When Matteo found out that I planned to follow tradition, he insisted we spend the morning together, so he must be around here somewhere.
Just as I finish my thought, a loud banging comes from down the hall, followed by the sound of something hitting the floor.
“Matteo?” I bolt out of bed in search of him, my heart pounding in worry that he fell—or worse.
It’s not hard to find him since the noise doesn’t stop, but when I do, I halt in the doorway in confusion.
Dressed in his usual jeans and black T-shirt, he’s dragging a big ol’ dresser from one side of the room to the other.
When he glances up and sees me, he stops and takes one of his earbuds out, telling me he was listening to something. He only puts both in when he’s trying to concentrate.
“What are you doing?” I ask curiously.
“Did you know that certain colors affect babies? Yellow is known to make them happy, but according to one woman, beige, gray, and taupe soothe them. Which is kind of stupid because taupe looks like a mixture of beige and gray. So, why not just say beige and gray?”
He shakes his head, and I stare at him, wondering what the hell he’s going on about.
“Another mom argued that blues, purples, and greens are the best,” he goes on. “Which is nothing like beige, so how the fuck do we figure out which color is the most soothing? And without knowing the gender?” He huffs. “I’ve changed my mind. We need to know the gender. We can’t plan without knowing which way we’re going with this. Do you have any idea how much shit babies need? A crib, bassinet, changing table. You see this dresser? It won’t work because the corners are sharp. I have moving guys on the way to pick it up.”
My jaw drops as I listen to him say more in one breath than I swear the man has spoken the entire time I’ve known him.
“Most parents have nine months to figure this all out. Technically, it’s ten because it’s forty weeks. That reminds me. We need to schedule a hospital visit. I’ve been listening to this book calledWhat toExpect When You’re Expecting.” He nods toward his phone. “You have to register ahead of time. And apparently, we need to sign up for a class where you learn about giving birth …”
“Lamaze,” I choke out, stunned by everything he’s saying.
“Yeah.” He nods. “We need to do all that and get this place ready for a baby, and we only have less than six months. And we’re leaving in two days to go on a fucking vacation for two weeks. By the time we get back, we’re only going to have maybe four and a half, possibly five months—and that’s if you don’t go into labor early.”
He shakes his head. “Have you decided if you’re finding out the gender? If not, we can go neutral, but that will throw the purple, blue, and green color scheme out the window.” He scrubs his hand over his stubble. “I’m not trying to sound sexist, but purple in my little boy’s room isn’t the vibe I’m going for.
“We can go with beige and gray or yellow …” He glances around the room and releases an exasperated sigh. “I called my interior decorator—technically, she’s Dominick’s, but I used her for this place—and she’s going to send me a list of babyproofing companies. Did you know that over ninety thousand kids under the age of five end up in the ER from stair-related injuries? I considered moving us to a place without stairs, but we don’t have the fucking time.”
He stops momentarily to catch his breath, and a bubble of laughter escapes me as I take in everything he just said. Because my fiancé, the father of my baby, is listening to pregnancy books and searching mom groups. This man …
“Dani,” he says, cutting across the room, “Sweetness, why are you crying? Is everything okay?” His hand goes to my belly. “Are you having cramps? Most miscarriages happen before twelve weeks, but if you’re having any type of cramping or bleeding, we need to go to the doctor immediately.”
I choke out a watery laugh. “I’m not cramping.”
“Okay. Then, why are you crying?” He swipes a tear from under my eye. “Talk to me.”
“I’m crying because I love you so much. And I’m so happy, and it’s making me emotional, which is making me cry.”
“What?” he hisses, jerking back in confusion. “Jesus, woman. Thank God you’re already half baked because I don’t think I could handle ten months of you crying.”
I laugh harder, which causes me to cry harder, and Matteo pulls me into his arms.
“You good?” he asks once I’ve calmed down and the crying has ceased.
“Yes, I’m good.”
“All right, let’s get some food in you. The books said that pregnant women should consume at least sixty grams of protein and thirty grams of fiber a day. Yesterday morning, you had a croissant and a coffee. We’re going to need to do better than that, Little Russo.”
He threads his fingers through mine, and I follow him down the hall and stairs and into the kitchen, where he tells me to sit at the island. He proceeds to make me a high-protein, high-fiber breakfast, and the entire time, I cry because despite everything that’s happened in my life, somehow, I managed to find love and happiness, and it’s all because of the man I’m about to marry. The man who swore he wasn’t husband or father material … is, in fact, both.
39
Matteo
“You nervous?”
