Two more seconds and I’ll pull away, she told herself. It didn’t slip her near-hysterical mind that she was finding respite in the same man who was causing her stress.
Renzo DiCarlo in her life, playing such a big role, chipping away at her armor, endangering her resolve to never depend on anyone.
It couldn’t be the truth. He was lying for some twisted reason of his own. He couldn’t be the father of her child, could he?
However hard she tried, she couldn’t avoid the truth. Not even to stave off the moment’s panic.
Renzo DiCarlo was the father of her baby.
Her baby.
Our baby, a voice said in her head, in his infuriating tone and accent. Great, now he was inside her head too.
Mimi jerked up and away from him, crawling back on the bed in a very ungainly manner until her back met the metal headboard. Looking anywhere but at him, she counted her breaths like they were teaching her in the birthing class, willing her heart rate to subside.
A glass of water appeared in her vision. She took it, gulped the entire thing down and returned it to him, hands still shaking.
“I’m sorry that I upset you,” he said, sitting down by her legs. That his remorse was genuine didn’t stem her confusion. Neither did that delicious scent of his.
Far too close, she wanted to scream. He was being attentive because of her condition. Not because he cared about her. God, she needed to get that tattooed on the back of her hand as a reminder to stay sane over the following months.
“Any possibility that you’re in full-scale delulu-land because you’ve lost your brother?” she said in a small voice. Still not looking at him. “Grief does the strangest things to us.”
“Believe me, Ms. Shah, if I could forget the rainy afternoon where I had to…into a cup, I would.” Even his self-deprecating scoff stole through her veins like some kind of magic spell. “I checked every record at the fertility clinic. Santo told me his sperm count was too low to be of use. He found out after the first failed attempt at IVF. He begged me to keep it between ourselves, as their marriage was already shaky. I complied because I saw how much he wanted it to work for him and Pia. As usual, there was no length he wouldn’t go to to give Pia what she wanted.”
“And nothing you wouldn’t do for your brother?”
“Santo would have been a good father. He told me Pia wouldn’t even consider adoption. So yes, I agreed.” Another sigh escaped him.
Mimi had the ridiculous thought that she was using up all of Renzo DiCarlo’s sighs, a lifetime’s quota of them.
“I’m assuming you were railroaded into a similar agreement,” he said.
“She didn’t…railroad me.” Tears prickled behind her eyelids, and Mimi fought them back. “She cried and yelled and complained about her body being ruined by the fertility shots and how it was still failing her.” Another thought struck her. “It was cruel of Santo to let her think the fault lay with her.”
Mr. DiCarlo didn’t jump to his brother’s defense, and she liked him for it. A lot. “She begged me to help. Like you said, she wasn’t an easy person to love, but I saw how the failed IVF attempts wrecked her. Anyway, I said yes to the extraction too.”
“Ah, emotional manipulation was the best weapon in Pia’s arsenal.”
Mimi didn’t deny it, even as a hot protest rose to her lips by habit. She had a feeling her state-sponsored therapist would love Renzo DiCarlo. He got her to break the pattern her therapist had been urging her to break for months now. She would not revise her complex history with Pia in her head because of the overwhelming guilt she felt.
Sighing, she looked up.
This close, the appeal of the man was a one-two punch. He was so large, so solid, so rawly masculine that she felt like she would drown in him. “Can you please give me room? I feel like I can’t breathe.”
Concern etched into his face, he moved down the bed, ending on a pile of washed underwear she hadn’t put away yet. The sight of her maternity bras and loose granny panties made mortification rise through her in a swell.
Cursing, she grabbed them from him and shoved them behind her back.
“Are you embarrassed, Ms. Shah?” he said in a curious voice. As if he was testing something out between them.
“Annoyed by your interrogation is more like it,” she said, sounding like a prickly cactus.
He didn’t rise to the bait. If anything, his expression turned more serious. “I understand why you hid for all these months. But whatever anonymity you had until now will come to an end. It’s a miracle the media hasn’t found you out.”
“Why the hell would the media care about me?”
“You’re carrying a DiCarlo baby. Sooner or later, the press will find out.”
