Baby by Design

“Why?”

“Because I’m curious.”

“You’re nosy.”

“Whatever. Same thing.”

Tony propped his elbow on the door and stared at the basketball hoop missing its net outside the window. “They’re plans for a chair.”

She started the engine and backed the car from the drive. “For Nonna?”

Tony closed his eyes and rested his forehead against his palm. He’d been hoping his family wouldn’t ask questions about his contribution to the list. Chaos surrounding Nonna’s decline bought him some time, but not enough. With Vin’s concert at the end of the week, the list had once again become the family’s favorite topic.

“Yeah, sorta,” he said, partly to get Angie off his back, and partly because it was true. The chair might be for Trish and the baby, but as far as he was concerned, the baby was for Nonna.

“What kind of chair?”

“Ange, forget about it. You’ll see it when everyone else sees it.”

“I’ll see it as soon as you start working on it, dork. My garage is your workshop. Remember?”

He dropped a fist to the vinyl-clad door.

“Is it a recliner?”

“No.”

“A wing chair?”

“No.” She wasn’t going to let it go. “Fine. It’s a rocking chair,” he said, none too happy he caved.

She nodded, eyes never shifting from the road. She drove a few blocks before she spoke again. “Maybe she’ll rock the baby to sleep.”

Tony looked at her long enough to notice a single unshed tear, gathering at the corner of her lashes. “Maybe,” he said with the image clogging his throat.

It was amazing how the separate pieces of his life had become so intertwined.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Trish stretched her arms behind her back and struggled with the gown’s zipper. If only her breasts weren’t aching monstrosities… If only Tony had brought his dress clothes with him when he spent the night… Then, she wouldn’t be having this problem. She’d have help with the zipper instead.

She glanced at the mounds of flesh screaming for release from the heart neckline. “No,” she snapped, forcing the zipper up her back, much to her bosom’s chagrin.

There was no way she was going to wear something comfortable and sensible to Nonna’s concert. Trish smoothed a hand over the bodice of the black satin dress. If she was as pregnant as she suspected she was, then this would be the last time she could squeeze into this blessed thing.

Leaning forward for a closer look in the bathroom mirror, she wrapped a thin strand of hair around her index finger and doused the spring with hairspray, careful not to breathe the fumes. She did the same thing on the other side, and then walked to her closet where a silver clutch perched on a shelf. Big enough for tampons, she thought. And immediately she followed the thought with a frown. She hated planning for both outcomes, but what was the alternative, blindly believing she was pregnant and ending up a mess at the concert? She shuddered. No way. Besides, she was being proactive, not negative. Carrying supplies wasn’t tantamount to a jinx.

Nodding twice for good measure, Trish swiped the purse from the shelf and filled it with lipstick, tissues, and a tampon. Then, she slipped into silver strappy heels.

“Not fair. Not fair.”

The smooth voice echoing in the bathroom made Trish smile. She glanced over her shoulder and batted her lashes at a grinning Tony. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He wrapped around her from behind, nuzzling his lips against her neck. “You were supposed to wait for me to get back so I could zip you.”

She giggled. “Uh huh, I can only imagine how that would’ve ended up.”

“With this dress on the floor,” he said, sliding his hands over her waist and hips, and then up over her breasts.

She flinched. “Careful.”

He lightened the touch of his hands and the pressure of his lips. “Still sore?”

“Still sore.” She worried about the resounding hope in her voice.

“That’s a good sign, right?”

“Right,” she answered, worrying about the resounding hope in his voice even more.

For a week now, they’d been living on the fumes of the hypothetical. If she was pregnant… If they got married… But they were building a house of cards. One negative test, and it would scatter.

Of course, they could try again, they would try again—as long as Nonna hung around. But there were no guarantees of that. And then what? Would Tony hang around and continue to play this game just so Trish could have a baby? She hated to think he wouldn’t. Each night they spent together led to another morning with Trish staring at the ceiling wondering who she wanted more: the baby or Tony.

He turned her in his arms, pressing her body to his, brushing his lips over her forehead. “You look beautiful.”

She smiled, taking her mind off her worry by admiring him. She’d seen the slim fit suit before, how the sleek black wool kissed every angle of his body, how the crisp white cotton shirt contrasted against his tanned throat. And yet each and every time she saw him dressed like this, she melted.

“You look beautiful, too.” Trish rolled onto her toes and craned her neck, placing her lips along his jaw, tasting the spice of his aftershave, breathing him into her soul.

She didn’t want just any baby. She wanted his baby. Because she wanted him. Period. The revelation forced her onto flat feet, where she stared at him like a lovesick fool. Love.

A little sound escaped her lips.

“What?”

“Nothing. I…the dress is tight, I guess.”

He grinned, glancing down at her overflowing neckline. “I like it tight.”

“I’m sure you do.” She swatted him to tease, but also to gain some distance.

Love was not part of her plan. Like? Yes. Respect? Absolutely. She wanted to co-parent with someone she could tolerate. The all-consuming attraction complicated things, but she figured that would fade. After all, how hot could he be for her when she was thirty pounds heavier with swollen feet, unshaved legs, and her face buried in a half-gallon of Rocky Road?

And how hot could she be for him when he was taking off on his motorcycle or throwing back a couple beers while she was walking the floors with a colicky newborn? Attraction would definitely fade, and then they would be left with common sense and commonalities like the baby, Angie, and work. But love? Crap. Love changed everything, especially if it was one-sided.

“We should get going. Vin said absolutely, positively nobody gets in late.”

Trish flashed a smile at Tony in the bathroom mirror. “Uh huh.” There was so much more to say, but there wasn’t time to say it, especially since what she wanted to say could rip their heads from the clouds and drive a wedge between them. Love? She had a feeling that one word would have Tony Corcarelli running away.

“You okay?” He slipped a hand across her lower back.

“Yep.” But she’d be better once she took a pregnancy test and she knew where they stood.

* * *

Tony looked around the Hillman Center lobby, wondering how Vin planned to uphold his no-late-admissions policy, considering the guest of honor was the one who was late. He’d be worried if Angie hadn’t just arrived, saying Ma, Aunt Connie, and Nonna were on their way. He’d be even more worried if Trish’s hand wasn’t nearby