Absolution (Disenchanted Book 3) Read online

  “Yep.”

  He stared at me for a moment before he shook his head. “I don’t understand, Lydia. What are you trying to say?”

  I spoke slowly, haltingly. “I am…trying to…to say…I am…pregnant…” I winced at the end.

  Marco again stared at me, more confused than ever. “What?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  His face slowly transformed. It would have been hilarious if the moment wasn’t so serious and tense for me. Confusion bled into a cartoonish bulging of the eyes and dropping of the mouth before turning to what I could only describe as pure panic. I yelped in surprise when he suddenly scooped me into his arms.

  “Why are you standing up?” he nearly shouted. “You should be sitting, resting.”

  He put me on the bed carefully, like I was glass and would break.

  I began to object. “Marco, what—”

  “You haven’t eaten anything yet! You must eat!” He rummaged through a drawer on the nightstand, produced a candy bar, and shoved it in my hand. “Eat this.”

  “Erm…”

  Just as quickly as he gave me the candy, he snatched it back and threw it on the floor. “No, that’s not healthy. Only healthy food from now on. No junk. No sugar. No caffeine. No…” His eyes widened again. “Have you been drinking wine? With dinner and lunch yesterday, you—”

  I placed a hand on his chest. “Dude. Seriously? Calm down. I didn’t drink any wine, although it’s not uncommon in this part of the world for a pregnant woman to—”

  “Not you.” The words were growled. “Not you, not ever. Not while you are…preh…preh…”

  Suddenly, he dropped into a squat, his hands resting on either side of me. His head dropped onto my knees.

  “Oh fuck,” his muffled voice floated up to me. “You’re preh…you’re…you’re pregnant.”

  I started to worry at this reaction, but when he raised his head, there was a sheen to his eyes I’d never seen before. A brilliant brightness that made his blue irises glow even in the daylight. His mouth was slightly ajar in awe, but it was awe, and not disappointment or anger.

  “You’re pregnant,” he said again.

  “Umm…well, yes. I am.”

  One of his hands shot up to curve around the back of my head. He pulled me to his face and kissed me. It was so tender, so loving and beautiful and reverent, it brought tears to my eyes. Like we did yesterday after he first showed me his room, our foreheads touched. With his thumbs, he wiped away the tears that managed to leak from my eyes.

  “Why did you not tell me sooner, Tesoro?” he murmured.

  “It didn’t seem like a good time, and I guess I was scared of how you’d react.”

  He kissed me again, just quickly, but it was the reassurance I needed. “I think I almost had a heart attack, but I could never react badly to that kind of news, Lydia. My heart feels so full right now. You should have told me sooner.”

  “I should have,” I agreed.

  “How pregnant are you? What did the doctor say?”

  “I guess I am about six weeks? It had to have happened on Thanksgiving.”

  He pulled back so he could look at me more clearly, a questioning expression on his face. “Thanksgiving? I remember that night very clearly. I did not finish inside you.”

  My face flushed at the memory of him coming on my stomach. “No, but pulling out is only about eighty-percent effective, and that’s assuming you pulled out before you started to…uh… Do you remember if that was the case?”

  He thought about that for a moment and shrugged. “No, I don’t remember if that was the case. I suppose it doesn’t matter, but what about your doctor? He or she can tell you when we conceived.”

  “Marco, I found out I was pregnant in the middle of the night, and the wedding was two days later. A couple days after that, I was on a plane to Italy, so I haven’t exactly had time to see a doctor.”

  He stood abruptly. “You will see a doctor. Today.”

  I got up a little slower. “I can wait until I get back to Ohio. There isn’t any point in seeing a doctor here if there aren’t any issues.”

  “There can be issues, and you may not know because you have not seen a doctor. First, you must eat. I want you to eat all the time. When your sister was pregnant, she was supposed to eat several small meals a day. She did not always do this. You will not follow her example.”

