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“We’ll deal with it when we have to. Hopefully it won’t be for quite some time.”
CHAPTER SIX
CHARLOTTE WOKE SEVERAL times in the night, not feeling well. Her lower back ached. Her lower belly felt heavy and tight. She’d leave bed and walk a bit, and then stretch and eventually she’d fall back asleep.
But the heaviness in her lower back was far worse this morning, and the tightness in her lower belly had become a perplexing cramp. The cramping sensation had become strong, and regular, far too regular. She’d read about Braxton Hicks contractions and wondered if this was what she was experiencing. She even looked them up online, but these didn’t quite meet the description. No, hers felt strong, and the dull pain was intensifying to the point she couldn’t walk easily anymore.
Something wasn’t right.
The cramping was frightening, and the pain was becoming excruciating.
Charlotte had left her cell phone unplugged during the night after researching contractions, and now it was dead, the battery dying in the night.
Limping to the door, she prayed she’d spot one of the staff nearby. Fortunately, one of the maids was walking down the hall with a stack of freshly laundered towels.
“I need Brando,” Charlotte said in Italian, panting and wincing as another sharp contraction hit. “Tell him something’s wrong. I think the baby is coming.”
“You must lie down,” the maid answered. “Let me help you to bed, and then I’ll send for help.”
Brando was there at her side in less than five minutes. He was wearing jeans, work boots and a thin knit shirt, indicating that he’d been out in the fields again this morning. He leaned over her, his gaze searching hers. “What’s happening?”
“Strong contractions. It doesn’t feel right.”
“You think the baby is coming?”
“I don’t know, but I’m scared. It’s too soon.”
He reached for her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve sent for my pilot. He should be here soon. He’ll get us to the hospital quickly.”
“What if there’s something wrong? What if the baby—?”
He gave her hand another warm, firm squeeze. “We’re only thinking positive thoughts, cara. Be positive, be strong.”
Brando stayed with her until the pilot texted that he was on premises and the helicopter was ready. There was a small hospital in the valley that served the local population, but Brando was taking no chances. They were going to go to Florence where there were specialists and a neonatal unit, just in case one was needed.
The moment the pilot indicated they were good to go, Brando scooped Charlotte into his arms and carried her downstairs to the helipad, feeling her contractions as they hit, and soothing her when she expressed pain, and then fear and alarm. “It is all good, all fine,” he said, looking into her eyes, letting her see his calm, and confidence.
“Can the baby survive at six months? I think so, but I’m not sure.”
“This baby is fierce, and strong, it wanted to be conceived, so yes, I think this baby can survive. Absolutely.”
She smiled even as she blinked back tears. “It is a stubborn little thing.”
“Maybe because its mother is stubborn, too.”
She smiled a little bigger, the smile still wobbly, but he found it hopelessly endearing. “And you’re not?”
“I’m the most reasonable, rational man you’ll ever meet.”
“You forgot arrogant. As long as the baby’s okay—” She broke off, eyes filling with tears.
“The baby will be fine. And you will be fine.”
“And if something goes wrong?”
“If there are complications, you will know you are being seen by the best doctors, at one of the best hospitals in Europe, and I will be with you every step of the way. Have faith. Trust me.”
“I’m trying.” She gripped his hand tightly, desperately, as she searched his face. After a moment, she added brokenly, “I want this baby.”
“I do, too.”
The helicopter had them arrive in Florence in less than twenty minutes, and they were greeted immediately by a medical team.
As he’d promised, Brando stayed by Charlotte’s side during the examination. He held his breath as the obstetrician checked her, and then performed an ultrasound. Thankfully, the baby’s heartbeat was steady, and the baby looked fine.
Brando stared at the screen, taking in every detail. He hadn’t seen many ultrasounds before, but unless his eyes were deceiving him, that was most definitely a boy baby.
His chest tightened and his throat ached with overwhelming emotion.
Charlotte was pregnant with his son.
“He’s really okay?” Brando asked quietly.
Charlotte looked from the doctor to Brando and back to the physician. “It’s a boy?”
The doctor nodded. “Yes, and your son looks good. He is fine. But you, Charlotte, are in preterm labor. We’re going to try to stop labor, as the best place for your son is right where he is now, safe inside his mother.”
“Can you stop the labor?” she asked.
The doctor didn’t even hesitate. “Because you sought out treatment immediately, I think we have a good shot at it.”
It was a long day, but by midafternoon the contractions had stopped, and finally pain free, Charlotte fell asleep, worn out from the worry and fear. Brando stood by her bed in her private room on the hospital’s maternity ward, watching her sleep.
Her color was better than it had been this morning. Her long blond hair spilled across her pillow, her lips slightly parted in sleep.
The tension was gone from her face, and he felt as if he could breathe properly for the first time all day.
He’d been scared, truly scared, and he’d prayed not just for the baby, but for Charlotte, who seemed so determined to be an island and do everything, and manage everything, on her own. He’d seen her panic, and felt her fear, and for the first time, he saw a crack in that perfect, flawless mask of hers. She might not want anyone else to know, but she felt vulnerable, as well as alone, which perplexed him, as she came from a big family and yet it was a family she didn’t seem to embrace.
His phone vibrated with incoming messages and he drew his phone from his pocket, scanned the texts and then checked his emails, and seeing nothing that required immediate attention, he pulled a chair closer to the side of the bed and sat down.
When he told her he would be there, with her, he’d meant it.
Charlotte and his son might be out of danger, but there was nowhere Brando wanted to be but here, with her. With them. His family.
His family, he silently repeated, mulling the words over, awed by the implication. He was going to have a son.
Warmth filled him and his chest felt tight with inarticulate emotion. Pride, hope, wonder.
Growing up in a close, overly involved family had made him at times resent the family ties, and then during his early twenties, he’d had a falling-out with his family, particularly his father, whom Brando viewed as overbearing and interfering.
It didn’t help that Brando did not feel wanted, or needed, by the family, and questioned why every family member was expected to go to work for the Ricci-Baldi company. He already had two older brothers and a sister working in the business, and they were content. Why was he needed? He wasn’t. And the work he was being offered was menial at best. He found every aspect of working for the family to be boring and mindless—tasks anyone could handle. After a year of miserably working for the family, he realized he could go do this same pointless brainless work somewhere else and be paid a hell of a lot better than what he was earning working for his family.
He spoke to his father about his boredom, and his father dismissed Brando’s concerns, stating that everyone was expected to prove themselves, and that as the youngest, he couldn’t expect to ever
be in a leadership position, not when Enzo and Marcello were already working their way up through management.
