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“You’re not going to help me, are you?” He lifts his head over a cupboard door.
“Nope. I think you got this.” I grin back at him and turn to stir the sauce.
His loud grumblings about the kitchen being too big and not being able to find a damn thing because of all the “useless appliances that jackass bought” makes me bite my lip to stifle a giggle.
* * *
“You cook really well, Emi. I’m impressed.” He dabs the napkin on the side of his mouth after clearing his plate. “That might just be my favorite meal. You did good, Red.”
I blush at his praise. A hint of pride travels through me at his words.
“Who taught you to cook?”
I shrug. “The chefs, the nannies, housekeepers.”
“Not some Italian grandmother, then?” He smiles back at me, no doubt hearing about the Italian heritage of the women passing down their skills in the kitchen.
“No. Just the staff.” I move the last of my spaghetti around my plate. My mood is a little solemn at the lack of family relationships I have. Even when my sister was alive, we didn’t have much of a relationship. It’s something I’ve longed for. Another reason I could never regret this baby. I get to love something, and they’ll love me back. Unconditionally.
I spent most of my life living at my Papi’s house while Eleanor went to boarding school and stayed with Luca when she was home. It was like we were two families.
“I never had much of a family either.” My eyes snap up to meet Shaw’s, and his admission makes my heart thump in my chest. So loud I wonder if he can hear it.
His eyebrows furrow a little as though deep in thought. “My mother left when I was a child, she suffered from bipolar. She used to have emotional outbursts, and my father didn’t know how to deal with her, so he dumped me in boarding school and my mother in a mental health facility.”
I reach for his hand across the table, desperate to touch him, reassure him. “I’m sorry, Shaw. That’s awful.”
He swallows with emotion. “She committed suicide when I was seven.” I try to hide the gasp slipping my lips, but Shaw recognizes it and strokes his thumb over mine, reassuring me when it should be the other way around.
“How old were you, when you went to boarding school?”
“Five.”
I practically whimper thinking about a little Shaw being abandoned in school.
“I met Reed there. He was two years older than me, but he looked out for me. Even though he doesn’t show much emotion, the guy was a rock for me.”
My heart hurts for Shaw, and Reed too. To be so young and forgotten about. There’s no way I’d put my child in a boarding school. My hand finds my stomach protectively.
“I agree.” Shaw stares at me intensely.
I hadn’t realized I’d said the words out loud.
“You’re lucky to have friends like them, Shaw.” I glance away as emotion creeps in, a part of me pleased for him and a tiny part jealous at their relationship. I have no one.
“I know.” His hand turns over in mine, and when he laces our fingers together, I feel like my chest is being crushed with love. Which is just ridiculous.
Do I really crave affection so badly that this simple gesture is making me look into things that are not there? Shaw is here for the baby, and I need to remember that.
“Emi, about earlier.” His voice is soft and coaxing, and I open my eyes, not even aware I’d closed them.
“I was wrong to be mad at you. I’m sorry.”
I suck in a sharp breath of air, because his eyes speak a thousand truths, and I could swim in the depths of his deep-blue eyes.
“It’s okay,” I force past the lump in my throat.
Shaw shakes his head. “It’s not, baby. I... I seem to get pretty fucking jealous about you.” He exhales heavily and drags his hand through his hair. “I’ve never been like that before, and I don’t know how to control it.”
