Playboy issues from the fifties.”
Trip rocked back on his heels, nodding. “That mama bear instinct really kicks right in, don’t it?”
Samara looked to Ava. “Could you please call Robin so she can start damage control?” Robin McCall was WKZ’s publicist, and a damn good one at that. She swung her gaze to Paz. “And I need you to get my phone out of the studio. I have some damage control of my own to do.” Despite the men’s prodding, she hadn’t given them details on who had helped her conceive her little gift. They’d know soon enough.
Fuck fear, fuck waiting, and fuck wondering. Luciano needed to hear about her pregnancy from her now and not from some bitter, middle-aged blogger.
“Shit’s about to go down,” Trip murmured.
Samara’s sentiments exactly.
***
“Put your head between your knees and breathe, Luc.”
“Jesus... Lord on high... Oh, God...” Luciano did as Sansone told him, praying the airport would stop spinning at some point.
“You’ve gotta calm down.”
“Easy for you to say!” he yelped, head still bent. “You’re not the one who got someone pregnant!”
“People are staring...” Sansone sung in a low murmur.
Luciano looked up, casting glares around at the onlookers. “Got a problem?”
Several people turned back to whatever it was they’d been doing. All he could hear was Sansone’s sigh right before Brian rushed toward them, a bottle of water in his hand. “I managed to get you a flight for noon. Boarding begins in fifteen minutes.” He handed Luciano the bottle and his boarding pass. “Terminal B21 just down the left corridor. The flight should take no more than an hour.” It had been Luciano’s idea to hop a plane to New York as soon as possible. Sansone had tried to talk him out of it, saying driving would be a sensible option, but Luciano wasn’t feeling sensible and of course Brian, ever loyal, rolled with the punches.
Luciano looked to his PA. “When I get back, I’m sending you and Antonio someplace where you can frolic in Speedos to your heart’s content.”
Brian winced. “Speedos chafe. We try to stick to trunks, unless of course the beach is a nu—”
“And we’re so done with this conversation,” Sansone cut in. “How about we worry about what the fuck you’re going to say to Sammie when you show up on her doorstep, or the fact you should probably call first before actually doing so?”
“Oh, I’m way past a phone call here, Sunny.” He was. He really, honestly, truly was. What was he supposed to say? “Hey, I heard your radio broadcast and thought you should know I’m completely fine with your hiding our love-child from me. Wanna spend the day on Coney Island?”
No. See, rationality had fled Luciano the moment it sank in that he was just a few short months away from being a father. A father. He was going to have some pint-sized troublemaker depending on his every move, every choice. Pressure much? This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have without being able to look Samara in the face. He needed to see her...them...whatever. Needed to know if she was happy about this or not. Needed to know if he should be happy about this or not.
“What do I look like trying to raise anybody ? I’m still raising myself .” Luciano grimaced as those words— his words—came back as an echo in his skull, his most recent news shitting allover them. He didn’t have much of a choice but to grow up, and quickly,now, did he? No. No, he didn’t. Was that why Samara hadn’t told him? Did she think he wasn’t responsible enough to handle a kid?
His shoulders tensed as another
Trip rocked back on his heels, nodding. “That mama bear instinct really kicks right in, don’t it?”
Samara looked to Ava. “Could you please call Robin so she can start damage control?” Robin McCall was WKZ’s publicist, and a damn good one at that. She swung her gaze to Paz. “And I need you to get my phone out of the studio. I have some damage control of my own to do.” Despite the men’s prodding, she hadn’t given them details on who had helped her conceive her little gift. They’d know soon enough.
Fuck fear, fuck waiting, and fuck wondering. Luciano needed to hear about her pregnancy from her now and not from some bitter, middle-aged blogger.
“Shit’s about to go down,” Trip murmured.
Samara’s sentiments exactly.
***
“Put your head between your knees and breathe, Luc.”
“Jesus... Lord on high... Oh, God...” Luciano did as Sansone told him, praying the airport would stop spinning at some point.
“You’ve gotta calm down.”
“Easy for you to say!” he yelped, head still bent. “You’re not the one who got someone pregnant!”
“People are staring...” Sansone sung in a low murmur.
Luciano looked up, casting glares around at the onlookers. “Got a problem?”
Several people turned back to whatever it was they’d been doing. All he could hear was Sansone’s sigh right before Brian rushed toward them, a bottle of water in his hand. “I managed to get you a flight for noon. Boarding begins in fifteen minutes.” He handed Luciano the bottle and his boarding pass. “Terminal B21 just down the left corridor. The flight should take no more than an hour.” It had been Luciano’s idea to hop a plane to New York as soon as possible. Sansone had tried to talk him out of it, saying driving would be a sensible option, but Luciano wasn’t feeling sensible and of course Brian, ever loyal, rolled with the punches.
Luciano looked to his PA. “When I get back, I’m sending you and Antonio someplace where you can frolic in Speedos to your heart’s content.”
Brian winced. “Speedos chafe. We try to stick to trunks, unless of course the beach is a nu—”
“And we’re so done with this conversation,” Sansone cut in. “How about we worry about what the fuck you’re going to say to Sammie when you show up on her doorstep, or the fact you should probably call first before actually doing so?”
“Oh, I’m way past a phone call here, Sunny.” He was. He really, honestly, truly was. What was he supposed to say? “Hey, I heard your radio broadcast and thought you should know I’m completely fine with your hiding our love-child from me. Wanna spend the day on Coney Island?”
No. See, rationality had fled Luciano the moment it sank in that he was just a few short months away from being a father. A father. He was going to have some pint-sized troublemaker depending on his every move, every choice. Pressure much? This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have without being able to look Samara in the face. He needed to see her...them...whatever. Needed to know if she was happy about this or not. Needed to know if he should be happy about this or not.
“What do I look like trying to raise anybody ? I’m still raising myself .” Luciano grimaced as those words— his words—came back as an echo in his skull, his most recent news shitting allover them. He didn’t have much of a choice but to grow up, and quickly,now, did he? No. No, he didn’t. Was that why Samara hadn’t told him? Did she think he wasn’t responsible enough to handle a kid?
His shoulders tensed as another
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