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“A boy?” Antonio's energy is practically radiating from him, causing his chair to shake slightly under his restless movements.
With a mouthful of French toast, Emerson replies, “We don't know.”
“Why not?”
“We want to be surprised. Boy or girl, it does not matter. As long as they're healthy, we'll be overjoyed,” I reply on his behalf.
“Well, we need a boy to continue the Rossi line. If it’s a girl, will you have another?” Bonnie pushes.
“Not your concern, Bonnie.” I tilt my head, brows drawn together as I stare at her.
“I hope for a boy and lots of babies, but I’m happy about this one. A grandpa,” Antonio smirks. “We can make an announcement at the Gala.”
I look at him with a puzzled expression. “What gala?” I question.
“Every year, Bonnie and her lady friends gather to host a glamorous charity gala. All the families come together in truce along with the other who's who in the area and we raise money for charity,” Antonio explains while smiling at Bonnie proudly.
“Sounds fun. What charity?”
“PUTAS.” Bonnie claps.
I nearly spit my juice out at her words. I’m not fluent, but in high school, I remember being told puta meant bitch or whore in Spanish. Maybe I was told wrong or misunderstood.
“What does that stand for, or what do they do?” I ask.
“PUTAS. Purifying Your Total Air S.” She smiles and I stare at her, blinking excessively before shaking my head.
“I don’t get it. Your starts with a y, not a u. And what is an ‘s’? Why does an ‘s’ need purifying? And isn’t the air self-explanatory? Why total air?” I have no idea what this woman is talking about or what charity she’s giving to. Of course, she couldn’t say Ronald McDonald House or PAWS or some shit.
She laughs like I’m the idiot here. “They didn’t make a good acronym, so we changed it to your like U-R. Scarlett, we're not just trying to clean the air in our city. If someone in New York wants a Model S we’d help them too. The air all over the world is important. So the total air, as in every bit of it. Of course, you wouldn’t know what an S is. It’s the best-performing Tesla model.”
Jesus, Joseph, and Mary. This woman might be the stupidest bitch I’ve ever met. How can anyone want to attend this gala and donate a single penny to this bullshit?
“What does this charity do exactly? Who runs this non-profit?”
“It’s mine, and air purity is very important to me. Our goal is to raise funds to help those who want to buy a Tesla Model S but can’t quite afford to. They pay half and we pay half. Tesla's being electric helps keep our air clean.”
I look at Emerson, hoping this is a fucking joke. Bonnie is organizing a fundraising campaign to support wealthy individuals in purchasing a Tesla. What in the fuck is this bitch smoking?
“I thought we agreed we were not supporting your idiot charity? In the meeting we had about the gala, we shut down that idea and agreed to give the money to Together We Rise,” Emerson questions.
“Bonnie really wants to get this off the ground, so I changed the plan,” Antonio admits, grabbing hold of Bonnie’s hand and squeezing it. “She’s quite philanthropic.”
“I will not be donating and neither will my guests,” Emerson snaps.
“Enough about the gala, I’m more excited for my grandson,” Antonio beams.
“Or granddaughter,” I smile, reminding him it could be a baby girl.
“I suppose that would be okay as long as a boy comes next to take over for Emerson someday. The Rossi leader has to be a Rossi male.”
A heavy silence hangs in the air as no one speaks further. We eat in silence, and I can sense Alistair's gaze fixated on the back of my head. His thoughts, I’m sure, are the same as mine. This child might not be Rossi at all; there's a strong chance that he or she is a DeLuca.
Ever since that brunch a few weeks ago, I’ve had the feeling of being followed, watched. Not by Alistair either, who is supposed to be there. No matter how hard I look, there is never a soul in sight.
I should bring this up to my men, but I don’t want to bother them with such trivial things. Especially, when I have no tangible evidence, it's solely a gut feeling. I can't help but wonder if my pregnancy is causing me to feel more anxious and worried than usual.
Not to mention all the talk of a target on my back now that I’m married to Emerson Rossi. If I still have this unsettling feeling of being watched after the gala tonight, I’ll make sure to inform Emerson and Alistair.
