Chapter 20

CHAPTER

TWENTY

Saverio

C hristmas arrives with a snowstorm that’s unusual. Normally, it doesn’t snow until January.

Luigi invited us for the traditional lunch that he hosts at the country club. His invitation list includes his close and distant relatives, a selected group of clients and associates, and some of the men in his employ as well as their families. I declined, saying that Anya is tired, which is the truth.

Wanting to do something more relaxing and enjoyable for her, I asked Livy to join us for a small celebration, and having anticipated the weather, I fetched her last night to sleep over in one of our guest bedrooms. Anya still didn’t want her friend anywhere near my property, but as I pointed out, Anya will be living here indefinitely, and she can’t keep Livy away from our home forever.

The two women are in the kitchen, sipping tea over a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and pancakes when I come downstairs after my shower. A suit would’ve been too formal for the occasion and jeans too casual, so I opted for slacks, a button-down shirt, and a cashmere sweater.

“Sav,” Livy says, her dark blue eyes warming with her smile. She wears a red dress with tassels on the hem that resembles a lampshade, which she paired with red shoes that fastens with straps around her thin ankles. Her gray hair is twisted into a stylish French roll, and big, red, shiny earrings dangle from her ears. “There you are. Would you like coffee?”

I shift my gaze to Anya. In a white dress that hugs her round belly and with her glossy, red curls spiraling down her back, she steals my breath.

“I’m good, thanks,” I say, unable to look away from the honey-brown sparkle of Anya’s eyes. “I’ll grab a cup of tea.”

“You’re in luck.” Livy beams. “I made a fresh pot. It’s lavender and rosemary.”

“Mm.” Fuck, I need a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Perfectly. The bed is very comfortable.”

I tear my gaze from Anya’s beautiful, glowing face and smile at Livy. “Glad to hear that.” Going over, I kiss the top of Anya’s head. “Merry Christmas, treasure.”

She tilts up her face and gives me a fleeting, uncertain look. “Merry Christmas.”

I sit down next to Anya. “Season’s blessings and all that stuff, Livy.”

Livy pours a cup of tea and pushes it my way. “Thanks for inviting me.”

Picking up the thin porcelain cup, I bring it to my lips. “You made pancakes?”

“Anya did.” Livy motions at the fruit salad in the center of the table. “I just peeled and diced the healthy stuff. ”

I raise a brow at Anya. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Pancakes don’t count,” she says, avoiding my gaze as she hooks her hair behind her ear.

“Oh, Anya can cook,” Livy says. “But if I’m to assume that means you do the cooking, Sav, I approve.”

Anya shrugs. “It’s his house and his kitchen.”

Livy frowns.

“ Our house and our kitchen,” I say, cupping Anya’s hand where it rests on the counter.

She shoots me another stilted smile and pulls her hand away.

If Livy notices the tension between us, she doesn’t mention it.

I take the envelope from my pocket and put it next to Anya’s place setting.

She fixes her attention on the white envelope with the New York State Department logo, and then her gorgeous eyes grow round.

“Is that…?” She presses her lips together in a nervous reaction and stares at me.

“The results of your driver’s license test,” I say.

I wanted to keep it a surprise for today to make her Christmas a little extra special.

Her hand trembles slightly as she reaches for the envelope. Livy sucks in a breath as Anya pulls out the sheet of paper and unfolds it. She scans the contents quickly and then reads it again.

“Well?” Livy says. “Did you get it or not?”

“I passed,” Anya says with surprise.

As if there was any question about it. She’s a good driver. Like with handling a gun, she’s a natural behind the wheel. My chest swells with a rare and unfamiliar sensation.

“Well done, sweetness.” I lean over and kiss her lips. “ Your new car will be delivered in the week. It comes complete with a baby seat.”

Her smile is uncomfortable. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I had to.” I wrap an arm around her shoulders. “You didn’t think I’d let such a big event pass without making a little fuss over my fiancée?”

Anya looks away, but Livy is already on her feet and rounding the table while exclaiming, “You did it. I’m so proud of you.”

She draws Anya into a hug, forcing me to let her go.

“Thanks.” Anya steals a glance at me. “You guys don’t have to make such a big deal about it. It’s just a license.”

“I’m proud of you,” I say, clinking my cup against her mug.

“We need champagne.” Livy scurries to the fridge. “It’s a good thing Sav stocked up.” She opens the door and buries her head inside. “Oh, there’s sparkling grape juice for Anya.”

I catch Anya’s gaze, but at the heated look I give her, she jumps from her seat and says quickly, “I’ll get the glasses.”

