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“I’m asking you to hang out with me in Paris,” he said in a voice low enough for only the two of us to hear.
“Maybe. We’ll see.” I kept my voice light, since there was no reason for menotto be light.
I’d add the wave of sudden sadness to my long list of things I’d overthink later. I had a show to get ready for.
Tino and Juan looked good.Tired, but good.
Tino held his arms out for me, and I slipped right into them, laughing already. “Baby mama.”
“Augustino,” I sighed happily. It had been far too long since I’d gotten a Tino hug.
When he released me, I moved to Juan, giving him a big hug too before introducing them both to Michaela. Then we went into the small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant that appeared to be five-hundred years old.
My Italian was pretty decent after years of listening to lessons while I traveled between cities, but Tino and Juan had become fluent over the five years they’d lived here. Juan worked for an international bank, and it was his job that brought them here, but Tino quickly found a job working for a marketing firm. When they moved, the plan was to stay for a year, have a little adventure, then come back home. That plan had been tossed aside within a month of their move. Tino had declared he’d finally found his homeland and that he was European at heart. In fact, most people called him Augustino these days, which I found both hilarious and disconcerting.
“How is Angelina?” I asked.
Juan sighed dreamily. “Adorable. She’s nearly crawling. Of course, that’s made us realize our house is a death trap. Tino is ready to get rid of everything and replace it all with pillows.”
Tino leaned over to Michaela, telling her Angelina was their six-month old daughter who’d been born via surrogate and egg donor.
“Is it rude to ask which one of you supplied the sperm?” Michaela asked.
Tino waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry, I don’t get offended easily. And we don’t actually know. The lab took our samples, swirled them around in a petri dish, and injected them into the eggs. However, I think she looks like Juan.”
Juan leaned his head on Tino’s shoulder. “And I see you in her, through and through.”
Tino ran his hand over his husband’s hair. “It doesn’t matter. I think we both sort of thought it might, but it doesn’t. She feels like ours.”
“She is,” I said.
Michaela pointed between me and Tino. “Are you the egg donor?”
He laid his hand on my shoulder. “Alas, she is not. She did offer, though.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “They rejected my eggs.”
Michaela gasped. “The audacity!”
I laughed. “Angelina is perfect, so I’m not so salty anymore.”
Tino’s eyes turned soft. “Juan and I would have been honored to have a child who was half Natalia, but we decided it was better for all of us to go the anonymous route.”
I squeezed his hand. “They thought I would have been heartbroken to have a genetic child, but not be her mother. They’re probably right.”
“And you would have done it anyway,” Juan said. “Which is why you’re our favorite.”
“And forever my baby mama,” Tino added.
I snorted, red wine burning my nose. “That nickname can crash and burn any day now.”
Tino raised a dark eyebrow and shook his head, conveying without words there was no chance in hell.
Juan steepled his hands beneath his chin. “So, you must tell us how you spent your day in Milan.”
“There were an obscene amount of selfies taken,” I said.
Michaela raised her wine glass. “That would be my fault. I have an Instagram page where I document my tour with bands, so my selfie game is pretty strong. My followers were insanely excited I spent my day with the famous Tali DiPietro.”
