by M. H. Soars
I’m hit with a bit of nausea, which reminds me that I have to tell Liv the news before Oliver breaks it to everyone else. We’d agreed earlier to let our friends know I’m pregnant, but Liv, being my best friend, deserves to know first.
I pull her into the privacy of my room and close the door. “I have to tell you something.”
“Me too.” A spark of mischief glints in her eyes.
I squint at her, thinking there’s no way her news is the same as mine.
“You’re pregnant,” I say.
She nods, fighting to keep from smiling from ear to ear. “You too?”
“Yes.”
A moment of silence follows as we both digest the news. Then we scream like two crazy teen girls meeting their idols for the first time. The ruckus is so loud that a few seconds later, Oliver and Bas burst into the room, ready to fight an invisible threat.
They both relax when they realize what’s going on. “You told her?” they say at the same time, then glance at each other.
“What the fuck?” Oliver speaks first. “Liv’s knocked up?”
“Is Saylor pregnant?” Bas asks right after.
I trade a glance with Liv, who rolls her eyes. Glaring, I return my attention to the duo. “Hello? We’re right here.”
Oliver grins sheepishly. “Sorry, sugar. I’m just speechless. Life just isn’t this picture perfect.”
“Considering the shitty hand destiny dealt us, I’d say we more than deserve a happily ever after ending.”
“Well, it’s definitely an ending all right. We’re all gonna be parents. Life as we know it is over.” Bas hugs Liv sideways, kissing her cheek.
“Nah, it’s not the ending. This is just the beginning.” Oliver smiles at me, melting my heart.
My memories are still trickling in slowly, but I’m no longer obsessing about them. I also quit stressing about the future. Oliver and I faced our greatest fears and survived; we can tackle any curve ball life throws at us.
I place my hand over my stomach, letting joy and the greatest love I’ve ever known wash over me. Oliver’s hand covers mine and I bring my face to his, staring into his tear-filled eyes.
“I love you,” I say.
“I know.” He smiles.
“How long have you been waiting to use that line on me?”
His answer is to kiss me.
No. I won’t worry about the past or the future. The only moment that matters is now.
* * *
** The End **
* * *
Don’t shut your e-reader off yet. Keep reading for a sneak peek of my upcoming standalone steamy romance Booty.
Sneak Peek of Booty
Chapter 1 - Chiara
Plastering a fake smile on my face, I power through the courtyard, greeting whoever is in my way with a cheery hello. The huge box in my hands is heavy, but it serves as a shield, since I’m about to enter a mined zone. Inside my grandparents’ villa is chaos central. Italians as a rule can’t congregate under one roof without mayhem. Add to that wedding preparations, and earplugs are required if you don’t want to go deaf. The cacophony of several voices competing to be the loudest is not what bothers me; it’s the people responsible for the noise.
Distant family members and strangers alike greet me as I stride toward the double doors that lead to the back of the main house. Before I take the steps down and join the fray of people working furiously to make sure my cousin’s wedding is perfect, I pause to take in the sight. The breathtaking panoramic view of the rolling Tuscan mountains is one of the few positive aspects of coming to Villa Moretti. If only this place wasn’t spoiled by my rotten family.
The loud voice of Aunt Laura giving hell to someone brings me back from my reverie. I quickly find her shouting at a poor caterer. Her fat arm shakes as she points a chubby finger at the guy’s face. I don’t know what he did, but it’s released the vicious beast that lives inside dear Auntie. I’d better stay the hell away from her.
Quickly taking the steps down into the backyard, I set the box with flower arrangements on a table nearby and search for the only thing that will help me cope with today’s festivities. Alcohol. I scan the outside area, finding my favorite cousin, Max, already behind the temporary bar set up for the occasion. The corners of my lips twitch upward when I see what’s in his hand—a bottle of Prosecco. He wastes no time. I make a beeline in his direction, and, as if sensing my approach, he raises his head. His full lips twist into his trademark smirk, the one that makes him one of the highest paid male models in the world.
