That's (Not Exactly) Amore

by Tracey Bateman

  Suddenly a shadowy figure at the bottom of the steps gives me a start. “Joe?” My teeth are chattering like crazy.

  He climbs the steps. “Laini? How long have you been here?”

  “I-I d-d-don’t know.”

  He wraps an arm around me while he unlocks the door.

  “Wh-what hap-happened?”

  “First things first.” He brings me into his bedroom, where he rifles through his dresser drawers and finally pulls out a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt. “Go into the bathroom, get out of those wet things, and put these on.”

  I know I should be grateful. But the first thing that crosses my mind is What if the sweats are too small?

  I guess I stand there staring at him for too long because he frowns. “Laini, do it, before I undress you myself. And believe me, watching you shiver in a wet, clingy dress is tempting enough as it is. Don’t push me.”

  He isn’t even almost joking, like I would think if he said those words any other time. I guess the humiliation of being arrested in front of friends and family, being questioned at the police station, and then coming home in the rain to find a girl on your doorstep isn’t exactly the best way to draw on one’s humor.

  I snatch the clothes from his hand and practically run into the bathroom.

  “Good choice,” he calls after me. “For your sake.”

  When I return, he’s changed into a similar outfit and is in the kitchen. “You like tea, don’t you?”

  I nod, my heart thrilling that he even remembers from that night at my mom’s. He fills a kettle with water and sets it on the stove. We fall silent as he turns. There’s nothing to do but wait for the water to boil. He stares at me, his eyes clouded with defeat.

  “Are you okay?” I ask softly. “Mark said the charges were dropped.”

  The gentleness leaves his eyes, and anger flashes through every nerve ending. I swear if he could, he’d throw flames with those eyes. “Your boyfriend is the one that finagled all of this.”

  “You mean Mark framed you and your dad?”

  He scowls. “No. My dad is guilty. He’ll probably get probation and a fat fine. And it serves him right.”

  “I’m sorry, Joe.”

  “Don’t be. I told you I prefer to do everything by the book. My dad took matters into his own hands, and now he’ll pay for not listening to reason in the first place. I never wanted special treatment or quick paperwork. But he has a God complex and thinks he has to make things happen.” He does air quotes around “make things happen.”

  “Okay, I’m not taking up for Mark, but if your dad is guilty, how can you blame Mark for orchestrating all of this?”

  “He got suspicious and went digging when the permits to renovate came through so quickly. The guys he questioned all say he kept mentioning my name. Like he was leading them to finger me. When they pointed to my dad, he wouldn’t believe that I had nothing to do with it and convinced a judge to issue a warrant.”

  “I’m truly sorry, Joe.”

  “I tried to tell you that guy wasn’t what he pretended to be. But you wouldn’t believe me.”

  I draw a deep breath. “You know what? I just had this same conversation with Mark an hour ago about you, and I’m tired of it. You act like it’s my fault you got arrested.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Your boyfriend thinks I have a thing for you. Otherwise, none of this would have happened. The idiot wanted me out of the way by any means possible.”

  “Oh, he’s an idiot, all right. Not just for thinking you’d have a thing for me, but for thinking I’d ever have a thing for you.”

  The teakettle whistles as I whip around and head for the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home!”

  As I step out into the rain, I hear him rattling around trying to move the kettle and turn off the stove.

  I’m so humiliated, so angry, I rush down the stairs, still barefoot, and take off toward my apartment.

  “Laini, wait. Let me at least walk you home.”

  “Forget it.”

  “You know I’m not letting you go by yourself.” His tone is rife with annoyance, which provokes me even more.

  I whip around and face him. “I don’t see why not. I’m nothing to you. You even said so.”

  “When? When did I say so?” He massages the back of his neck and stares at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “You said Mark is an idiot for thinking you have a thing for me.”

  “Mark is an idiot, but that’s not why, Laini.” He walks slowly toward me. “He’s just an idiot. For a lot of reasons. The fact is, my feelings for you are probably the only thing he was right about.”

