Baby by Design

else in the family, wanted to see Tony get his act together. A marine wasn’t happy until the rest of the world towed the line.

“Why don’t ya put some of that money to good use and buy her a newly discovered solar system. Name it Corcarelli? Ya know? Preserve the last name for posterity.”

Tony glanced at Vin who leaned back in his chair, staring at the overhead florescent lights, resting huge hands across his belly. By the blank expression on his face, Tony knew he was serious.

It wasn’t the first time someone rode him about his familial duty to have a son and preserve the Corcarelli name. Tony’s father had been the only Corcarelli male, and it seemed legendary that he fathered the only son. Every once in a while, someone reminded Tony that if he didn’t have a son too, he’d take the Corcarelli name to the grave. Nice thought, huh? But a star seemed corny, not to mention insulting. He couldn’t imagine Nonna calling it an even trade.

“Thanks for the idea, but I have a few of my own,” Tony lied. “You’ll be the first to know when I decide which one to go with.”

Vin sniffed loudly, calling bull on Tony’s diversion tactic.

“Hey, can I borrow the Ferrari?” Tony knew the question would eradicate the topic of Nonna’s wish list.

“What?” Vin straightened and propped an elbow on the table. His huge silver watch glistened. “Are you kidding me? It’s a classic. I don’t even let me drive the Ferrari…much.”

“It’s one night, Vin. One night. I won’t drink a drop of alcohol. I’ll keep it to the side roads and under thirty. I’ll… Name it. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do. I just need that car.”

“What’s her name?”

“Trish DeVign.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you’ve lost your mind,” Vin said, slapping a palm to the table. “She’s your bread and butter, man. Why would you mess it up by dating her?”

“It’s not a date. She needs an escort to a family wedding.”

Vin raised one bold, black brow and zeroed in on Tony’s left arm tattoos. “And she asked you?”

Tony smiled. “She likes how I look in a suit. And if she likes how I look in a suit, she’s going to love how I look in a suit in your car.”

“Take my Lexus.”

“That’s pathetic. That’s an old man’s fat ride, and I won’t subject my image to that.”

Vin whipped a pencil in Tony’s direction.

Tony ducked. “Hey, you owe me.”

“For what?”

“You said I screwed up a vinyl kitchen chair. I’ll have you know I don’t screw up, and I don’t use vinyl. Nasty, cheap stuff.”

Vin roughed his face in his hands, releasing a low growl that had Tony on the edge of his seat. “Fine. You can borrow it, but only because I was an ass earlier, and I don’t want you to look like an ass at this wedding.”

Tony jumped to his feet and kissed Vin on the back of the head. “I’ll do you proud, man.”

“Just bring her home in one piece.”

“Oh, eh, I have no intentions of bringing Trish DeVign home.” Because once he got her there, he didn’t trust himself to behave.

Vin scowled. “The car. Bring the car home in one piece.”

Now that Tony could do.

* * *

Trish stood in the Meyer’s laundry room doorway, looking out over the four-car garage turned Angie’s temporary workshop. She watched as Angie clamped a hinge jig to a door and reached for the wood router. The minute Angie flipped the switch, saw noise would drown out any words Trish wanted to say…and that was the problem. What words did Trish want to say? She warred with herself, hoping Angie would flip the switch and make it impossible to speak.

Hunched over the door, router in hand, Angie glanced at Trish through clear safety goggles. “Do you need something?”

Trish flinched. She’d been putting this off for hours now, and she wasn’t sure why. Taking Tony to her cousin’s wedding wasn’t a big deal. Was it? If it wasn’t, then why did her stomach feel as if she ordered fifty bolts of non-returnable fabric in the wrong color every time she thought about telling Angie?

“How much longer for the doors?” Trish asked, stalling.

Angie straightened. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t tell me nothing. You never question my work unless you’re stressing about something. What’s wrong?”

Trish stepped into the sawdust-scented garage, skirting a pile of two-by-fours that stretched across sawhorses. She stopped on the other side of the six-panel door Angie had propped against her worktable. “Nothing’s wrong. The doors look great. The bedroom built-ins are beautiful. The window seat is breathtaking. Your guys are ahead of schedule with the deck. And…I asked Tony to escort me to my cousin’s wedding.”

Angie adjusted her safety goggles and laughed, but as her laughter died, her eyes widened. She set the router aside. “Oh God, you’re serious. Why? Why would you want to do that?”

“I don’t have a choice. I mean, I do. I could ask a stranger or an ex-boyfriend, neither of which is appealing, or I could go alone, but can you imagine my mother’s horror over her daughter doing something socially unacceptable like attending a wedding alone?”

“Yes, but I can also imagine your mother’s horror over her daughter doing something socially unacceptable like having Tony Corcarelli as her date. I’d go with a stranger.”

“It’s not a date. It’s a favor.”

“It’s a disaster waiting to happen. And you know it, that’s why you didn’t want to tell me.”

Trish stared at the white embroidered letters of Corcarelli Carpentry Co., which were stitched into the red fabric covering Angie’s heart. “I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d object. You never give Tony enough credit. He’s a good guy.”

“You’re blinded by his beauty like all unrelated, underused vaginas.”

The distinctive sound of a male clearing his voice punctuated Angie’s sentence. “I’m ready for another batch, Ange.”

Angie gestured to three doors leaning against a far wall. “Take those. They’re done. And for cripes sake, don’t go banging up the woodwork.”

Nino lowered his eyes, but nodded at his cousin as he lifted a door.

Trish choked down embarrassment as she watched him leave the garage, and then when she was sure he’d ventured out of earshot, she turned on Angie. “My vagina…” she whispered, fearing another crewmember would overhear the conversation, “is not underused.”

Angie ripped the safety goggles off her face and leveled Trish with shiny brown eyes. “I’m talking about man-made orgasms, not man-made devices.”

“Hush,” Trish warned, but a giggle slipped out of her poorly pursed lips.

“Just remember, Tony’s beauty comes with a price. This is a guy who drove a motorcycle six hours to Philly in the middle of the night because he was jonesing for cheesesteak. He slept on a park bench for two measly hours and then drove six hours home. You’re going to get sucked into that happy-go-lucky vortex, and then he’s going to let you down. As much as I love him, he sucks at being responsible and serious.”

“He’s never missed a deadline for me.”

“Because he knows I would throttle him.”

Trish smiled, because she knew Angie would, too. Still, she didn’t think Angie’s iron fist was the sole thing keeping a free-spirited man like Tony in line. He might be reckless, but he wasn’t self-destructive like Angie made him out to be. “You’re too hard on men.”

Angie pushed the goggles onto her face. “Because not one of them is as good of a man as my dad was. You find me one that is, and then we’ll talk.”

That was a tall order. Trish hadn’t known the man, but she knew the legend. Pasquale Corcarelli was one