“Oh, hello there, Chibi.”
“Starting early, aren’t you?”
Max shrugs right before he pops the bottle of Prosecco open. “What can I say? I need liquid courage to endure events like these.”
He grabs two glasses and fills them up, almost to the brim. Practicality over classiness is Max’s motto, much to his mother’s dismay.
I roll my eyes. “Oh, give me a break. You love weddings. All those desperate single women, hoping to find their prince charming. It’s like an all-you-can-eat buffet.”
Max grants me a toothy grin. “Not this time. I think I’ve slept with all of Paola’s friends.”
Before I can open my mouth, Max continues. “The fuckable ones, I mean.”
“You’re horrible. One day you’ll find the girl who will bring you down to your knees. I hope I’m around to witness your fall.”
Bringing the glass of Prosecco to my lips, I drink the whole thing in one gulp. The cool, fizzy beverage is a relief to my parched throat, but it does nothing to ease the pang in my chest.
“You’ll be waiting a long time.” Max pauses and stares intently at me. His scrutinizing gaze unnerves me, and I have an inkling to what he’s thinking. “So, how are you holding on, cuz?”
Pretending I don’t know what he’s talking about, I frown, signaling with a wave of my hand for him to fill my glass again. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. I know you better than you know yourself.”
I scowl at Max, right before I bring the once again full glass of Prosecco to my lips. I’m glad the alcohol is already helping me relax. Today is going to be murder, just like a predicted.
“Listen, he doesn’t deserve you.”
“I don’t know what you’re taking about.” I turn my back to Max, pretending to observe the wedding’s preparations. Irritation simmers just below my skin. Why does Max have to be such a busybody?
“You don’t need to pretend with me, Chibi. I’m not blind. Pietro had all the chances in the world, and he chose Paola over you. He’s not your guy. He has never been your guy. You’re amazing, and he’s second-rate.”
Max’s words make something clench in my chest and tears prickle my eyes. Fuck. What’s up with him and this sensitive bullshit conversation?
“I know I’m amazing, okay?” I reply feebly.
“I’ve told you before, I’d tap you if you weren’t my cousin.”
Whipping my face in his direction, I glare at him. “Eww. Why do you have to be so gross?”
“Chiara? Is that you?”
“Cazzo! It’s Mother.” I scramble to finish my drink before striding in her direction. It’s best if she doesn’t interact with Max. He loves to antagonize her. But then, I’m the one who has to deal with the woman.
My face is probably flushed when I stop in front of Ofelia Moretti, a former Miss Italia who still retains her pageant-days poise and beauty. Her perfectly arched eyebrows would furrow if her forehead wasn’t frozen by Botox, but the pinch of her lips and the displeasure in her gaze is enough hint that I’m about to receive some negative comment. With a tsking sound, she grabs a strand of my hair. “You look ghastly. Instead of drinking with Max, you should have done something about your appearance.”
I take a step back and out of her reach. “What’s wrong with my appearance?”
“The question is what’s not wrong with it? The hairdresser has already finished with your cousin. Ma
ybe he can do something about your hair. As for your attire…” My mother’s gaze drops to take in the length of my body. “well, there’s nothing that can be done about it.”
I want to tell my mother to go fuck herself. The insult obviously dies in my throat. She wouldn’t hesitate to slap me across the face in front of all these people. She’s done it before. There’s nothing wrong with my strapless dress. Sure, the tight bodice emphasizes my girls more than my mother deems appropriate, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Does she want me to bind my breasts so I look like flat-chested Paola? Probably.
Mom makes a grab for my arm, but I sidestep her. “I have to use the restroom. I’ll meet you there.”
I run as fast as my high-heeled sandals allow back into the house, veering toward the stairs. Once I reach the landing, I hear animated female voices coming from the master suite. I turn into the opposite direction. The last thing I want is to be in the same room as Paola and her phony friends. She’s just a few years older than me, but we went to the same private school in Milan. When I joined, she pretended for weeks she didn’t know me. It was only when boys started to take notice of me that she acknowledged we were related to bask under my sudden popularity.