  I cracked a smile at the alpha male in him coming out. “You know I’ve done this a few times already, right?”

  He was so serious, hands on his hips and mouth set in a straight line. “You have not done this with me. You will comply.”

  I snickered. “Is resistance futile?”

  Marco’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

  “Never mind. It was a Star Trek reference.”

  “This is not funny, Lydia. You must take care of yourself and our child.”

  “I will, Marco.”

  He eyed me a moment longer before he seemed satisfied that I would “comply” with his demands before taking my hand to lead me from the room. I resisted his pull, though. We had to get something straight.

  “Wait. Marco, wait a minute.”

  “What is it? You’re starving our child.”

  I smirked but didn’t comment on that. “Listen, Adam knows because he’s the one who bought the tests, and Shawna guessed it at the reception. Otherwise, no one knows, and I’m not ready for anyone else to know. I’m still trying to process it myself, we both are, and generally, people tend to wait before announcing these things.”

  He considered that and finally nodded. “Okay, but I want to tell Massimo. We do not have to tell anyone else yet, but I insist we tell him.”

  “I’m fine with that.”

  His smile was happy with a hint of sadness. “I love you, Lydia.”

  “I love you, too, Papà.”

  The grin on his face made me melt and smile like a fool. By the time we made it to breakfast, though, I was no longer smiling. I had a feeling I would kill him before I was halfway through the pregnancy. When we were going down the stairs, he first tried to carry me, but I had objected. We stood at the top of the stairs arguing for a couple minutes before he acquiesced and allowed me to walk on my own. The lug walked in front of me, backward, so he could catch me in the event I began to fall.

  At the table, Marco’s family watched with curiosity and amusement as he piled my plate with fruit and one of the sweet rolls that Cora had helped make. When he excused himself to make a few phone calls, I was relieved. I didn’t want to be rude and not eat, but I was supposed to be at Salina’s in a couple hours for brunch. I’d told Marco this before we reached the kitchen, but he’d been annoyingly insistent that I eat something.

  There weren’t as many people at the table today as there had been for dinner. Matteo had left for his office earlier in the morning. Martina was with her own family at their home about a half-hour away. Francesca and her oldest—seventeen-year-old Lucia—were as chatty as they could be with me without knowing much English and me pretending to be clueless about Italian. Sofia was sweet as always, and Elena made me feel warm and cared for even though I barely knew her. Maria, on the other hand, was still polite yet aloof. I didn’t know if that was just her personality in general, or if it was directed only at me. I tried not to let it bother me, though. Not that long ago, I wasn’t easy to get close to, either. We all had our stories, and I didn’t know hers or what made her that way.

  Marco returned about fifteen minutes later. He frowned disapprovingly at my plate, which still had plenty of food on it. “You’ve barely eaten.”

  “I will eat more later. Your mother understands. I told her.”

  Sofia didn’t translate, but Elena must’ve understood some of what I said because she got up and kissed my face with loud “muah” sounds before she began to clear the table. I stood too and began to pitch in.

  “No! Non pensare nemmeno a muovere un dito!” Marco’s mother shook her finger at me and took the dishe
s from my hands.

  It didn’t take a translator to get the gist.

  “I want to help,” I said with a laugh and reached to take the dishes from her.

  “No!” She lightly smacked my hand like I was a toddler getting into something I shouldn’t.

  Marco held onto my shoulders. “She will not let you help, at least not today. Tomorrow she may put you to work. It does not matter anyway. I have plans for you before you go to Giovanni’s.”

  I peered at him over my shoulder. “What kind of plans?”

  Instead of answering, he asked his sister to watch the kids again. Sofia happily agreed. In a matter of minutes, Marco had me bundled into my coat and in the passenger’s seat of a shiny blue Maserati.

  “Where are you taking me, Manserati?”

  “Mangini. I am taking you to see a doctor.”

  I blinked. “But today is a holiday. They’re open?”

