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Fuck.
I left the room on the thought, going to the kitchen to switch the coffee machine on.Could I be any more pathetic?Leaning against the counter, I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the paper I always kept there. Lucy’s sketch. Me with a baby. Her baby. Our baby. Fuck. It was ridiculous how that sketch tugged at my heart. Every morning, I’d take it from the previous day’s pants and slip it into the pocket of the new ones. I tried my best not to spend all day mooning over it, but I couldn’t resist. The paper was already starting to show signs of wear, the fold lines starting to fray and little tears appearing around the edges. I knew I should have thrown it out the day I found it, but I just couldn’t let it go.
Desperate to distract myself, I carefully refolded the sketch, slipped it back into my pocket, and started pulling breakfast things out of the fridge. It was just past nine o’clock and while I had no idea how much longer Lucy would sleep, I wanted to make sure she’d be able to eat as soon as possible after she got up. I’d learned that was the best way to fend off the morning sickness. It also gave her enough energy to start the day.
I’d nearly finished chopping all the vegetables to add to some beaten eggs when I heard a knock at the door. Suppressing a flash of irritation, I went to answer it. Naomi Perkins, in a dull brown suit, briefcase in hand, gave me an impassive look when I opened the door. My irritation didn’t stay suppressed. “Yes?” I asked curtly. The last thing I wanted to do was drag Lucy out of bed to speak to this woman.
"Good morning, Mr. Moretti. May I come in?”
“Lucy’s asleep. She’s very fatigued with the pregnancy and I don’t really want to wake her.”
“I see. Well, my investigation is almost complete. I just have a few more questions. I can come back another day, or we can get this resolved more quickly if you submit to a brief interview now.”
“Okay. I’ll check with her.” I closed the door in her face, gritting my teeth in annoyance. I stepped into the bedroom; Lucy was exactly how I’d left her, on her side, her hand tucked under her cheek, sound asleep. “Lucia,” I said softly. She didn’t stir and I seriously considered telling Naomi to piss off, but it didn’t seem right not to give Lucy the option to talk to her and get this over with. I sat on the bed, leaning over and brushing my fingers against her temple. “Cara.”
“Mmm?”
“Naomi Perkins is here.”
There was some mumbling I couldn’t understand.
“Naomi Perkins is here,” I said again. “She says she can finalize the investigation if we agree to an interview today. But I can tell her to fuck off if you don’t want to see her right now.”
She stirred, forcing her eyes open, looking at me sleepily. “She’s herenow?”
“Yeah, on the porch. You want me to tell her to go to hell, or let her in?”
“Let her in, I guess. There’s no point dragging it out.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” I pressed a kiss to her naked shoulder and left the room, stopping in the kitchen to switch on the front burner on the stove before returning to the front door. “She’ll be out in a minute.” I stood back to let her in, closing the door with an unnecessarily loud snap behind her.
“Great.”
Deciding that grumpiness was unlikely to help me and that courtesy might in fact be the way to go, I asked her if she’d like a coffee.
“Yes, please. Just through to the kitchen again?”
“Yeah, I guess.” The coffee machine was ready, but I started making Lucy’s omelet first. Naomi could just fucking wait.
Lucy shuffled sleepily in a few minutes later, looking downright adorable in leggings and a baggy sweater, her hair pulled into a low ponytail. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”
“That’s no problem. Your…husband…said you were feeling very tired.”
“Yeah, it’s a real bitch. It doesn’t seem to matter how much sleep I get, I never feel rested.”
I wasn’t sure if Lucy had noticed the hesitation and emphasis on the word husband, but I sure had. It pissed me off. Mostly because it was warranted. That’s exactly what I was, her…husband.
“That sounds awful.”
“It’ll be worth it, in the end.” Lucy smiled at me when I placed her omelet on the table. The sweetness of it had my heart doing a slow roll in my chest. “Thanks. This smells amazing. Oh, you put paprika in it!”
“Stef suggested it.”
Her eyes dancing at me, she took the vitamins and glass of juice I handed her. “So much for her being a terrible cook. Does she know you’re taking tips?”
I tapped her on the nose. “No, and don’t you dare tell her. I’ll never hear the end of it.” I’d almost forgotten Naomi was there, but then she reminded me by clearing her throat. “Oh. Yes. I’ll just get your coffee,” I said, my tone short.
“Thank you.” She started writing, her pen moving across the page rapidly. I couldn’t imagine what she’d just seen that she deemed noteworthy. “Now, Lucy, I’ve spoken to your mother.”
