Page 114 of Diego

I finally look at it. At the small plastic test resting across my palm.

At the result I have already checked so many times that there is no possibility I am misunderstanding it.

Two lines mean ‘positive’.

I swallow, but the sick feeling remains.

Six weeks since I slept with Diego Conti.

Six weeks since I woke up in his arms and spent the morning worrying that sleeping with one of the owners of Meridian might destroy my career.

Apparently, I had been worried about the wrong consequence.

My phone chimes again.

Another email.

I do not look at it.

I cannot stop staring at the pregnancy test in my hand.

“Fuck.”

Chapter Twenty One

Diego

Dinner at Lorenzo’s is loud enough that I almost miss the vibration of my phone against the table.

Mario and Ricardo are arguing about something involving a property acquisition I stopped listening to ten minutes ago.

Victoria is trying to convince Leonardo that mashed potatoes belong in his mouth instead of on the tray of his high chair.

Julia has Cecilia tucked against one shoulder while she eats with her free hand, and Dante keeps reaching over to steal roasted potatoes from her plate despite the fact that there is an entire serving dish directly in front of him.

Across the table, Matteo and Tomasso are debating whether something they did to the pool filtration system at their house technically qualifies as maintenance or interference. Edoardo has already declared them both idiots. Alessio, wisely, is staying out of it.

Donna sits beside Lorenzo with one hand resting absently over the curve of her stomach. Being seven months pregnant has not slowed her down much, although Lorenzo watches every time she shifts in her chair as though she might spontaneously need medical intervention because she reached for the bread.

Mocha, Donna’s German Shepherd, is stretched beneath the table near her feet, enormous head resting on his paws while he keeps careful track of every piece of food that comes within potential falling distance.

I have been living in the middle of some version of this for weeks.

Different house, same family.

Usually louder.

And I love them.

I also desperately want my own place again.

My phone vibrates a second time.

I glance down, expecting another message from work.

Instead, I see the subject line.

FINAL INSPECTION CLEARANCE — MONTES PENTHOUSE.