Page 24 of Baby Bump for the Mafia Boss

Felicity snorts with laughter. “Have we been pregnant? Just a bit.”

“It’s Wyn’s favourite hobby,” Jessa teases.

“That’s not true!” Wyn puts her hands on her hips, mock annoyed. “My favourite hobby is my plants. Making babies is more like a semi-professional vocation.”

Everyone laughs, and I look over at Dane again. I’m drawn back to him constantly. He tilts his head to the side and raises his eyebrows enquiringly. And I nod in answer.

He smiles and claps Ben on the shoulder before leading him away, so I guess the question was, “Are you okay?”. If it was “Do you want to be semi-professional at making my babies” then that’s fine, because the answer is yes to that too.

“Who we need is Ren,” says Jessa. “She’s had so many pregnancies and births, her vagina must be like a rocket launch pad.”

I splutter with laughter.

“Yes!” Felicity has her phone out of her pocket in a second. “She has such a cute story about how she met her husband too, you’ll love it. Death or donuts!” The other two women join in the last phrase and then giggle.

“Ren!” Felicity takes a few steps away, presumably to convince her friend to come and get involved in what has become a major event. “You won’t believe this.”

“Death or donuts is like ‘am I the arsehole’ but mafia style,” explains Jessa. “Does someone deserve death, or just a donut because they’re a bit hungry and grumpy. Now, show me what you’re considering wearing, and I’ll tell you that it looks amazing, and your man will want to rail you in it.”

I wince. “It’s really not like that.”

Jessa blinks at me with the innocent confusion of a confused puppy. “Not like he wants to fuck you and adore you every minute of the day? We’re talking about the same man? The one who called out the London Maths Club?—”

“The what?” I can’t help but ask.

“Yes, silly name, not many words sound like mafia when you’re trying to disguise that you almost said you were part of the London Mafia Syndicate. Canary Wharf maintains that he did his best to cover up his mistake,” she explains at a pace that makes my head spin. “Anyway, the point is, that man adores you.”

“I don’t understand.” This is as overwhelming as these women are endearing. “And I think you have it wrong about Dane.”

“You don’t understand that a man who knocked you up and then has risked infuriating the most powerful men in London so you can get a second opinion on a dress might be head over heels about you?” Jessa’s eyes shine with amusement.

“He… It’s complicated.” That’s a pathetic explanation. “He’s my boss, and this is just so he can have an heir for Beckton.”

Jessa’s expression indicates I’m as convincing as a kid with chocolate around my mouth saying I haven’t eaten anything. “What does this man need to do to convince you that he cares?”

“Kidnap,” Felicity answers dryly.

Jessa and Wyn splutter with laughter.

“We were stranded alone in Scotland? Does that count?” I joke. It’s not the same thing at all.

“Is that where you got the bump?” Wyn asks. “If so, I think it definitely counts.”

I blush and don’t respond. But knowing looks are exchanged between the other women. I really don’t want to embarrass myself and Dane by explaining everything that happened. It feels too personal, somehow. Even though these women are far nicer than I would have expected from mafia wives.

Jessa seems to sense my discomfort and picks a top from the discards rail and examines it. “What was wrong with this one?”

“It was kinda short? You could almost see my bump?”

Tilting her head, Jessa thrusts it into my hands. “Put it on, and we’ll give you the second opinion you needed.”

“While you’re changing, I’ll go and grab something I spotted as we came in that is so cute it’ll have me tempted to get pregnant again,” Wyn says.

“As though you need any incentive,” laughs Felicity.

From then, it’s a chaos of clothing and chatter. They treat me like I’m one of them, however many times I repeat that Dane and I aren’t married, and it’s not a love match. They try to get me to buy practically everything in the shop, and Dane strolls in later and gives them unlimited permission to put things on his credit card, and winks at me.

And it’s only hours later that I leave the shop with a whole new wardrobe and invitations to the London Smut Club—their book group—and several evening charity events. I thank them sincerely for their help, and I mean it. Dane is waiting patiently, chatting with Ben and the husbands of Jessa and Felicity who arrived at some point.