pours for us now. His eyes stay on my eyes though, and while he is saying this, I know full well what his intentions are. I know what he is telling me.

  And I like it. I’ve always liked men when they are forward. When they are making themselves plain. It’s too much coyness, too much kept inside, that drives me away.

  “That’s commendable. You shouldn’t. I mean…” My heart beats harder. “People shouldn’t. They shouldn’t hesitate when they know what they want. Life is too short for...regrets.” I feel the flush rising through my cheeks again and I glance aside to orient myself. I glance aside so I will stop staring at him like some kind of silly schoolgirl. “So,” I say when I turn my eyes back to him. I need to say something to distract myself from staring at him. To distract myself from the way his compliments are making me feel. “Have you been enjoying your time in the city, Emilio?” From our earlier conversation, I know he hasn’t been here long. I know too that this is his first visit here. I love my city, and I’m always excited to watch other people fall in love with it. The idea that someone wouldn’t fall in love with New York doesn’t really even enter my mind. How could they not?

  We have everything here. The highs and the lows, usually together, on the same street corner!

  “Yes. I have. I’ve been enjoying myself immensely. New York is truly amazing. As amazing as advertised. Great food. Museums. A city that never sleeps. And very, very beautiful women.” He sets the bottle back down into the ice bucket. And he leans back in the chair.

  Damn.

  How does he do that?

  He makes something as banal, something as simple, as leaning back in a chair look so... good. Is he a model? Some kind of Italian stallion? I almost want to ask him. I almost want to tell him to stop looking so...good. Because it’s seriously affecting my ability to think. It makes it hard to have a coherent thought. Or to carry on a coherent conversation. Which I do want to do. I like talking to Emilio almost as much as I like looking at Emilio.

  “Although,” he goes on to say, “Sadly, I must admit, I have spent most of my time here working. And so I have had very little opportunity to see very much at all outside of office buildings. Or outside of the insides of your lovely New York City cabs.”

  “Well.” I take the slender flute of the wineglass between my fingers. I find myself feeling full of anticipation now. I’m hoping he is going to take me up on my offer. Because it’s something I want. “Maybe I could show you something of the city after dinner? You know. Be a kind of tour guide. Show you some of the sights.”

  Angling his head to the right, Emilio eyes me. He smiles. His voice is warm. “I would love that, Radiah. To see the city through your eyes. What do you have in mind? Broadway? The Empire State Building?”

  “Oh.” Sipping at my wine, I smile over the edge of the glass at him. His genuine excitement only makes my own excitement grow too. Literally, I can feel the sparkle lighting up in my eyes. I love New York. It’s not only where I live, it’s my hometown, and it’s going to be a pleasure—no—it’s going to be more than a pleasure to show him the city. I even know exactly where I want to start. “You’ll know soon enough. I want it to be a surprise. But I won’t lead you astray. Trust me.” I take another small sip of the wine. “You’re going to like it.”

  “I do, Radiah.”

  He says so quickly; he says it so sincerely.

  “I do trust you. And I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have for my tour guide.” Lifting his own glass, he angles it towards mine.

  The glass clinks.

  “I’m happy to put myself into your hands, Radiah.”

  The flutter starts up in my stomach again. Because I realize I could say those very same words right back to him. I am starting to trust him too.

  * * *

  The Staten Island ferry is one of my favorite places in the city. It’s far from the most exotic, far from the most luxurious. But for me, the murmur of the water moving against the hull of the ship and the sight of the island in the distance, replete with the silhouettes of the buildings and their windows lighting the dark sky like strands of Christmas lights, is beautiful and calming. The hum of the traffic is gone and the honking of the horns is gone and the whole city becomes a silent landscape.

  When we’d walked up the ramp that led to the deck, I’d asked him if he was disappointed with my choice. I’m pretty sure when people come here from other countries, the ferry isn’t usually a part of their top destination spots. Maybe Emilio had been hoping for something more exotic, or something more quintessential New York. He’d mentioned places like Broadway and the Empire State Building at dinner. This is probably more quintessential Radiah than anything else. I mean, after all, wasn’t Italy known for its canals, for its waterways? This couldn’t be as impressive, right? But I love it so much, and that’s why I’d wanted to share it with him.

  I want to share my New York with him.

  ‘I’m not disappointed at all,’ he’d said then. If those were just words, he knew how to say them just right. Because I’d believed him, and I’d felt his anticipation.

  At this time of night, we have the boat virtually to ourselves. Of course, we don’t stay inside, we go out to the upper deck. The soft wind blows against us, breezes my dress into rippling. The air feels cool against my cheek, and the soaring sight of the city, a sight that reminds me that anything is possible, makes my heart soar too. Looking at Manhattan this way is magical.