  Exasperated, I stare up at him in the dim glow of the streetlights. Rain is soaking us both, but I, for one, couldn’t care less. “You mean you do like me?”

  “Like you?” His lips twist. “What, are we in junior high?”

  I choose not to take that wrong. Instead, I nod. “I feel like I am when I get around you.”

  Stepping closer still, he reaches up and pushes my kinked, soaked hair from my face. “I love your curls.”

  “I spent two hours straightening them today. It wasn’t supposed to rain.”

  “A waste of time.”

  I nod.

  “Your hair’s never looked lovelier.” He fingers a curl, caressing it. “You’ve never looked lovelier.”

  He moves in and I lift eager lips. Is it possible that I ever kissed anyone besides this man? At the first warm touch of his mouth on mine, I’m his. Heart and soul. He has no choice. If he didn’t mean it, he never should have kissed me. Because I’ll never belong to anyone but this man. When he lifts his head I stare into his eyes.

  “Don’t kiss me like that if you don’t love me, Joe Pantalone. Because I’ll never be happy being kissed by anyone else. I’ll be an old maid and live alone in my apartment with ten cats. And one day they’ll find me dead, surrounded by my starving pets. Then you’ll be sorry. You jerk.”

  Joe laughs and yanks me against him. “You’re crazy, you know that? I love you, bello woman.”

  “Did you call me beautiful?”

  “You know you are. I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off you since the day Uncle Nick introduced us last fall.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Haven’t you noticed?”

  “You said we were just friends.”

  “No. You said we were just friends. I agreed so you wouldn’t think I’m a chump.”

  “I have to know something.”

  “What’s that, Belle?”

  I smile. I can definitely get used to being called beautiful in Italian. Actually, beautiful in any language will do. But right now I have to find out the truth before I can move forward with this man. “Are you a mobster?”

  He gives me an incredulous frown that sucks the romance right out of the atmosphere. “Are you still thinking about that? After everything I told you? After I was sent home and the charges were dismissed?”

  “Well, what about that handoff at Nick’s that day?”

  “What are you talking about, woman?” he roars.

  I refuse to be intimidated by his outburst. This is a time for honesty. “I saw you give something to one of the workers, on the sly. It looked like drugs.”

  “For crying out loud. Have you ever seen an actual drug exchange?”

  “Of course not. What do you take me for?”

  “Well, how did you come to that conclusion when you’ve never seen one?” He closes his eyes for a second, fighting to calm his emotions. “Listen, if you’re talking about Robert, he was running low on money and I spotted him enough to pay his rent. He paid me back two weeks later. Satisfied? If you don’t believe me, we can go see him.”

  Relief slides through me like the rain sliding down my body. I throw my arms around him. “Okay. I believe you.”

  “I can’t promise anything about the uncles, though, except for Uncle Nick. He’s on the up-and-up for sure. But the other guys
—well, there’s no telling.”

  “And your dad?”

  He shrugs. “Let’s just say he’s got connections. That’s all I know and all I want to know. Can you love a guy whose father has connections? I promise I’ll never be involved in anything illegal.”

  “I already do love a guy whose father has connections, Joe.”

  “I don’t have a ring yet, but . . .”

  In the rain, Joe gets down on one knee and takes my hand. “Will you marry me?”

  “Are you sure? It’s pretty quick.”

  “I’ve been waiting all my life for you. I don’t need any more time to decide. But if you do . . .” He starts to get up.

  I plant my palm on his shoulder, forcing him back down. “Stay there, buddy. You can’t get up until I give you an answer.”

  “Hurry up, then, will you? I’m in a puddle.”

  “All right, fine. Big baby.” I kneel down in front of him until we’re face-to-face. “Fair is fair.” I take his wonderful face in my hands and look into his eyes. “I promise I’ll never make you regret waiting all of your life for me to come along.”

  Leaning forward, I press my mouth to his. My hands leave his face and I wrap my arms around his neck. He pulls me close.

  “You haven’t said yes yet.”