  “No, but Dr. Battista agreed to meet with us anyway.”

  I stared at his profile. “Marco, this is really unnecessary, and a waste of money and time. I told you I’m fine.”

  He reached for my hand and enclosed it in his. “I know what you said, Lydia, but as you have pointed out, you’ve done this a few times before. I have not. I was not here when my sisters and Celia were having their babies. I have no experience in this arena, and I am anxious. So, please just allow me to put my own mind at ease.”

  I gave his hand a squeeze. “Okay.”

  Marco was a pain in the ass, in the best way, but a pain in the ass, nonetheless. He asked the doctor a million questions about what I should eat and how often. He wanted to know how often I should sleep, if I was allowed to sleep on my stomach, if I should be sitting as much as possible, and about sex. Would he hurt the baby? Will flying back to the U.S. have any adverse effects, and when would I start to show? How long before he can hear the heartbeat? Are the old wives’ tales true about how to tell what the sex is?

  When he asked the doctor if there was anything he can “shove up in there” to make sure our baby was safe and everything was okay, I drew a line. I thanked Dr. Battista profusely for his help and for seeing us on a holiday and then forced Marco outside to the car. On the drive back, he rattled on with all kinds of plans.

  “We need to think of baby names, and I don’t want to do one of those gender revelation ceremonies.”

  “Reveal,” I corrected in a murmur.

  “Right. I don’t want one of those. We must begin searching for the safest and best baby furniture and equipment. We will have a nursery, but our baby will sleep with us for the first year. I read somewhere that that is best.”

  “And where will that be?” I asked quietly, stopping his rambling in its tracks.

  He glanced at me. “What do you mean?”

  Marco was on a high, and I didn’t want to burst his bubble, but we’d both been able to temporarily forget about the reality of our situation. We’d have a great few days together, but less than forty-eight hours before we boarded that plane, I’d been ready to walk away from him and do this pregnancy thing on my own.

  “We’re pregnant, and just a few days ago, we weren’t together. I’m hopeful for our future, but I still feel like we’re on shaky ground. We haven’t really resolved anything, we just stopped talking about it.”

  He was quiet for a long time. Minutes and miles rolled by and he was still silent. His face was blank, but I knew he was thinking, I just didn’t know about what. When we pulled onto the narrow road that led us to the Mangini estate, his silence began to make me anxious. Why was he so quiet? What was going through his mind?

  After we parked, he got out and came around to open my door, but when I got out, he met my eyes and finally spoke. “You knew you were pregnant when you were trying to push me away the night of the wedding.”

  “Yes,” I answered carefully.

  “Were you not going to tell me? Were you going to keep my child a secret?”

  I slumped back against the car and shook my head slowly. “No, at least not for long. I was going to tell you later.”

  There was something in his eyes that made me shift uncomfortably, that made me want to lie to him, but I couldn’t do that.

  “How much later, Lydia? Before the child was born? When the child was entering school? How much later?”

  I bit my lip. “I don’t know.”

  There was ice in his tone, tiny sharp shards that stung with his words. “If I had decided to stay in Italy indefinitely, would you have told me then?”

  I closed my eyes for two seconds, sighed, and whispered, “I don’t know.”

  He stared at me for a long time, and I couldn’t look away. His gaze held me there, and the closeness of his body held me there.

  “I didn’t want to think about it,” he admitted, his voice deceptively soft. “But you made me think about it when you said we haven’t resolved anything. I thought we were finally in the same frame of mind, ready to move forward from the past, but you are right.”

  I put as much hope into my voice as I could. “I think we’re in a better place than we were before, and that’s a start.”

  It took him several seconds to answer that, and his next words were a punch to the stomach. “Maybe it only seems we are in a better place because we are ignoring the issues, but I do not believe we are in a better place. I don’t see how we can be in a better place today when three days ago, you were prepared not to include me in our baby’s life.”