Pietro, her fiancé, was my first friend there and the object of my affection for years. He was an awkward boy during high school, super tall and gawky, a little nerdy too. He didn’t become hot until we were in business school together at Bocconi University. That’s when Paola made her move and my crush died a sudden and painful death.
Perhaps Max is right and I should have told Pietro how I felt sooner, but I was terrified of losing his friendship then and never confessed. I lost his friendship anyway when he started dating my cousin. In fact, this is the first time I’ll see him in six months. But the good old saying “out of sight, out of mind” doesn’t apply to me if the constant pain in my chest is any indication. Ugh, why am I still so hung up on him?
I lock myself in the restroom and stare at my reflection in the mirror. I’m not ugly. In fact, I’m way prettier than Paola. So why did Pietro pick her over me? She’s not even nice; although, she does pretend to be in front of him.
Get a grip of yourself, Chiara. Despite all her flaws, Pietro still picked her over you. It’s time to move on.
I apply a fresh coat of makeup and try to redo my curls using my fingers. No way in hell I’m going to let Paola’s hairdresser touch my hair. Running a hand down the length of my dress, I attempt to smooth out the barely visible wrinkles, thinking about my mother’s comment. The dress is perfect and completely appropriate for a summer wedding. The truth of the matter is, she would criticize anything I wore. She has done that since I was a little girl. My shoulders sag forward as I let out a heavy sigh. It’s just one day, Chiara. You can do this. I straighten my back and raise my chin, ready to face the music, when the door bursts open.
I let out a yelp as Pietro stares at me wide-eyed. “Oh, so sorry, Chiara. I didn’t know you were in here.”
My heart begins to beat furiously inside my chest. Why does the man have to look ten thousand times more appealing in his wedding day tuxedo? His curls have been tamed with some gel, and his eternal five o’clock shadow is nowhere in sight.
“That’s okay. I was just freshening up my makeup. I’m all done.”
He gives me an elevator glace, his gaze dropping to my shoes to slowly travel back up the length of my body. “You look stunning, Chiara.”
My heart does a backflip at his compliment. Traitorous muscle.
“So do you.”
“Did you bring a date?”
“No. I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.”
Why am I telling him that?
“It’s really hard to believe a gorgeous girl like you is single. I would have snatched you up in a heartbeat if I had the chance.”
Uh, what? He did not just say that.
“What are you taking about, Pietro?”
He frowns, and it could be the Prosecco here, but I think I caught a glint of guilt in his gaze.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. It must be the pre-wedding jitters.”
Feeling bold and angry as well, I take a couple of steps closer. “Pietro, did you ever fancy me?”
“Come on, Chiara. Let’s forget I said anything okay?”
“No, you can’t take those words back.”
His thick eyebrows furrow, and his lips turn into a thin, flat line. It’s his trademark expression when he’s feeling cornered. Shit, I can’t believe this is happening, but I can’t back down now. I have to know.
“Answer me, Pietro!” I raise my voice, not caring if we’re overheard.
“All right. I did fancy you when we were in high school. God, I had a huge crush on you. I though you knew.”
My stomach bottoms out. I feel like I’ve been sucker punched. With wobbly steps, I reach for the granite top of the sink, fighting to get air into my lungs.
“Shit, Chiara. I swore to myself I would never say anything to you. It doesn’t matter anyway. I eventually moved on. Then Paola came along, and well, the rest is history.”
I can barely hear what he’s saying over the loud sound of my pulse hammering in my ears.
“I-I can’t be here.”
Pushing him out of my way, I run out of the bathroom as if the devil is after me, rushing down the stairs two steps at a time. It’s a miracle I don’t twist an ankle. I veer toward the front door, ready to bolt and skip this bloody wedding. No way in hell I’ll be able to stand aside and watch my hateful cousin marry the man of my dreams. Knowing it could have been me in her place if Pietro and I hadn’t been such cowards when we were younger makes it a thousand times, no, a billion times worse.
