Elley Arden - Baby by Design

If he could tell a lot about a person from their furniture, then what did his say about him?

He took a longer drink, draining the bottle on a single breath. How was it possible Trish owned more “Tony Corcarelli Originals” than he did? And what did that say about her?

He didn’t care, couldn’t care. Questions like that put him right back in the middle of senior year, and his high school philosophy elective, which he failed. No. Thank. You. So he stood, stretched and headed back to the kitchen for another beer. With any luck he’d get good and drunk, and forget everything.

Two steps from the fridge, the intercom buzzed.

Tony blinked at the clock above the stove, and then he glanced as his father’s wristwatch, double-checking the time. Nobody would stop by this late. Must be a mistake, or an attempt to get in by somebody who shouldn’t be getting in, so he ignored it, hoping they would move on to another sucker.

The intercom buzzed again.

Maybe it was the beer he’d guzzled while bone tired, but curiosity won out. He crossed the room and hit the button as the buzzer sounded a third time.

“Who is this?” he asked, sounding gruffer than he should, but hey, it was late, and it could still be someone up to no good.

Two heavy breaths echoed over the crackling line. “It’s me, Trish.”

Shit. All he could think about was her standing alone on his dark and dumpy street.

He hit the button extra hard. “Come on. Third floor.” And then he met her on the stairs.

She was wrapped in a bright green raincoat, one that reminded him of the dress she wore to the wedding. Only the raincoat—and boots—covered every inch of flesh, especially when she clutched the collar tight at her neck.

Was it too much to hope for fishnets?

With her eyes wide and lips straight, she glanced up at him. “I hope you don’t mind me stopping by.”

He shrugged, still captured by the vision of her sweeping up his filthy stairs. “I’d say I’m surprised you didn’t call first, but hey, that seems to be the norm around you.” He grinned, and automatically slipped a hand beneath her elbow as she reached the landing. “Is everything okay?”

She blinked, nodded and then exhaled. “I think so.”

An odd reply, odd enough for him to bite his tongue and lead her into his apartment before he asked any more questions. He closed the door behind them, and watched her walk into the center of the living area. She loosened her hold around her coat collar, letting it fall open at her throat. For some reason he stared at the pastel skin, like a man starving for a taste.

She touched a finger there, traced it back and forth along the faint line of bone. “This is…nice,” she said.

“Don’t lie.” He didn’t take his eyes off her finger, toying nervously, slipping in and out of the cover of her collar’s hem. “It’s shit. Certainly not a place for a woman like you.” His voice faltered, scratching over the last few words. He wished he’d time to grab that second bottle of beer.

She flattened her palm against her chest, the tips of three fingers hidden beneath her collar and resting overtop her heart. “Me? Please. I’ve seen worse. And everything has potential. It’s just a matter of seeing beyond the roughness.”

Why did he feel like she was talking about him? His skin tightened and his mouth dried. He rubbed his fingers across the stubble on his jaw, desperate for something to say. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I, uh, probably won’t be staying long. I just wanted you to know that I told Angie I think I’m pregnant.”

He didn’t know which one of her statements bothered him more. One, that she wasn’t planning on staying. Two, that Angie knew. Or three, that Trish thought she was pregnant. He rubbed his hand along his jaw again and then up over his face to his forehead. After a few more rubs, he said the first thing that came to mind. “What did Ange say?”

Trish laughed. “Let’s just say she’s promised to stay out of our business unless I ask for her help.”

Tony didn’t like the idea of Trish asking anyone but him for help, not when it came to their baby, their family, and he would’ve said so if he didn’t realize he was getting way ahead of himself. “Are you pregnant?” He almost couldn’t say the word, not because he didn’t want her to be, but because the idea of her saying no had him breathing with his chest clamped.

“Technically it’s still too soon to tell, but I’m feeling like I am. I don’t know. Maybe I’m imagining it.” She looked at the sofa behind her, and then sat.

He watched her shoulders rise and fall. Nonna wanted him to be happy. Tony wanted Nonna to be happy. Who’d have thought Trish having his baby could be the answer to both?

