crouch at her side. “You made a mistake, but it’s over
now. You should be looking at this as a new beginning—the next chapter. You’re
only thirty-five, chica. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”
Yep. A whole
year. Two, at most. Awesome. At least the press—and Carlo—wouldn’t have her to
kick around for long. Unbeknownst to any of them, she had an expiration date.
Her insides kinked up, blocking any food from moving down her gullet.
“I think I’ll go
back upstairs,” she mumbled and pushed the tray toward her thighs. “I’m not as
hungry as I thought I was.”
“Oh, sweetie,
I’m sorry.” Justin clutched her hand and squeezed. “I didn’t mean to rush you.
Take all the time you need to heal before we talk about your future. You know
you can stay here forever, if that’s what you want. Tony and I love having you
with us.” He cast a glance up at his partner. “Right, Tony?”
“Absolutely,” the
big guy exclaimed. “You know we love you.”
Forcing a smile,
she called on her all acting skills to lie outright. “I’m not upset, guys. I’m
just more tired than I originally thought.”
Justin clucked
his tongue. “I knew it was a mistake to let you watch the coverage.”
Hmm... Maybe her
lack of work had rusted her acting skills. Still, no way would she allow him to
hold, “I told you so,” over her head. Pulling the food tray close again, she
replied, “On second thought, I am hungry. I should probably stick around
for a while.”
“Christ, you’re
stubborn.” Justin straightened and glared over her.
She speared a
zucchini slice with the fork and slid it between her smiling lips. “Mmm…” The
morsel lay on her tongue like a hot coal, thanks to the acid roiling over Carlo’s
stint on the entertainment show. On a humungous gulp, she swallowed, then
fought back tears when the vegetable tried to reverse direction in her throat.
I will not throw
up, she insisted silently. I’ll keep this down if it kills me .
“Delicious, as always. You know, binky, if you ever tire of the antiques biz,
you’d make a great chef.”
His still
furious expression communicated how little sway her compliment held with him.
Okay, now what?
Maybe move on to a safer topic. “You’ll make a good daddy one day. How goes the
baby hunt?”
Tony sighed with
all the drama of a diva.
Justin’s open
anger deteriorated into melancholy as he sank onto the sofa beside his partner.
“We’re on a few waiting lists.”
“But let’s face
it.” Tony’s expression contorted with misery. “We’ll be ready for the old age
home before we ever see a baby.”
Justin patted Tony’s
jean-clad thigh. “Then we’ll just have to spoil the nieces and nephews Belle
gives us.”
In mid-swallow,
she choked. Sputtering to clear her throat, she waved a frantic hand. “Boy,
have you got the wrong girl,” she finally rasped.
“You’re just
saying that because you’re still hung up on Carlo and your career,” Justin said
with a know-it-all air that, under normal circumstances would have burned her.
“Give yourself time. Once you begin a new life with smart goals, you’ll find
someone who really loves you and whammo! The house with the white picket fence,
kids, and requisite golden retriever will fall into your lap.”
Bitter regret
tainted her taste buds, and she pushed the dinner tray away—for good this time.
She’d never thought about having a family. But now, knowing her diagnosis made
such a dream impossible, she allowed herself a few minutes to mourn the loss.
“I’d make a lousy mother,” she told herself to stop the pity party in its
tracks. “I didn’t exactly have the best example of stellar parenting.”
An
understatement. Sophia Fichetti drank too much, smoked too much, slept around
too much, and pimped out her daughter to foot the bills—professionally and personally, when required.
“All the more
reason you’ll be a great mom someday,” Justin replied,
now. You should be looking at this as a new beginning—the next chapter. You’re
only thirty-five, chica. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”
Yep. A whole
year. Two, at most. Awesome. At least the press—and Carlo—wouldn’t have her to
kick around for long. Unbeknownst to any of them, she had an expiration date.
Her insides kinked up, blocking any food from moving down her gullet.
“I think I’ll go
back upstairs,” she mumbled and pushed the tray toward her thighs. “I’m not as
hungry as I thought I was.”
“Oh, sweetie,
I’m sorry.” Justin clutched her hand and squeezed. “I didn’t mean to rush you.
Take all the time you need to heal before we talk about your future. You know
you can stay here forever, if that’s what you want. Tony and I love having you
with us.” He cast a glance up at his partner. “Right, Tony?”
“Absolutely,” the
big guy exclaimed. “You know we love you.”
Forcing a smile,
she called on her all acting skills to lie outright. “I’m not upset, guys. I’m
just more tired than I originally thought.”
Justin clucked
his tongue. “I knew it was a mistake to let you watch the coverage.”
Hmm... Maybe her
lack of work had rusted her acting skills. Still, no way would she allow him to
hold, “I told you so,” over her head. Pulling the food tray close again, she
replied, “On second thought, I am hungry. I should probably stick around
for a while.”
“Christ, you’re
stubborn.” Justin straightened and glared over her.
She speared a
zucchini slice with the fork and slid it between her smiling lips. “Mmm…” The
morsel lay on her tongue like a hot coal, thanks to the acid roiling over Carlo’s
stint on the entertainment show. On a humungous gulp, she swallowed, then
fought back tears when the vegetable tried to reverse direction in her throat.
I will not throw
up, she insisted silently. I’ll keep this down if it kills me .
“Delicious, as always. You know, binky, if you ever tire of the antiques biz,
you’d make a great chef.”
His still
furious expression communicated how little sway her compliment held with him.
Okay, now what?
Maybe move on to a safer topic. “You’ll make a good daddy one day. How goes the
baby hunt?”
Tony sighed with
all the drama of a diva.
Justin’s open
anger deteriorated into melancholy as he sank onto the sofa beside his partner.
“We’re on a few waiting lists.”
“But let’s face
it.” Tony’s expression contorted with misery. “We’ll be ready for the old age
home before we ever see a baby.”
Justin patted Tony’s
jean-clad thigh. “Then we’ll just have to spoil the nieces and nephews Belle
gives us.”
In mid-swallow,
she choked. Sputtering to clear her throat, she waved a frantic hand. “Boy,
have you got the wrong girl,” she finally rasped.
“You’re just
saying that because you’re still hung up on Carlo and your career,” Justin said
with a know-it-all air that, under normal circumstances would have burned her.
“Give yourself time. Once you begin a new life with smart goals, you’ll find
someone who really loves you and whammo! The house with the white picket fence,
kids, and requisite golden retriever will fall into your lap.”
Bitter regret
tainted her taste buds, and she pushed the dinner tray away—for good this time.
She’d never thought about having a family. But now, knowing her diagnosis made
such a dream impossible, she allowed herself a few minutes to mourn the loss.
“I’d make a lousy mother,” she told herself to stop the pity party in its
tracks. “I didn’t exactly have the best example of stellar parenting.”
An
understatement. Sophia Fichetti drank too much, smoked too much, slept around
too much, and pimped out her daughter to foot the bills—professionally and personally, when required.
“All the more
reason you’ll be a great mom someday,” Justin replied,
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