After breakfast, I tackle the preparations for lunch while Anya and Livy take care of the dessert. It’s a simple meal of roast beef, green beans, and baby potatoes followed by red velvet cheesecake.

We spend a convivial time together over lunch in the formal dining room. Anya and Livy made an effort with the table. They dug out a white tablecloth and napkins as well as fine china that came with the house and made a mistletoe, holly, ivy, and pinecone arrangement for the center. I got a company to decorate the house and to put up a big Christmas tree in the lounge. With the December workload, I didn’t have time, and I didn’t want Anya to tire herself or, heaven forbid, climb onto a ladder to hang decorations on the tree, not that she offered. I doubt she wanted to. She still sees this house as my home and her prison.

When we finish lunch, I light a fire in the new ventless gel fireplace in the lounge. We play a few boardgames while drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows, and then we watch a silly romantic Christmas movie with Anya tucked against my side on the sofa and my arm around her shoulders while Livy lounges on a settee with her arms crossed behind her head.

The day doesn’t compare to the glamour of wearing a five thousand-dollar outfit while nibbling on Russian caviar and chucking back French champagne like water at the country club, but the simplicity is nice. I like it. It feels homely. Relaxed. And I don’t relax. Ever. Snuggling with Anya in front of the television with a bowl of popcorn on my lap is a first for me. I can do this more often.

Halfway through the movie, she falls asleep with her head on my shoulder. I play with her hair, twisting the long, silky strands around my fingers long after the movie has finished.

Livy fetches us each a glass of sherry and grape juice for Anya. While Anya continues to nap next to me, Livy tells me bits and pieces of her history, which is colorful to say the least. I didn’t know she backpacked for two years around the world while scuba diving in the best sites or that she was a waterski champion in her day.

When it’s time to take Livy home, I wake Anya up with a gentle kiss. Her eyes are soft and hazy when she opens them, but the minute she looks into my face and reality sets in, the same old apprehension takes away her softness. She tenses, and then she’s all sharp angles and cutting edges.

Anya goes upstairs with Livy when Livy leaves to pack her bag. I check the weather to make sure it’s safe to drive. The storm blew over to the east where it will quickly dissipate.

A message arrives from Giorgio just as I close the weather app on my phone.

Some Xmas party. Big drama. Rachele isn’t pregnant after all. She said you had no business broadcasting it to the world.

Broadcasting it to the world involved me congratulating Luigi on becoming a grandfather. I guess Rachele just wanted to get a rise out of me by rubbing my infertility in my face, knowing what a sore issue that was for me. She didn’t succeed then, and Giorgio’s message doesn’t affect me now. I don’t care what she does with her life or who she has babies with. I care even less about their family dramas. I only feel pitiful distaste for Rachele’s sad attention-seeking attempt as I darken my screen and pocket my phone.

When I go to tell Livy we’ve got a green light, the women are hugging. I stop in the open door of the guest room.

“I love it,” Livy says, holding a glittery pink dress up against her body. “I’m going to wear it for New Year’s eve.”

“What are your plans?” Anya asks.

“I’m going ballroom dancing.” Livy twirls in a circle. “It’s a seventies-something club.”

“That sounds like fun.”

Livy winks. “I’ll send you photos from my phone.”

“You do that.”

“If the pajamas don’t fit, I can take it back to the maternity store. I thought they may come in handy for the hospital.”

“I’ll let you know if I need to change them. It’s a very thoughtful gift. ”

It feels wrong to encroach on their private moment, so I clear my throat to alert them of my presence.

“Ready?” I ask when Livy looks at me.

“I can take a taxi.”

“You could.” I go inside and grab her overnight bag from the bed. “But I’ll never allow that.”

“Saverio,” Anya says, stopping me as I make my way to the door. “I’m going to drop off something for my mom.”

“Come along.” I tilt my head toward the hallway. “I’ll take you.”

“I can drive by myself now.” The dark feeling that comes over me must show on my face, because she adds quickly, “I don’t want to put you out.”

“One, you will not drive in the snow until you’ve had ample practice after the birth . Two, you can never put me out. And three, I’ll be on the road anyway.”

Livy pats my shoulder as she passes and sing-songs, “I approve, Mr. De Luca. You score ten brownie points.”

“I’ll grab my coat,” Anya says, averting her eyes as she follows behind Livy.

I take her hand, holding her back. She lifts her big, whisky-colored eyes to my face, a question painted over her features.

“Rachele lied,” I say. “She’s not pregnant. I just got word from Giorgio.”

