Page 89 of Tempting Tessa

I hang up and turn back to Contessa, who’s watching me with an expression that’s equal parts amusement and exasperation.

“You realize you just woke up your driver at three in the morning when you could have just gotten the car yourself,” she says dryly.

“He doesn’t mind. It’s his job.” I’m already pulling clothes out of the dresser, throwing on whatever’s on top. “Can you walk? Should I carry you?”

“If you try to carry me down those stairs, I will cut your balls off and feed them to you.” She’s trying to stand, one hand on her belly, the other on the nightstand for support. “I can walk, Matteo. I’m having a baby, not dying.”

I’m at her side instantly, my arm around her waist, taking most of her weight.

“Easy,” I murmur as we make our way to the door. “One step at a time.”

“Matteo, I’m the one in labor, not you.” She pauses at the top of the stairs, gripping the railing. “Stop acting like I’m made of glass.”

“I’m not—I just want to help,” I finish lamely, my hand hovering uselessly at her back as she descends the stairs one at a time, her knuckles white on the railing.

We make it to the front door just as Rocco pulls up in the black SUV, the engine still running. I’ve got the hospital bag slung over one shoulder and Contessa’s arm looped through mine.

“About fucking time,” I mutter as I help her into the back seat, making sure she’s settled before slamming the door and tossing the bag in after her. I climb in beside her, my knee bouncing with nervous energy.

“Drive,” I bark at Rocco the second I’m inside. “And drive fucking fast, but safe. You understand me? If you get us there in one piece, I’ll double your bonus. If you crash this car with my woman and my baby inside, I’ll fucking bury you in a ditch myself.”

Contessa lets out an exasperated groan beside me. “Matteo, for fuck’s sake, stop threatening to murder Rocco. He’s literally doing his job, and what you just said is the most hypocritical, contradictory bullshit I’ve ever heard. Drive fast but safe? Make up your mind, you absolute psycho.”

I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts me off with a glare that could freeze hell.

“And can you please just shut the fuck up? Your voice is irritating me right now, and I’m the one having contractions every four minutes, not you.”

I snap my mouth shut, wounded pride mixing with the panic still churning in my gut. She’s never spoken to me like that before—well, not in front of other people. I cross my arms and stare out the window, jaw clenched so tight I’m surprised my teeth don’t crack.

The silence stretches for a full minute before I feel her hand on my face. She turns my head toward her, her fingers smoothing the deep furrow between my brows.

“See?” she says softly, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips despite the pain I know she’s in. “I knew that would work. Now you’re done panicking.”

“You little brat,” I mutter, but the tension drains from my shoulders as I lean into her touch. “Using my own tactics against me.”

She laughs, then winces as another contraction hits. “Worked, didn’t it?”

I take her hand in mine, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Yeah, it worked.”

The next twelve hours are a blur of white walls, beeping machines, and Contessa’s voice going from sharp commands to exhausted whimpers and back again. They’ve got her in a delivery room that looks like it costs more than most people’s houses, and I’ve been pacing the same six-foot stretch of floor so many times I’m surprised there isn’t a groove worn into the tile.

She’s been pushing for what feels like an eternity. Her face is red and slick with sweat, her purple hair plastered to her skull, and she looks like absolute hell, and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my entire fucking life.

“PUSH, Contessa,” Dr. Chen says, her voice steady and measured. “You’re fully dilated. The baby’s crowning.”

“Crowning? Crowning?” Contessa’s head snaps up, her eyes wild and bloodshot. “What the fuck does that even mean? Is the baby wearing a fucking tiara? Because I did not sign up for royalty, I signed up for a human being that’s currently trying to rip me in half!”

“That’s it,” Dr. Chen encourages. “You’re doing great.”

“She’s not doing great,” I snap, my free hand pointing at the monitor showing Contessa’s heart rate. “Her heart rate is—what the fuck is that number? That’s too high. Why is it that high?”

“Mr. Marino, her heart rate is perfectly normal for active labor,” the nurse beside me says in that infuriatingly calm voice they all seem to have.

“Don’t you dare tell me what’s normal,” I growl, rounding on her. “I want a second opinion. Where’s the head of this department? I want the best obstetrician in this hospital in this room RIGHT NOW.”

“Matteo.” Contessa’s voice cuts through my tirade like a knife. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”

I turn back to her, my jaw clenched. “Stellina, I’m just making sure⁠—”