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“Everything okay?”
She doesn’t answer me. She looks at the intercom again and punches in a three digit code. “Dmitri, where are you? My father’s on his way up.” The asshole? “How the hell am I supposed to know…? He didn’t tell you he was coming? Uh-huh… Okay…”
“Doors opening.”
“Fuck, he’s here,” she whispers urgently. “Gotta go.”
She hangs up and turns to me with an apologetic expression. “Wait here,” she orders. “And don’t get?—”
But before she can leave the kitchen, a man appears at the open doorway. He’s maybe an inch shorter than Bee, but somehow, he looks worlds bigger. His shoulders are wide, his belly even wider. A pair of light blue eyes land squarely on me.
“Hello, daughter,” he croons to Bee without breaking eye contact.
“Papa.” Bee’s voice rises to a higher pitch. “This is a surprise.”
“Can’t a father drop in to see his pregnant daughter?”
Hold up—did he just say she was pregnant?
Her smile isn’t anything like it was a moment ago. There’s nothing remotely sincere about it. She doesn’t correct him, so either I’m missing something or Papa here has been lied to. “Of course. Although I’m guessing you’re really here for Dmitri…?”
He chuckles and the sound makes my skin crawl. As does the fact that he has neither looked away from me nor blinked since he materialized here. “Who is this?”
Get up, begs a voice in my head. Get up and put as many doors as possible between you and this leering ogre of a man.
But Bee told me to stay here. So I stay.
“This is Wren,” Bee replies smoothly. “She’s my P.A. Wren, this is Vittorio, my father.”
He has a lopsided walk that favors his right side. “Vittorio Zanetti,” he announces as he approaches, offering me a veiny hand with fingers like blistered sausages.
I’m not sure if I’m just feeding off Bee’s energy or if it’s real, but unease trickles down my spine as our hands meet. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Zanetti.”
“Vittorio, please!” he insists firmly. “Don’t make me feel old. I’m still a very young man.” He still won’t blink, but at least he lets go of my hand. “P.A., hm?” he says as his eyes slide down to my pajamas. “I’m not sure your attire is entirely appropriate, Miss Wren.”
I flush self-consciously but thankfully, Bee jumps to my rescue. “I’ve asked her to be my live-in P.A., actually. So it’s really more of a work-from-home situation. It’s a crazy world these days, y’know?”
Vittorio’s eyes widen enough for me to see every single one of the thin red veins that wind through them. “A live-in assistant? That seems… extravagant.”
“I don’t think so,” Bee demurs nonchalantly. “I think it’s efficient. I’m going to need a lot of help, especially now, and Wren will be here to help me.”
His eyes flit back to me and all I want to do is get out from underneath that gaze. “All well and good. But if you had to hire live-in help, mia figlia, couldn’t you have found someone who was buck-toothed and fat as a hog? It’s not a smart move to hire a woman your husband will want to fuck.”
My jaw drops. Did he just say that? Out loud?!
My cheeks feel like they’re on fire as I spring out of my stool. “Sorry to interrupt, but if you’ll excuse me, I have to?—”
His eyes drop to my stomach and I freeze belatedly. Shit. I don’t know why my pregnancy poses a problem—I just know instinctively that it does.
“You’re pregnant.” One eyebrow arches with interest, but there’s a new coldness in his features that makes me shudder.
I want so badly to look at Bee for guidance, but I know if I do, my face will give me away. I might as well emblazon a giant THERE’S FOUL PLAY AFOOT stamp across my face. “Uh… yes.”
Bee drifts over to stand beside me. “Actually, that’s precisely why I hired Wren in the first place. It’s no secret that I’ve always been a little wary about the idea of pregnancy and childbirth. I figured that going through the process together would be less frightening.”
Vittorio’s attempts at civility drop altogether. To be honest, it’s straight-up terrifying. His eyebrows unify into one vicious slash and his lips pull back over his teeth. He looks seconds away from lunging for my throat.
“What kind of woman—what kind of Zanetti woman—fears childbirth? It is what you were made for.”