  “See? Isn’t it beautiful?” Smiling, I turn to beam up at Emilio. “You can’t even see all of the dirt from out here.” I laugh. “Everything looks better from a distance.”

  His eyes are on mine.

  “Not everything, Radiah.” His voice is deep, full of heat.

  My breath catches.

  “But you’re right. It’s beautiful.” Smiling then, he looks away from me, and up at the skyline. “The city isn’t bad either.”
Without looking down to see it, I feel his hand brush to my fingertips. It is a polite touching, a chivalrous asking, and I want to give him an answer.

  Slipping my fingers into his hand, I shift a little, so I am half angled toward the skyline and half angled towards him. Behind me, Emilio steps forward. With my one hand still in his, he reaches down with the other to set it lightly against my hip.

  His fingertip trails a small touch along the curve, up higher, against my waist.

  That slight touch makes me shiver.

  The difference between the cool wind blowing off of the water and his heat at my back, the difference between the dark behind us and the city twinkling like a thousand stars scattering in front of us feels, literally, magical. And romantic. I’m sure there are diamonds sparkling in my eyes. I don’t even want to try to hide them.

  In fact, I want him to see them. I want him to see me seeing him. I want him to see me seeing us. I think he is; I think he does. Because his own eyes are lit, are bright and sparkling like the distant sparkling of the faraway windows too.

  He’s so tall he ducks his head a little lower. His words are the almost of a whisper. “I want to thank you for tonight, Radiah. Thank you for showing me this. For being my guide.” His low voice, thick with his accent, murmurs near my ear. The heat of his breath tickles the back of my neck. It makes me want to melt against him. Again, I feel the small shiver rise through my back, into my shoulders.

  Half turning so I am facing him a little more now, I smile up at him. His hand shifts, a light graze against my waist. Butterflies open up in my stomach. I feel almost giddy, like a little girl with a crush. It’s a wonderful feeling.

  “No. I… I want to thank you, Emilio.” I want to say, ‘thank you for letting me show you this because showing you this has made me see this again, has made me see it again for the first time. But it’s so much more than that. I’d been sad. I’d been so sad that I hadn’t even realized how deeply that sadness that been effecting me.’ “You… You make me smile. And I…” I give a small, shy laugh. It’s hard to admit this. But I want to. “I haven’t smiled like this in a long, long time.”

  As he ducks his head, I know he intends to kiss to me. For the briefest moment, I think about moving back, about saying no. Maybe it’s habit. I’ve been with Alexei with so long the idea of kissing another man feels almost wrong. But it’s not wrong. I’m not with Alexei anymore. I can kiss whoever I want to kiss. And I want to kiss him.

  It isn’t too soon.

  And it’s just a kiss.

  And I want him to.

  I want him to kiss me.

  I want to kiss him.

  Softly, his lips brush to mine, a questing, a gentle asking. It’s so much like him he makes me smile again.

  “Take what you want, Emilio,” I say against his lips. It’s a gentle chiding, but really, I love how careful he is. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  When I kiss him too, giving him my permission, he opens my lips, to kiss me deeper.

  To kiss me harder.

  We kiss, and we kiss, and his hand slides from my waist to the small of my back. His fingers loosen from mine and he raises his hand to cup his palm at the back of my head.

  He tastes like wine. He tastes like warmth. His mouth is beautiful. Our tongues swirl. Touch. Tug. I don’t want to let his lips go.

  “Your eyes are shining,” he says as we break apart to breathe. His chest rises, grazes against my breasts. The space between us closes, fills with warmth. “As pretty as those lights.” Softly, he touches to my hair, threads a strand of it through his fingers. “Prettier.”

  “Yes,” I tell him. “They are.” My eyes are shining up at him, because of him, and for him. Rising up onto my toes, I brush my lips to his again. I nudge against him. I lift my own hands now too. Open my fingers up against his side. I can’t stop looking up into his eyes. Or maybe it’s more that I don’t want to stop looking.

  I don’t want to stop wanting.

  This time, he doesn’t hesitate at all. He kisses me again, he kisses me deep and he kisses me for a long time, and I’m not even sure how long we’d been docked before either of us take the time to notice that we are back on the island.

  Radiah

  “So?” The next evening Carla pats at the couch for me to sit down beside her. She’s got a mug of steaming coffee and she’s wearing a pair of comfortable looking sweats and a little t-shirt emblazoned with an orange kitten. “How’d it go?”