I don’t even know why I’m telling her this. I don’t want her to think it’s important to me. I just want her to know the truth.

She blinks. “Why would she lie about something like that?”

I cup her stomach. “I think she’s jealous of you. Of us. Of what we have.”

Her gaze clouds over. “That’s just sad.” Pulling away, she adds, “If she knew the facts, she wouldn’t be envious. ”

With that, she turns around and walks from the room. I want to go after her, but there’s nothing I can say because Anya is right. Our situation is far from enviable.

After seeing Livy home, I drive to the rehabilitation center. The thin layer of snow that covers the big house is already melting, the slush dripping down the gutters. Christmas lights decorate the facade, and the twinkling lights of a tree are visible through the lounge window on the first floor. The big lawn is still white, the fresh, undisturbed powder glistening under the spray lights that illuminate the property.

The driveway has been cleared. I park next to the main entrance and help Anya from the car before getting the basket she made up from the backseat.

I hold onto Anya’s elbow as I lead her to the door, making sure she doesn’t slip, and knock with the big rapper. Christ only knows why they don’t use a bell.

Bertrand is on leave until after New Year. I know that even before an unfamiliar nurse opens the door. I keep tabs on Mary and on the comings and goings at the center.

“Hi, Eugenie,” Anya says. “Merry Christmas.”

“To you too, love.” Eugenie steps aside. “Come on in. It’s cold.” When we’ve entered, she closes the door. “Are you visiting today?”

Visiting hours don’t apply on Christmas. Family can visit all day long.

Anya points at the basket. “I came to drop this off.”

“How lovely.” Eugenie smiles. “Can I take that for you?”

I hand her the basket.

“Did she, uh, ask about me?” Anya asks.

“No, hon.” Eugenie places a hand on Anya’s arm. “She didn’t want to call anyone.”

Anya nods, working her bottom lip between her teeth .

Eugenie drops her arm to her side and says in a bright voice, “Cook prepared a lovely Christmas meal. Mary cleaned her plate and even asked for seconds.”

Anya nods again. Her mouth curves upward, but it’s a poor attempt at smiling.

“Would you like to leave a message?” Eugenie asks with a sympathetic pout.

“Please tell her I say Merry Christmas.”

“Will do, love.”

“And that she knows how to get hold of me,” Anya adds quickly.

“Yes, hon.” Eugenie pats Anya’s shoulder. “We always make sure she knows that.”

I remain quiet throughout the exchange, but inside, I’m furious with Mary Brennan for not trying harder for Anya and most of all for herself. It’s the same old anger that festers when I drive past my childhood house and see my father bent and broken, struggling to make ends meet and mourning a son who’s still alive.

“Come,” I say, turning Anya gently toward the door. “Let’s get you home to rest.”

I meet the nurse’s gaze over Anya’s head. An unspoken message passes between us. The almost unnoticeable shake of her head confirms there’s no change and no improvement. Anya keeps up the monthly appointments with her mother’s psychologist, but the feedback is always the same. No progress.

Mary is punishing her daughter and spiting herself. I’m not sure she even knows why. Some people are naturally destructive. And as long as that’s the case, I don’t want her anywhere near Anya’s baby.

Anya doesn’t say much in the car. As always, she’s quiet. At home, I give her space. While she has a shower, I take the huge gift bag that I kept in one of the guest bedrooms to the nursery. There are two boxes inside. The big one is half my size. It’s wrapped in colorful paper with pictures of toy soldiers, teddy bears, and trains.

I pose it on the floor, rip off the paper and the tape sealing it, and open the flaps. Carefully, I lift out the battery-operated red sports car. He won’t be able to drive it until he’s three or four, but the car comes with a push handle that attaches to the back so you can override the battery. I can strap him in and push him around the neighborhood on sunny days. We can go fast down the hill, as fast as is safe, and feel the wind in our hair. Maybe if I’m lucky, I’ll hear that joyous laughter that only a child can give. We never laugh like that again when we reach a certain age.

A smile stretches my lips as I caress the fine upholstery and the sleek hood. It’s never too early to give him a taste of fast cars. When he’s older, I’ll teach him everything I know about engines, everything my father taught me and the extras I learned myself. I’ll teach him how to drive as soon as he proves himself capable, and if he’s anything like his mother, he’ll be a natural.

I push the car into the corner and tackle the smaller box, which is more appropriate for the baby’s age. It holds a big panda bear that plays a soothing nursery rhyme when you push the button on his stomach. I walk to the shelves that are crammed with soft toys representing every animal Noah ever put in his ark and look for space. I push a zebra and a giraffe closer together and put the bear next to the sea lion.