  He started to walk away, but I reached for his arm and made him stop and listen. “Don’t walk away. I did tell you about the pregnancy. You know now. Whatever I was prepared to do days ago doesn’t matter anymore because you know. Now I’m prepared to raise this baby with you whether we are together or not. I don’t want to fight with you.”

  “You don’t want to fight with me, but it is you who brought up our unresolved issues. If you did not want to fight, you should have remained silent.” He shook himself from my grasp and marched toward the house, talking to me over his shoulder. “I will drive you to your brunch in a half-hour.”

  I watched his rigid back, inhaling deeply to control my emotions. I didn’t want to cry. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t cry.

  A flicker of movement from a window caught my attention. My gaze fell on Celia. She stood in a large window on the first floor, watching me. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I saw her smiling. Marco pushed open the front door, and after a few seconds, her head turned that way. I saw her lips move and knew she’d said his name.

  I wondered if I’d get out of Italy without ripping her hair out.

  Chapter Eight

  Marco

  I was a maelstrom of emotions as I entered the house. The dichotomy between my joy of two hours ago and the whirlwind of feelings I had now was dizzying. Two hours ago, I found out I was going to be a father, and nothing else mattered. I’d thought of nothing else but the health and safety of Lydia and our baby growing inside her. Conveniently, I’d forgotten about our difficulties. Somehow, I’d managed to put our recent separation out of my mind, as well as the heart-aching discussions we’d had. The discussions where Lydia had tried to sever our ties completely, even though she’d known then that she was pregnant with my child.

  “Marcello.”

  The soft voice penetrated through the thunderclouds in my mind. For the first time, I became aware of Celia’s presence and realized she had called my name at least twice before I’d really heard her. She floated toward me, light on her feet as she’d always been.

  “Celia. Hello.” I kissed her cheek before briefly embracing her.

  Surreptitiously, I inhaled the scent of her hair, a scent that always reminded me of our life together when we were young. She still smelled the same, and that was somehow comforting.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Even with all the festivities, she had mostly kept to her side of the estate. I knew she had her own preparations to do for the big family celebration tonight in
addition to caring for Massimo. So, I was truly surprised to find her in the entrance hall of all places.

  “I am waiting for Maria and Francesca. We are going into town for a little bit of shopping. Are you okay?” Her head tilted slightly to one side as she studied me.

  “Fine. Who is with Massimo?”

  The corners of her mouth turned down. “Your father. You know you can talk to me. We are friends, are we not? In fact, over the past few months, you’ve once again become my best friend.”

  The thin layer of ice surrounding my heart thawed as I met her gaze. “I know, cara.”

  She moved closer and lowered her voice confidentially. “We can talk tonight if you want, like we often do.” Her small hand closed over my forearm. “We always have the best talks late at night, don’t we?”

  I covered her hand with mine and offered her a smile. “Yes, we do.”

  Celia returned the smile, but it faltered as her attention was drawn to something behind me. I peered over my shoulder. Lydia stood just inside the door, watching us, a blank expression on her face. She gave the door a shove, making it slam shut. I pulled away from Celia and started to go to her just as my sisters’ voices floated into the room. Seconds later, they appeared, bundled for the cool weather and the shopping they would be doing at the outside vendors in town. Celia’s oldest son Roberto and his wife Andrea also entered, followed closely by young Carlo. For a couple minutes, there was chaos in the entrance hall, too many voices speaking at once, and my sisters doing what they did best—annoying me with questions and unwanted comments.

  When only Lydia and I remained, neither of us spoke for a moment. She was first to break the strained silence between us. “What was that about?”

  “They’re going shopping.”

  “Not that. What did I walk in on?”

  Not for the first time since bringing her here, I was thankful that Lydia did not understand Italian very well. She probably would have taken my conversation with Celia all wrong. “Nothing important,” I said with a shrug.

  Before she glanced away, I thought I saw a flash of pain in her eyes, but when she looked back at me, it wasn’t there. Maybe it had never been there.