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I’m a hundred percent sure that the baby section will carry items just as beautiful—and just as obscenely priced. Which is exactly why I don’t need to venture anywhere near there.
But as Dmitri disappears around a display of elegantly dressed mannequins, my curiosity gets the better of me.
“Ah, what the hell? A quick browse won’t kill me.” Decision made, I bound up the spiral staircase two steps at a time until I reach the upper floor. As soon as I arrive, an involuntary gasp passes my lips.
It’s baby heaven.
Well, not that, because that’s a morbid and frankly pretty gross framing of things. But it’s baby nirvana—er, baby paradise—look, it’s a nice place for baby stuff, okay?
Even the smell up here is different. The women’s section smelled of diamonds, if that’s even a thing that can be smelled, and Chanel No. 5. This floor smells like daffodils, soft cottons, creamy lotions.
A weird sense of longing takes hold of me here. Sure, there were things I liked downstairs, but it was easier to say no to them because they were for me, and who am I to deserve nice things? But as I stare at a gorgeous mahogany crib with an intricate, platinum-plated mobile of the galaxy hovering over it, I’m finding that it’s much harder to squelch the desire when it comes to my baby.
I want all these things for my son.
I want the ornate crib and the patterned baby blankets. I want the organically sourced onesies and the hand-carved rocking horse. I have no doubt whatsoever that Dmitri will buy it all at the snap of his fingers—which is exactly why I didn’t want him following me up here.
I need to take some sort of ownership over my life and this baby or I’ll end up deferring to him at every turn.
“Well, well.” That voice. I’m immediately on edge as I turn to find pale blue eyes and a steadfast leer. “We meet again. Hello, little bird.” Vittorio Zanetti swoops in so close that I take an instinctive step back.
“My name is Wren,” I rasp.
“It’s fitting, though, no? A beautiful bird, indeed. And don’t you look just lovely. You’re glowing, amore.” His eyes travel up and down my body without any shame. My limbs feel heavy, like I’m encased in mud. Then something changes in Vittorio’s eyes, the moment passes, and I can move and breathe again. “Where is Beatrice?”
“She was busy today. I’m running some errands for her.” I sweep my hand over the store. “She needs a few things for the nursery.”
“Ah, is that why you’re here with her fiancé?”
My eyes dart past him towards the staircase. I’m suddenly wishing that Dmitri will show up soon and save me from this creep. “Bee insisted that he come with me to… to supervise.”
I can only hope I’m being convincing, but I don’t sound all that confident even to my ears, so Lord only knows how Vittorio is handling all of this.
“I’m sure he thoroughly enjoys supervising you.”
The man can inspire chills in the dead of Chicago winter. “Er, right. If you’ll excuse me?—”
“Perhaps you can help me,” he interrupts. “I’m here to buy a present for my future grandson. Since you and my daughter seem so close, I’m sure you can tell me what she likes.”
I do my best to keep my face neutral. “I can certainly try.”
“Wonderful.” He turns and sweeps a grand hand around to encompass the whole floor. “Direct me to her heart’s desires.”
I glance towards the closest thing I can find. “She loves, er… rocking chairs?”
“Rocking chair it is then,” he murmurs. His eyes sear through me again, hunting for something I can only guess at.
When his head tilts to the side, I close my own eyes and brace for impact. I feel it coming like a speeding car in the corner of your eye.
“Tell me, little bird: who is the father of your baby?”
Dmitri, where are you? I beam the thought telepathically throughout the entire store and pray that he’s on my mental wavelength.
“You, uh, you wouldn’t know him.”
Vittorio chuckles, but there’s a dark edge to his laughter, and to the way he keeps inching closer, hemming me in toward a towering display of mannequins that obscure all the lines of sight in our direction. “You’re rather secretive about this baby, darling. One would almost think you had something to hide.”
I may not be well-versed in the politics at play here—but I’m not stupid, either. He’s trying to accuse me of sleeping with his daughter’s fiancé.