  “Yes,” I say against his mouth. Our breaths mingling, lips together, we seal our promise of forever.

  Epilogue

  Get car!” Nana shrieks. “Baby coming!” She pats my fat cheeks and smiles. “You be fine. Just fine.”

  Turning to Uncle Nick, she shrieks again. “Go-go-go! Baby coming.”

  Back to me. She pats my cheeks, harder this time. It feels like a slap, but I’m going to have to give her the benefit of the doubt. “You be fine. You be fine. I have many babies. Very easy. You will have many, also.”

  That’s what she thinks. Pain squeezes my back and radiates to my stomach. My water broke fifteen minutes ago, and I swear if these clowns don’t get me in a vehicle soon, I’m taking the delivery truck.

  Nana hated me for the first two years of my marriage to Joe. But as soon as we announced my pregnancy, I was suddenly the Madonna, a woman to be honored and revered. I think she secretly prays the baby will not have red hair, though.

  “Has anyone called Joe?” I ask.

  Uncle Nick offers me his hand and pulls me to my feet with a grunt. “Tony called him. Joe’s meeting us at the hospital. You relax and trust Uncle Nick.”

  We’re like something out of a ridiculous movie by the time I reach the hospital. I waddle painfully through the door. Four male senior citizens—Tony, Sam, Nick, and the baby’s grand-pop, Frank—try to hold me up, two on each side. Nana’s bringing up the rear. The old woman has her hands pressed against my back, pushing me forward as though I can’t walk on my own. “Go-go-go,” she says to the nurse at the counter.

  “How far apart are the pains?” the nurse asks, bored.

  “A few minutes. My water broke.”

  She stands up and wheels a chair around. “Sit down. I’ll have someone from labor and delivery down here in a jif.”

  “I don’t need a wheelchair. I can walk.”

  “Not if your water broke. Sit down and be a good girl. I’ve had enough unruly patients tonight.” She gives me a you-don’t-want-to-mess-with-me look.

  I zip it and settle back to wait.

  I don’t know why everyone is so freaked out. I know from experience that it takes a full day for first babies to be born, and I haven’t been in labor more than two hours, at the most. I’ve been through two births with Tabby and one just last month with Dancy, so I know what I’m dealing with here. But try to calm down a whole family of type A Italians. Seriously, just try it sometime. Everything is such a big hoopla with this bunch.

  “Laini!” Joe rushes through the door just as the nurse from labor and delivery arrives. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine.” Except that my heart is about to blow up for loving him so much. “Who’s minding the store?”

  “I closed.”

  “Joe! We had orders.”

  “Well, what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t stay there, and, well, I didn’t think about having one of the employees run things today. I’m sorry.”

  No one ever proved anything illegal against the uncles other than Frank and his bribery of the city official, but Joe and I decided not to risk it by accepting their offer to “set us up in business.” We did, however, accept a collective wedding gift of my mom’s house.

  I kept up the baking in our house for a year and we saved every dime possible until we could get a business loan. Now we own a house and a shop of our own on Long Island, and we work hard to make ends meet. But the mortgages are all ours. Every dime we pay on them is one step closer to the life we want for each other and our children.

  “Okay, ow. I think they’re getting closer together.”

  “’Ey, nurse,” Uncle Tony says, “where’s the drugs for the girl? She’s hurtin’.”

  “As soon as we have her all set up in bed and assess her situation, we’ll see if her doctor wants to prescribe something for pain.”

  “Laini! Wait up!”

  Wait up? What the heck?

  Tabby and Dancy rush up, one on each side of my wheelchair.

  “Breathe,” Dancy says. “You can do this. Remember our techniques.”

  “Forget all that, Laini,” Tabby says. “Ask for drugs. It’s the only way.”

  I’m getting seriously miserable here. And the urge to push is nearly overwhelming. “Um. Nurse. I want to push.”

  “Now, honey. You have a ways to go before you need to worry about that. You just sit there while I get your IV ready. If the pain gets bad, just try to remember your breathing techniques.”

