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Relief floods through my body.
Marisa comes into the kitchen, her brow furrowed. “What happened?” she asks, looking at me and Marta and the broken glass on the floor.
I smile sheepishly. “I’m just clumsy, Marisa, don’t worry. I’ll clean it up.”
“Nonsense,” she scoffs, going into the closet and grabbing the broom. She shoos Marta and me out of the kitchen and we go out by the pool, sitting on the edge with our feet in the water like we used to at my father’s pool back when we were kids.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I say, leaning against her, and she rests her head on top of mine.
“I’ll always be here for you, silly,” she says.
“I’ve been so worried about Dante going after Vincenzo,” I groan. “And all this time it was already done.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I heard your father had a hand in it,” Marta says conspiratorially.
I smile. I’m sure he did. My father is even more protective than Dante, and that’s saying something.
“I’m just glad he’s gone,” I admit. I wish the nightmares would be gone right along with him, but something tells me they’ll hang around.
“How have you been?” Marta asks, and I shrug.
“Good and bad,” I explain. “Dante and I are doing pretty well, but he still hasn’t said it.”
“That he loves you?” Marta raises an eyebrow.
I nod, feeling oddly embarrassed. Most people aren’t married to a man who won’t say “I love you,” are they?
Marta hums. “You just have to give him time. Especially now that you’re pregnant. He’s probably freaking out.”
“Probably,” I agree, laughing a little. “The look on his face...”
I lose my smile. The way he’d acted – does it mean that he doesn’t want the baby? What will I do? I guess I’ll have to move out, move back in with my father. The thought of it makes my heart ache, makes my stomach churn.
Marta pats my knee. “Stop worrying so much. I see it all over your face,” she scolds.
I give her a weak smile. “I’ll try.”
Marta and I change into swimsuits and do a few laps, splashing at each other in the pool like kids. I needed this time with her, time to decompress and not feel dread and stress at every moment.
I feel tired after we get out of the pool, but in a good way, like I’ve had a good workout. My muscles feel loose instead of tense for the first time in weeks. Stress isn’t good for the baby, so maybe I should do things like this more often.
After Marta leaves to go home, I lie on the couch, scrolling through my phone, looking at cribs and changing tables. There seems to be so many things to put in the nursery. I wonder, idly, if it’s a boy or a girl and feel a rush of love for my unborn child. I never imagined I would feel maternal this early in my pregnancy, but just the idea of a baby makes me feel happy.
I just wish that Dante felt the same way.
I’m still angry at him, and it just gets worse as I wait and wait for him to get home. It’s nearing dusk when he finally walks in, and I promptly get up and stalk up to the bedroom, slamming the door and locking it.
Dante tries the knob and then knocks on the door. “Mia,” he calls. “Let me in.”
“Absolutely not,” I say through the door, huffing out a breath. “You walked out on me, Dante.”
“I know,” he said, sounding chagrined. “And I’m sorry. I was just surprised. Can we...can we talk about this? About what you want to do about the baby?”
My mouth drops open. What does he mean, what doIwant to do? I unlock the door and jerk it open, glaring at him.
“What do you mean, what doIwant to do? I want to have our baby, Dante. I love it just as much as I love you already. I’ve told you a million times how much I love you, even though you never say it back!” My voice raises and trembles.
He sets his jaw, staring back at me intensely, his hazel eyes flashing. He runs a hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated breath.