I bump into Grandpa outside, struggling with his cane as he tries to get into the sporty convertible I know doesn’t belong to him.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Your useless father forgot to bring the cigars. I’m going into town to get it.”
“No, you’re not, Dad.” My mother’s voice rings out right behind me, making my skin crawl. I don’t want to deal with her on top of everything else.
“We can’t have a wedding without cigars.”
“You just took your medication, and you know how woozy it makes you. You’ll get into a car wreck.”
Grandpa, being the proud man that he is, glares at his daughter, who does the same in return. Stuck in the middle, I see that as the perfect opportunity to get out of here.
“I’ll go get the cigars for you, Nonno.”
“Nonsense. We’ll send someone from the catering company. You are needed inside, Chiara.”
With a quick glance in her direction, I see that if I don’t go now, she’ll drag me back inside by my hair if necessary. I search for my car and notice that it’s been moved and is now stuck between two catering company vans. Shit! Needing to make a hasty exit, I veer toward one of the villa’s Vespas because Grandpa is still halfway inside the little convertible.
As usual, the key is already in the ignition. The engine turns to life with a creaking noise, and before my mother can do anything to stop me, I take off.
Chapter 2 - Alistair
I’m such a fucking moron. Slamming my open palm against the side of the car, I look ahead at the deserted road. It stretches on for miles without a sign of life nearby. I can’t be that far from the winery. Glaring at the useless phone in my hand, I feel tempted to break it to pieces. Forgetting to charge the blasted thing last night was exactly what I needed on top of a flat tire. Now, I can either walk back to town or wait for someone to drive by and hope to score a ride.
I should have checked if the rental car had a jack. What good is a spare tire if I can’t lift the damn car off the ground to change it. I rub my face and fight the urge to scream from the top of my lungs. This was supposed to be a stress-free trip, a reward to myself after all the bullshit I went through in the last six months.
Coming to Tuscany had always been on my bucke
t list, but I never imagined I would be here alone. Bitterness pools in my mouth. I’ve always thought I would bring my two-faced, soon-to-be ex-wife here. In hindsight, I’m glad I never had the chance. At least this gorgeous place will not be tainted with memories of her.
I arrived in Siena two days ago, and everything went well—I mean as well as things can go when you travel to a country where you don’t speak the language. Custom differences aside, the trip has met all my expectations until today. I should have known nothing good could happen after I was dumb enough to check my e-mails this morning and became aware of the shitstorm that waits for me back home.
Not only did I receive an e-mail from my lawyer with Nadine’s new demands, but my boss also asked me to return to work. I’m supposed to be on a yearlong unpaid leave, but apparently, the replacement they hired bailed at the last minute. I can tell my boss no—it’s not like I need the measly salary the position pays—but he’s a friend, and I don’t want to leave him hanging.
I’m not sure if I’m ready to go back to my old routine, though. Doing different things is what kept my head above water, what prevented me from going apeshit on the asshole Nadine was cheating on me with—my fucking best friend. My hands curl into fists by my side. Now that the shock of discovery has worn off, I’m mostly angry at myself. How could I have been so blind?
“This is hopeless.”
I lock the car and veer toward town. Staying here and hoping for a miracle is not my style. I’m an action kind of guy, but I’m not looking forward to the long haul on foot. Two seconds after I make the decision, I hear the sound of a scooter approaching. The first thing I see come up the hill is a mop of blonde hair, flying widely in the wind. Then my gaze drops to the billowing skirt that reveals a pair of very nice legs. The driver slows down, stopping completely just a few steps away from me.
“Ciao. Problemi di auto?” the young woman asks.
I don’t speak Italian, but I can guess what she’s saying, so I nod. My tongue is stuck in my mouth. I lost the ability to speak because I’m too fucking busy admiring the stranger. The only words that pop in my head to describe her are achingly beautiful. Shit. I must be losing my mind. I’m too old to be having such visceral reactions to attractive women.