“If I am pregnant, Angie says you should marry me.” Trish looked at him, those big eyes blazing. “I’m telling you right now that is not what I expect from you. I never expected that. I will go to bat for you with your family, because I know how traditional they can be. So no pressure, ya hear?” She blinked a few times, and then forced a smile.

Ya hear? Under normal circumstances he would have teased her about his lack of proper English rubbing off on her, but hey, they were talking about more than his poor grammar becoming a part of her. They were talking about his child. And marriage. And suddenly, all the silly, flirty games he lived to play whenever she rolled around didn’t hold the same allure.

But marrying her did. If Trish was going to be the mother of his baby, then Angie was right. Tony needed to marry Trish, to give his baby legitimacy, a real last name, a dad who didn’t come around once or twice a year, a dad who taught him how to fish, hold a hammer, stand up for the little guy and take care of the women who meant something, all things Tony’s dad taught him.

His throat closed, but he cleared the way for words with an extra-deep breath. “What if I wanted to marry you?”

She tucked her chin to her chest and furrowed her brow. “Why would you want to do that? I mean, it’s not like I’d ever try to keep you from the baby.” She shrugged. “What’s the benefit of going to such an extreme?”

Of course his juvenile brain jumped right to the honeymoon, causing him to grin.

“I’m serious, Tony. What would marriage do besides placate your family and tie us to a relationship that could get ugly? I don’t want to raise a child with a man I hate.” She stared at him with an intensity he’d come to expect, like she was trying to draw out the truth with a tractor beam radiating from her heart.

He lost the smile and walked toward her. “You could never hate me.” If he had to, he would prove his point.

“It happens to the best of them,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“Did it happen with Stu?” Cards on the table, because the douche had been in and out of Tony’s thoughts for too many days. Once and for all, he wanted to know where he stood.

Trish fidgeted as she loosened the belt around her waist. “No. Not at all. I’m indifferent to Stu. When we broke up, I was sad, but I wasn’t heartbroken. There’s a big difference.”

Tony sat. “Oh yeah, what’s the difference?”

She shuddered when she exhaled. “Sadness is in your head, not in your heart.” And then she tapped a finger to her temple. “The stuff up here can be replaced by other stuff, sellout prices on bolts of fabric, minimum measurements for a master bath, that sort of thing.” Her smile was shaky.

So he smiled back, but then he touched a finger to the slight bulge of her left breast, and neither one of them was smiling anymore. “What about the stuff in here?” he asked, smoothing his finger over the flawless skin. “What can that be replaced with?”

“Nothing,” she said, swallowing loudly. “It just lives on, and on, wishing things could’ve turned out differently.”

Yeah? Well, suddenly Tony wanted to be sure that things would be as different as they could ever be. He slipped his hand into the hair at the base of her head and gently tugged until she opened her mouth. And then he kissed her, erasing all thought of why she’d come and what she’d been doing here. This was all that mattered. He needed her, and if her hands strangling the fabric of his shirt were any indication, she needed him too. And not just to make a baby. Somehow this had turned into so much more.

Tony pushed into her, laying her down, spreading her coat around her body while he worked with his tongue inside her mouth. Wanting her burned him alive, had him squirming in his skin. He fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, yanking and twisting until one broke free and landed on the floor with a tap.

“No worries,” he said, smiling against her lips. “I can fix that. There are benefits to a man who can sew.”

She chuckled, wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her bottom half to his. “After you fix the button, you should fix this couch.”

He reared his head and narrowed his eyes, while his hand slipped beneath silky fabric to her breast. “What’s wrong with this couch?”

“It’s ugly,” she said, hissing as he rolled her nipple, making it hard.

“Just for that, I’m going to keep you here—all night long.”

Never once did she complain.

Trish stood in the Collins’s remodeled kitchen behind a shiny metal island, propping her elbows on the acid-dyed concrete countertop. She scrolled through Google search results for early pregnancy symptoms on her phone. She should’ve had these memorized by now. Spotting? Nope. Cramping? Yep. Tender breasts? She cringed. Oh yes! Tired? Cranky? Nauseated? Check. Check. Check.