“Look, Dante. I appreciate what you’re doing, but I don’t want your help.”
He looks up. “I’m not worried about getting sick. I just need you to—”
“I’m notsick, Dante. I’m pregnant.”
7
Frankie
The stone-cold expression is back.
“Say something.” I want to slap the inscrutable look right off his handsome face.
He squints, looking into the air at absolutely nothing. “We’re going to have…a baby.”
“Thatiswhat I just said.” I cross my arms over my chest.
He opens his mouth but then pauses again. Probably still processing. “A boy or a girl?”
I can’t help rolling my eyes. “Right now, it’s a lima bean that makes me vomit.”
That seems to wake him up. “Wait. Youhavebeen to a doctor, right?”
My confidence in his knowledge of pregnancy is nil. Hell, I’m a woman and there’s a lot I need to learn. But at least I’ve got the basics down. “First of all, it’s way too early to identify any…genitals. And second, no, I haven’t been to a doctor yet. I only just found out.”
“Jesus, Frankie.”
He springs into action and whips out his phone, tapping rapidly at the screen. I get up to look at what he’s doing and see search results for “best baby doctor in Miami.”
“That’s going to give you a list of pediatricians,” I point out. “You need to search OBGYN.”
He’s not listening to me. He scrolls through the results, frowning when he finds picture after picture of physicians with babies and toddlers.
“It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m sending you back to Napa in our plane. I’ll have Armani take care of everything.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Dante, stop.”
Ignoring me, he opens up his texting app, then turns on the microphone. “Armani, I need you to file a flight plan for the plane, out of Miami-Opa locka into Napa County Airport.”
This is getting out of hand fast. “Please just listen to me—”
“And then I need you to find me the best gynecologist in Napa…”
“Dante!” I put my hand over his phone before he can send the message. “We don’t need a lady doctor. Aren’t you a female body inspector, after all?”
I pry his phone out of his hands, deleting the message he was about to send to his brother. Dante watches me with narrowed eyes.
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
At least he finally slowed his roll.
I point at his ridiculous shirt and he looks down at it, then rips it off with a curse and throws it on the floor. “This isn’t a joke, Frankie.”
“Have you forgotten how to laugh at yourself already? That’s disappointing.”
“This isn’t the time to—”
Just then, there’s a knock at the door and the call of room service.
