CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: DREA
After spending the morning baking in the sand and swimming in the ocean, Leo and I abandoned our beach loungers to have lunch at the hotel’s restaurant. Leo was determined for me to appreciate Sicilian cuisine. Although it wasn’t that different from the Italian food I was accustomed to, he had me try a new dish at every meal.
I found myself completely ravenous. Maybe it was the pregnancy, or maybe it was all the sex we were having, but I was constantly stuffing my face.
After a full meal, I impatiently awaited our dessert to arrive. Leo had ordered something called Cassala, which he explained was a sponge cake layered with ricotta and wrapped in marzipan. At least he’d had the sense to order us both a piece. I think he’d learned his lesson last night when I put away the last cannoli when he wasn’t looking.
As the waiter arrived with our Cassala, the happy screech of a child only a few feet away drew my attention. Since he couldn't have been more than two, I couldn’t help wondering where his mother was. Outfitted in a simple onesie, he wobbled unsteadily on the sand in pursuit of a ball.
Just before he got to where the sand turned into the restaurant floor, he lumbered to one side. After swaying for a moment, he lost his balance before crashing onto his side on the wooden floor.
I shot up in my seat, but Leo beat me out of his. Kneeling down, he picked the boy up. Cradling him to his chest, he rocked him in his arms. When he started soothing him, I realized he was speaking Sicilian, rather than Italian. The boy’s cries turned to snubs.
I’m not sure I’d ever seen him more attractive than he was comforting the little boy. The sight was so overwhelming it brought tears to my eyes.
When he caught me looking at him, he grinned. “I’m a Baby Whisperer.”
I laughed. “You really are.”
“What’s your name?” he asked the boy.
“Pee-Tro,” he answered with a grin.
“Ah, Pietro. A classic Sicilian name.”
The boy pointed his tiny finger at Leo. “I’m Leo,” he replied.
“Lee.”
“Well, you got part of it.” Leo pointed to me. “That’s Drea. Can you say her name?”
“Duh!” the boy exclaimed.
Leo chuckled. “Nice try, buddy.”
A woman came rushing out from behind us. Rattling apologetically in Italian, she said, “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t supposed to work today, but then they called me in to help with your meals. I didn’t have a babysitter, so I had to bring Pietro with me.”
My heart melted as Leo gave the woman a reassuring smile before handing Pietro to her waiting arms. “He can come hang out with us anytime.”
When Leo sat back down beside me, I smiled. “You were really good with him.”
“Baby Whisperer, remember?”
After spooning a bite of cake, I asked, “Have you been around a lot of children?”
He shrugged. “Here and there. They just always seem to like me.”
Chewing on my bottom lip, I hesitated to ask the next question. It was ridiculous that we’d never broached the subject before we were married, not to mention now that we were a few days into our marriage, it still hadn’t come up.
“Do you want kids?”
“Hell yeah,” he replied, before taking a massive bite of the Cassala.
“You do?”
Licking the chocolate from his lips, he asked, “Why are you so surprised?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because most men in our world don’t really want kids. They just feel they have to have them because of Famiglia traditions.”
