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“Good for you.” Then he realized her story didn’t match what he’d witnessed a few weeks ago.
“He left when he realized he’d majorly overstepped.”
“And that was it?” he asked, knowing it wasn’t.
“No. I ran into him one night at the pizza parlor where we use to have a standing Wednesday date.”
Elio recalled the small leftover pizza box Gianna had been carrying. “He’d gone there on purpose? Hoping to see you?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I was a bit calmer that time. He offered me half his pizza. We sat and talked about what happened. It was just as you said. He wanted to get back together. I told him I’d moved on.”
“You have?” Elio asked, every word of her story filling him with hope.
She tilted her head up, their faces so close he could feel the heat of her breath. “I have. It was a good talk. I think we both needed the closure. He walked me home, we said goodbye, and that was it. I haven’t seen him since, and I don’t plan to.”
Elio smiled, then before he could think better of it—considering they were surrounded by family and friends—he gave her a quick, hard kiss.
If she was embarrassed or uncomfortable by the kiss, she gave no indication. Instead, she looked pleased. “Why would you think I’d gotten back with Sam?”
Elio would come clean about his single night of stalking later. Right now, he was more curious about her initial request. “It was just a misunderstanding. What do you want to talk to me about?”
“I don’t want to do it here.” She looked around the room as the song began to come to an end. Her anxiety concerned him enough that he decided to take matters into his own hands.
“Come with me.”
The two of them left the dance floor. He placed his hand on her back, guiding her past their table and out of the ballroom. He took a quick scan of their surroundings. The grand hotel was large with lots of small, cozy seating areas. He took her hand, leading her down the wide hallway until he found what he was looking for. Around a corner was an alcove complete with a love seat, two chairs, and a large palm. It was out of sight of the ballroom entrance, so they could sit in relative seclusion.
“Okay,” Elio said, once they were settled, both of them opting to share the love seat. Now that he was with her again, and he knew she was single, it was going to be difficult for him to keep his hands off her. “It’s obvious something is bothering you. The sooner you say it, the sooner we can move on to the good stuff.”
“Good stuff?”
He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, letting her know without words exactly where he hoped this night would lead.
She tried to smile, but the effort was weak at best, and his eyes narrowed with concern. Something was seriously upsetting her.
“What is it, Gianna?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Chapter Eighteen
Gianna prayed Elio couldn’t see her hands shaking. She’d managed to keep her nerves at bay most of the night, genuinely enjoying the reception, the meal, the company.
The problem was, every now and then she’d recall the conversation looming, and her stomach would clench, her chest growing tight.
“I was wrong, Elio,” she started, hating how thin her voice sounded. She was struggling to take a deep breath. She’d practiced this damn conversation nonstop since discovering she was pregnant. This should be easier than this, but it wasn’t.
“What?”
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “I’m pregnant,” she said again.
Gianna closed her eyes. That wasn’t the way she’d planned to tell him at all. She’d intended to explain about the mistaken period, and the stress at work, about Sam, and then…
“Gianna. Open your eyes and look at me,” he demanded. “You’re pregnant?”
She’d wanted to do this face-to-face, thinking it would give her an advantage. She’d thought seeing his expressions would help her understand how he was feeling. She’d been wrong.
Elio’s face told her no more now than his damn “thanks for telling me” text had back in January.