  I can’t hide my smile. Sitting down cross-legged beside her, I reach for the throw blanket and tuck it up over my thighs. I sigh. It’s a contented kind of sigh. For the first time in a long time, I feel good. For the first time in a long time, I feel great.

  Carla arches one of her eyebrows. “Oh wow. It went that good, huh?”

  “Yes. Yes it did.” Leaning back, I smile to myself. I drop my eyes down. I can feel the blush in my cheeks again. Even thinking about Emilio seems to do this to me. “He’s… Well. Carla.” Leaning back, I look at her. “He’s so…” How do I even explain it? The way he talks, the way he looks at me, all of it, makes me feel like I’m the most beautiful, the most interesting woman he’s ever met. “He’s so charming. And he’s so polite. And he understands, Carla. He feels the same way I do about so many things.” Angling my head so my eyes meet her eyes, I confess it. “I took him on the ferry. And it was wonderfully, terribly, totally romantic.”

  “You took him to your favorite place.” She says it softly. She says it and I know full well what she’s thinking.

  Nodding, I look down at my hands. I know what’s coming. I feel a little guilty for having done it, now that I say it. The ferry is one of the places I used to love to go with Alexei—when he actually had the time to do it, that is. That really hadn’t been too often. I can’t even count the number of times Alexei had to break plans with me because of his business. I can’t count the number of times I’ve gone to parties alone, to baby showers alone, to dinners alone. Always they ask me, ‘where is your boyfriend?’ And over and over again I lie and I lie. Worst yet, the whole time I’m lying and deflecting, I’m busy worrying about him and even that worry is something I have to hide.

  I haven’t been able to tell so many of my friends, let alone my family, that I’m distracted because I’m hoping and I’m praying nothing bad is going to happen to him when he’s at one of his meetings.

  It’s something I’ve had to hide all of the time. It’s something I’ve had to hide every time he goes out that door to go to work. I haven’t even shared half of it with Carla.

  Every time he walks out of the door, I worry about him. I have good reason to. Alexei has received death threats. He’s been shot at. He’s had cars swerve to try to hit him...and more, I know, much, much more. One time, a few years ago, he even came home bleeding. He came home with a black eye. And he’d shrugged it off.

  ‘You should see the other guy,’ he’d said, and it had filled me with fury. In his mind, it’s fine for him to worry about me all of the time. But if I show concern, he bats it aside.

  I am sure there is more. So much more because I know he doesn’t tell me even one-tenth of the things that happen to him on a daily basis. For a long time, the idea of something happening to him was a thing I couldn’t stop thinking about.

  “Radiah.” Carla lowers her voice into a near whisper. “What about Alexei? I saw your phone. He’s calling you. He’s texting you. Everyday. And you’re not calling him back. I’m sure he’s worried about you. You could… You could, maybe, at least let him know you’re alright?”

  There’s a small thread fraying on the edge of the blanket. I pick at it, draw the strand between my thumb and my forefinger. I feel bad because I haven’t called him. I know him. I know how he likes to know that I’m okay. But… “It’s too hard to talk to him, Carla. I don’t…” I frown. I keep my eyes down on the blanket. “I don’t even know what to say. We want different things. I want things he doesn’t want. But when I hear his voice, none
of that matters anymore. When I hear his voice, I just want him and I want to forget about everything else.” Dropping the thread, exasperated, I look at her. I want so much for her to understand. “I’ve done that for five years though, Carla. Five years I’ve spent telling myself that I can give up the thing I want most of all so I can be with Alexei. I just… I can’t do that anymore. I can’t forget about what I want anymore. It’s on my mind all of the time. And time.” I shrug. I feel helpless against it. “Time is not on my side. So. I think it’s best to just…” My heart hurts saying it. My stomach clenches. “I think it’s best for both of us. To just let it go. To let go of each other and not look back. And that’s why I’m not calling him. That’s why I’m not texting him. It makes it too hard.”

  Because looking back hurts too much.

  “Oh Radiah.” Carla’s eyes are glittering with unshed tears. “I know how much having a family means to you, Radiah. And I know that so much about being with Alexei isn’t easy. But Radiah…” Leaning forward, Carla studies my eyes. I do know Carla understands. We’re the same age. We want the same things. We want a husband, we want the white picket fence; we want to pick our kids up from school and then drive them to their soccer games, to their dance classes. “You and Alexei. You’ve been through so much together. I just think… I just hope in my heart.” She leans back again. “I just hope that love like yours can pull you through. Can help you both find a way to fight to be together. It’s been five years. That’s not going to disappear overnight. No matter how hard you try to make it go away. It’s not going to go away because you’re not calling him.”