Leaning an elbow on the shelf, I absent-mindedly rub the furry bear ear. It’s soft between my fingers. “Happy first Christmas, Baby.”

“That’s sweet.”

I turn to find Anya standing on the threshold with her shoulder braced on the door frame and a small smile on her lips. She changed into leggings, a loose sweater with a reindeer printed on the front, and fluffy socks.

I shrug, a little awkward at being caught out. “You won’t say that when you see the other gift.”

“The car?” She raises a brow as if to say, really ? “Already saw it.”

“You can push him in it. He doesn’t have to actually drive it until he’s three. Even then, I’ll build a track in the garden that’s safe.”

She straightens and walks over slowly. “Have you noticed how you say him , and I say her ?”

I smile when she stops in front of me. “It’s going to be a boy. I have a feeling.”

She cranes her neck to meet my eyes. “And I have a feeling it’s going to be a girl.”

“God.” My laugh is nervous. “I hope it’s a boy.”

She tilts her head to the side. “Because only boys can be heirs?”

“No.” I run my gaze over her beautiful face. “Because girls are so damn fragile and perfect. They’re a lot harder to protect. I’ll be terrified every time she leaves the house. I’ll want to commit murder each time a boy turns his head to look at her.”

She places a hand on my chest. “You have to learn to rein in that beast inside you.”

I shake my head. “Not gonna happen, treasure, not with a baby girl.”

“You’re impossible, Saverio De Luca.”

I grin. “So you’ve told me.”

She’s quiet for a moment before saying shyly, “I didn’t get you a gift.”

“I didn’t get you anything either.” Except for a pair of diamond earrings that will go nicely with her wedding dress. But I can pretend it’s a wedding gift. “What would you like?”

Turning her eyes toward the ceiling, she thinks for a moment. “I’d like to redecorate.”

“The nursery?”

“The house.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s so stuffy and gloomy.” Shrugging, she adds, “As I’m going to live here.”

That grin that still tugs at the corners of my mouth threatens to split my face. “Go for it.”

“Really?” she asks, removing her hand from my chest and curling a lock of hair around her finger.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

She looks at me from under her eyelashes. “What about you? What would you like?”

The smile vanishes from my face. I turn serious. Just for a moment. “I’d like a shot at being a father.” When her expression drops, I add quickly, “A good father. I’d like to protect your child and take care of him if you’d let me. I’d like to lighten your burden when you’re tired—feed him when you’d like to take a bath or rock him to sleep when you need a nap—and carry the responsibility of raising him.” Cupping her cheek, I continue in an earnest tone. “I’ll love him like my own. I swear that to you. I’ll never let anyone take him away from you. You don’t have to give him my name. You were right. It was wrong of me to insist on adopting him if that isn’t what you want. All I ask is that you let me share his first smile and his first step.” I caress the line of her jaw with my thumb. “His first word and first birthday.”

She leans into my touch, rubbing her cheek against my palm. “Oh, Sav. There was never a question about it. You are going to play a role in his life. We’ll be living with you. I don’t doubt you’ll be a good father.” Just as the frown on my brow smooths out, she says, “But… ”

The big fucking but.

“But a child knows when her parents don’t love one another,” she continues. “And I think a child needs a loving environment more than anything else.”

I purse my lips. “He will be loved. I already told you that.”

She studies me with a sad, sympathetic light in her eyes. “It’s not the same.” After a beat, she continues, “You don’t really need to marry me. Giorgio isn’t going to kill me. Neither is Luigi. They first have to find someone else to do their books, and I’ve already made myself indispensable. Luigi relies too much on me now.”

I let her go and step away from her. My tone is cold and calculated, as angry as I feel. “This wedding is taking place whether you consent to it or not. I will carry you down the aisle if you refuse to come to me, and you will say yes even if I have to push a knife against your throat.”

“If that’s how far you’re willing to go, you don’t care about me, and if you don’t care about me, you can’t care about my child.”

“Tell yourself that as much as you like, but we both know I care. What’s more, I know you care too. You care more than you’d like to let on or you wouldn’t worry that I won’t come home.”

“That’s true. I care.”

I ball my hands into fists, willing her not to fucking say but .

Then she says, “But it’s not enough.”

“It’ll have to be enough,” I say, clenching my jaw so hard I’m about to crack a tooth.

Not giving her a chance to reply, I walk from the room, because I refuse to have this fight in the nursery that’s supposed to be a safe, peaceful haven and a sanctuary for a child.