Page 87 of Tempting Tessa

Even if my dad doesn’t call. Even if the world thinks we’re wrong. Even if⁠—

My phone rings.

Matteo’s arms tighten around me. “You want me to answer?”

“No.” I take a deep breath. “I’ll get it.”

I reach for the phone, my hand shaking slightly. The screen reads DAD, and my heart hammers against my ribs.

I answer the call.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, Coco. How’s my grandbaby?”

And that’s how I know everything is going to be okay.

I can have it all, and I deserve it all.

Epilogue

MATTEO

“Matteo.” Contessa’s voice cuts through the darkness of our bedroom, sharp and strained. “Matteo, wake the fuck up.”

I bolt upright, my heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to break free. The clock reads 2:47 AM, and in the pale moonlight filtering through the curtains, I can see her sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand braced against her massive belly, the other gripping the sheets.

“What’s wrong?” I’m already scrambling out of bed, nearly tripping over my own feet. “Is it the baby? Is something wrong with the baby?”

She lets out a sound that’s half-laugh, half-groan. “No, I just woke you up at three in the morning because I felt like it. Of course it’s the fucking baby!”

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” I’m pacing now, running my hands through my hair like that’ll somehow make me think clearer. “Okay. Okay, we need to—what do we need to do?”

“Time the contractions, genius.” She doubles over, her face contorting with pain. “That’s what the doctor said, remember? Time them.”

“Right. Right, timing.” I grab my phone from the nightstand, fumbling with the lock screen. “Fuck, what’s my passcode? Why can’t I remember my own fucking passcode?”

“It’s the due date, you idiot.” She’s breathing hard, her forehead beaded with sweat. “You set it that way because you couldn’t remember anything else.”

“Right. Right.” I finally get the phone open and pull up the timer app. “Okay, when did this one start?”

“It’s ending now, you useless man.” She glares at me, her purple hair plastered to her damp forehead. “Start the timer for the next one.”

“I should call Dr. Chen.” I’m already dialing before she can respond, my fingers shaking so badly I almost drop the phone. “She said to call when contractions are—fuck, what did she say? Five minutes apart? Ten?”

“Five minutes apart, lasting a minute each for at least an hour,” Contessa recites through gritted teeth. “And I’ve only had three so far, so calm the fuck down.”

“Calm down? CALM DOWN?” I’m practically shouting now, pacing the bedroom like a caged animal. “You’re in labor with my baby and you want me to calm down?”

“Yes, because you’re being a fucking lunatic and it’s not helping!” She grabs the pillow and hurls it at my head. “Now stop pacing and get me some water.”

I catch the pillow mid-air; my reflexes still sharp even if my brain has apparently abandoned ship. “Water. Right. Water.”

I bolt to the kitchen, nearly breaking my neck on the stairs in my haste. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely fill the glass without spilling it everywhere. I grab a kitchen towel, dunk it in cold water, and sprint back upstairs.

“Here.” I thrust the glass at her, then press the cold towel to her forehead. “Drink. Stay hydrated. That’s important, right? Hydration?”

She takes a sip, then sets the glass aside. “Matteo, breathe. You’re going to pass out before we even get to the hospital.”