Page 148 of Diego

Technically.

In reality, my laptop is open on the dining table, three property files are spread beside it, and I have a legal pad filled with notes for two upcoming showings and a pricing analysis I promised to send by tomorrow morning.

I am wearing leggings, a loose sweater, and socks because I have no intention of leaving the apartment, and there is a mug of tea beside my computer that went directly from too hot to ice cold.

I have been working since 8:00, which defeats the point of a day off, but at least I'm not resisting the urge to throw up in a powder room while someone asks me about fixtures.

Is this all pregnancy is? Keeping my nausea in check?

I am halfway through comparing recent sales when someone knocks on my door.

I close my eyes.

“No.”

The person knocks again.

I stare toward the entry from the dining table as though I can intimidate whoever is standing outside into leaving. It does not work. A third knock follows, patient and completely unbothered by my lack of response.

“Seriously?”

I push back from the table and walk toward the door, already irritated because I am not expecting a delivery and nobody I know would show up here without texting first.

Giacomo, or whichever member of Diego’s rotating security detail has drawn the short straw today, would not knock. If something were wrong, I have a feeling they would just burst right in, so at least I can eliminate that particular annoyance.

And it wouldn't be a Diego. Well, it better not be anyway.

I look through the peephole.

Two women stand in the hallway.

I have never seen either of them before.

The first is heavily pregnant, far enough along that there is no mistaking it. She has blonde hair, blue eyes, and a relaxed posture. Beside her is a woman with red hair, green eyes, and freckles, dressed casually but beautifully enough that I immediately become aware that I have been sitting at home in leggings for several hours.

I hesitate a moment before opening the door to the two of them.

“Can I help you?”

The blonde smiles. “Blair?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Donna.” She gestures to the woman beside her. “This is Julia.”

I wait, because those names mean absolutely nothing to me.

Then Julia smiles. “I’m Ricardo’s wife. He told me he met you with Diego once.”

That does it.

I have met Ricardo once. Diego’s brother had accompanied him during the penthouse inspection, and between the resemblance and the way the two of them carried themselves, there had been no mistaking the family connection.

Donna rests a hand against the side of her coat. “And I’m married to Lorenzo. One of Diego's other brothers.”

I look from one woman to the other.

Diego’s sisters-in-law.