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What if? The million-dollar question.
Restless and irritated with myself, I finished cleaning up the kitchen, tying up the trash bag, ready to take it outside.May as well do the rest of them while I’m at it, I thought. The bathroom one was nearly full so I grabbed it as well, then headed into Lucy’s office.
Her sketchbook was on the desk, closed and pushed to the side, like she’d been drawing something before forcing herself to get back to work. I was fully aware that she was careful about making sure I didn’t see her sketches. I wasn’t sure if it was because she thought they would upset me, or annoy me. We’d never actually talked about it. She never talked to me about anything baby-related, and I realized I hated that she felt she couldn’t.
I blew out a breath, half-tempted to open the book and have a look, then decided against it. It wasn’t fair to her, and I’d only be torturing myself, not to mention prying. Giving myself a shake, I bent to pick up the trash can which was almost overflowing with piles of scrunched up pages she’d torn from the sketchbook. I emptied the can into a bag and went to put it back under her desk, freezing when a lone piece of paper still at the bottom of the can caught my eye.
A flat piece of paper, not hastily scrunched up like the others, but torn decisively in half. One half face up, with a sketch on it, the other face down. Frowning, I dropped the bag of trash and reached into the can, taking out the torn paper. Was that…me? Lucy was drawing pictures of me? And tearing them up?
Laying the paper on the desk, I pulled out the other half, turning it over and placing it next to the first. I swear, my heart stopped beating. Lucy had drawn a picture of me holding a baby. A tiny, sweet baby, my head bowed over it in a gesture of pure love.
A riot of emotions burst through me. A spurt of anger at myself for not being capable of what this drawing represented. Sadness for Lucy that there was a chance she wanted this and I couldn’t give it to her. It was so deeply unfair on her. Underneath all of that was a bone-deep yearning that took my breath away.
I hadn’t allowed myself to think too much about the reality of the baby. Any time I was forced to, it was only in relation to Lucy and what she needed. Butthis…this was all about me, and it brought home the reality of my impending fatherhood in a way I couldn’t ignore.
Even though I knew I should throw the sketch away, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I lined up the torn halves and carefully taped them together. Then I placed my hands flat on the desk either side of the picture and stared at it for the longest time as the emotions rolled through me.
Not even thinking through my actions or what it all meant, I gently folded up the paper and put it in my back pocket, stepping away from the desk and picking up the trash bag as I did so.
The sound of a car pulling into the drive caught my attention and I looked out the window. Lucy was back from Charlotte. I stayed in the office for a few moments, trying to calm my suddenly thudding heart. I watched as Lucy got out of Ellen’s car and held the door open to lean in and say something before stepping back, closing the door, watching and waving while her mom backed out of the drive.
I opened the front door, stepping out onto the porch, waiting for the moment when she turned and saw me standing there. Looking in her bag for her keys, she took two steps up the driveway, glancing up when I cleared my throat. Then she smiled and her whole face lit up. Fuck, I felt that smile right down to my soul.
“Hey. Fish not biting today?” She walked towards me, still smiling. I was transfixed. “Dante?”
“Huh?”
“I wasn’t expecting you back so early. I thought maybe the fishing was shitty.” Stopping in front of me, she looked up at me with a perplexed frown. “Are you okay?”
“Sure, I’m fine.” I dropped the trash bag, grabbed the lapels of her coat, and pulled her against me. Surprise flared in her eyes briefly before I lowered my lips to hers in a searing hot kiss that held all the emotions I couldn’t seem to articulate or control. When I finally raised my head, I watched her eyes flutter open, dreamy and soft. Christ, she was so incredibly beautiful.
“What was that for?”
“A man can’t kiss his wife without getting the third degree?” I tapped her nose, trying to lighten the mood a little.
“Sure, but, you know, if you’re gonna kiss me like that and not follow through, I’ll be disappointed.”
I chuckled. “Fair enough. Prepare not to be disappointed.” I held the door open for her to walk in ahead of me, my blood already humming, completely forgetting the trash bag on the porch.
CHAPTER34
Lucy
So far, the promise I’d made to myself to live in the moment was going pretty well. We knew the insurance investigation was still ongoing, since my mom had received a call, but we had no idea for how much longer. Apparently, there’d been a delay with processing over the Christmas break and now there was a backlog. So our living together in limbo continued. Honestly? I didn’t mind.
Dante and I settled into a beautiful rhythm that felt a lot like really being married. We took turns cooking, unless I felt too sick. Household chores ended up being fairly equally divided without us really planning it, unless again I felt too unwell, when Dante just jumped in and covered for me. We spent time with my family, went to the movies with Stef, and had dinner out at Alfredo’s a few times, because I suddenly couldn’t get enough of their risotto. If we were home together in the evening, we hung out on the couch watching tv. I was surprised at how similar our tastes were. And then there was the sex. So much amazing sex. It was all perfect, as long as I tried not to think about the future too much.
There were only two things that marred our domestic bliss. One, extreme fatigue seemed to have replaced the nausea for me. Two, Dante was behaving a little strangely. Nothing I could really put my finger on, but sometimes I’d find him staring at me really intently, but when I’d ask him if anything was wrong, he’d say no, everything was fine. Twice, I’d walked into the kitchen to find him staring down at a piece of paper, hurriedly stuffing it into his pocket when he heard me come in. So no big drama, really. Just my fake husband being weird.
One Saturday afternoon the fatigue was dragging me out so badly I’d spent the day on the couch, just staring glumly out the window. Although we were still in the depths of winter, the sun was shining, teasing us with a little promise of spring. I was looking forward to spring, because I’d be well and truly into my second trimester by then and I’d stupidly convinced myself that the pregnancy would somehow miraculously be better by then. But today I felt way too shitty to enjoy the sun, which made me feel even shittier. It was a stupid mood, but I just didn’t seem to be able to shake it.
Dante stepped into the room, clearly about to say something, but then stopped, tilting his head to one side and narrowing his eyes as he looked at me. “Sick?”
“Hmm. Not really.”
“Tired?”
“Yeah. And bored. And maybe a bit sad, but for no real reason. I dunno.”