  “No, I mean it.” The pain is nearly unbearable, and I feel like I’m having one long contraction. “This is serious.”

  Joe steps forward. “Maybe you could get her into a bed and check her before you do the IV.”

  I’m in way too much pain to care that Joe’s manipulating the fifty-year-old woman with his sex appeal. I’d let him do a striptease if it’d get me drugs.

  “All right, everyone out except the husband.”

  She slips me a gown. “Put this on and slide into bed. I’ll be back in a second.”

  The “second” turns out to be about fifteen minutes. She hurries in, apologizing profusely. “It must be a full moon or something because we are absolutely filling up with women in labor. You about ready?”

  I’m in no mood to chat. And poor Joe barely has any feeling left in his hands from the way I’ve been gripping them with each pain. She slides on a pair of gloves. “All right, let’s see where you are and then we’ll get your IV in and call the doctor.”

  Five seconds later, she stares at me, wide-eyed. “Whatever you do, honey, don’t push. St-stay here.”

  She opens the door and hollers. “Get Dr. Rife in here now.”

  “That’s not my doctor.”

  “Trust me. You don’t have time to wait.”

  Two hours later, I’m lying all cleaned up and in very little pain, holding my perfect little boy. Who looks exactly like Joe—only with wild shocks of red hair. With one look at her great-grandson, even Nana doesn’t seem to mind that he’s half Irish.

  My mother arrives just as I’m about to nod off. She kisses Joe before coming to my bedside. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

  “It’s okay, Ma. Come meet your grandson.”

  “A little redhead.” She nods and smiles.

  “Tell her what we named him,” Joe nudges.

  “Grandma, say hello to Sean Patrick Pantalone.” After my dad, of course.

  Mom’s eyes water even as she laughs. “Your father would be honored.”

  Later, Joe and I sit quietly together looking at our baby sleeping peacefully in his little bassinet next to my bed.

  “He’s something, isn’t he?” Joe asks.

  “Yeah.” />
  The door flies open. I gasp and reach for my son as the uncles file in like they’re the fairies in Sleeping Beauty. My room is fragrant from the flowers filling every bit of possible space.

  “We want to see the boy.”

  “Well, pipe down,” Joe growls. “He’s asleep.”

  The boy. Good grief.

  “Would you look at that?” Nick says. “Ain’t he something?”

  Uncle Tony rubs the tip of his finger over Sean’s red hair. “Looks just like me.”

  Uncle Sam chortles. “I don’t see how. Ma and Pop adopted you from an orphanage.”

  “Ha! Someone left you on the doorstep.”

  Joe steps up. “Okay, fellas. Laini needs her rest.”

  Uncle Tony nods. “Yeah, we know. But can we at least kiss her good-bye?”

  “Make it quick.”

  Each uncle smiles and presses a kiss to my cheek. Uncle Tony runs his hand over my head. “I knew you was somethin’ special first time I ever saw you.” He kisses me again, on the forehead.

  “I love you, Uncle Tony.” My eyes are misty. I love them all, but this one squeezes my heart. I pray for him every day. Like I do all of them, but Tony—I guess I pray a little extra for him.

  Joe and I watch them leave, each turning to wave good-bye before they close the door.

  Affection surges through me as Uncle Tony turns one more time and waves at me through the window. I give a contented sigh. “Our baby is blessed to have family like that. He’ll always know he’s loved.”

  “Those crazy guys? They’re never going to leave us alone now that we have a baby.”

  “They never leave us alone anyway.” I take my husband’s hand and give it a kiss. “But it’s okay, Joe. You know why?”

  “If you say it, I’m going to . . .”

  I grin. I can’t help myself. “That’s amore.”

  Author’s Note

  Dear Readers,

  Wow, I can’t believe we’ve come to the last book in the Drama Queens series. A lot happened in my life during the writing of this series. Life-and-death stuff, spiritual growth, tears and laughter. Changing seasons, literally and figuratively. But through it all, this series was such a blessing to write, and I grew as a writer during the process.