“This one looks okay,” she said, running her hands over the plain, unadorned surface of the crib. Actually this plain, boxy little thing was not something she had ever pictured her baby in, but if she wasn’t going to feel beholden to Dante for the rest of her life, instinct told her this was the one to take.
“I rather like this one.” Dante spoke for the first time since they’d entered the store, and both women looked at him in surprise. He was standing beside a crib smaller than the one Kate was gushing over but bigger than the one Cleo had been eyeing.
Truth be told, it was perfect—not too small and not too ostentatious either. She knew what he was doing; he was trying to help, without flaunting his obvious ability to buy the most expensive and best. He was allowing her some measure of pride and independence, and she was grateful to him for that. But a cynical part of her brain hissed that if he didn’t want to flaunt his ability to buy the most expensive, then maybe he shouldn’t have brought her to this snooty upmarket store.
She walked over to the crib while he examined its lines and tested its durability with a keen masculine eye. He asked Kate about the toxicity of the varnish they used and other technical questions that wouldn’t have occurred to Cleo. The girl’s answers seemed to satisfy him, because he nodded approvingly with each of her replies before turning back to Cleo.
“It’s sturdy,” he informed her quietly before testing the catches. “And the rail isn’t likely to come down accidentally. The baby should be safe in here.”
“Hmm,” she murmured thoughtfully, pretending to consider, even though he’d sold her on it already. “It’s pretty too. I love the little pixies and fairies carved into the head- and footboards, as well as the mobile.” She touched the colourful mobile, which swayed at her touch. The mobile consisted of winged fairies and cavorting pixies and elves.
“I like this one,” she told Kate, who jumped to attention and enthused over their “wise choice.”
“This particular model comes in teak, oak, and pine. Obviously the price varies according to the wood you choose. Which would you prefer?”
Cleo considered the choices, while Kate pulled out a catalog to show her the difference in the wood.
“Teak.” She ran her finger over the carvings in the headboard of the crib and thought of her own bed. She liked the idea of them matching, and she pictured Nan sleeping contentedly in this crib and smiled. Kate practically vibrated with excitement as she wrote down the details of the order and then took them toward the changing tables.
“That was an excellent choice, Dante. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it at first.” He looked pleased with her praise and grinned like a little boy.
“You think so?”
“Yes. Thank you. And it has given me an idea for the nursery. What do you think of a fairy-tale motif?”
Dante hesitated, a little surprised that she’d asked for his opinion. He didn’t want to do anything that could spoil what was turning out to be a pretty good day . . . but he really had to tell her what he thought of this idea of fairies.
“You want my honest opinion?” he asked. They were both ignoring poor Kate’s frantic attempts to get their attention, while Cleo lowered her eyelashes and pretended to consider his question.
“Honesty would be appreciated,” she said demurely.
“What if it’s a boy?” he asked. “You can’t seriously want to surround the kid with fairies and pixies? That’s girlie stuff!”
“No, it’s not!” she argued, quite affronted by this view. “Fairies and pixies sometimes have a dangerous air to them, and they’re appealing to a child of any sex. If it’s a boy and he wants to change his room later, that would be entirely up to him.” He didn’t respond; instead he gazed at her impassively.
Cleo couldn’t read his expression and wasn’t certain of his mood, especially since he was wearing dark glasses to hide part of his shiner. His lips thinned and he sighed quietly.
“Must you argue? You seem to forget that you asked for my opinion,” he said gravely. “Cleo, sometimes you can be so damned . . .”
“Frustrating?” she supplied with a sympathetic nod.
“No.”
“Annoying?” she guessed, and he gave her the Look, which shut her up immediately. He really was so super anal about her finishing his sentences.
“Cute,” he said with playful smile, and shocked the hell right out of her. “Sometimes you can be so damned cute.”
“Oh.” Well, how else was she supposed to respond to that? “Are you flirting with me?” She really couldn’t tell. Dante Damaso did nothing conventionally.
“What if I were?” he asked speculatively, and she pondered over that for a moment.
“I’d tell you to stop,” she finally replied. “It’s weird.”
“Maybe I’m wooing you,” he said.
“To what end?”
“You know what,” he countered, confirming her worst fear.
“Well, stop it at once. I gave you my answer Friday night. It’s not just a no, it’s a hell no.” As if she would marry a man who didn’t love her.
“Okay,” he said so casually that she blinked at him uncertainly. His response was unexpectedly easygoing, and it threw her a little.
“I’m assuming you have the accompanying pieces to this crib.” He directed the comment to Kate, who’d been watching their exchange with interest.
“Uh. Yes. Of course.” She was just way too enthusiastic. Cleo wished the woman would tone it down a bit. She was starting to develop a headache and was questioning the wisdom of coming out so soon after the accident. Her entire body ached, from her shoulders on down. She followed the other two a little sluggishly, and when Kate told them that the matching changing table and dresser were must-haves, she found herself unable to argue with the woman.
A stroller, a baby bouncer, a rocking chair, and a car seat later, Cleo—deciding new clothes could wait another day or two—pleaded exhaustion, and Dante, who was also looking a bit pale and peaked, agreed that it was best to head home. She went straight up to bed when they got home and fell asleep almost instantly.
Her sleep was restless and filled with disturbing dreams, and when she awoke hours later, it was to an even worse headache. She took a warm bath to try and relax her muscles and ease her tension, and it seemed to work to a certain extent. Her headache had definitely diminished enough for her to face going downstairs to dinner.
Dante was in the kitchen, cooking something that smelled divine. He smiled when he saw her.
“I hope you’re hungry,” he said, and she sat down at the island to watch him. The scene was reminiscent of that first night he’d cooked for her.
“I could eat.”
“I made some paella, my second stepmother’s recipe. That woman was a genius in the kitchen, which was great, since none of the old man’s other wives bothered. They thought cooking was beneath them, and they married a rich man so cooking was something the chef did.”
He was unusually forthcoming tonight, and Cleo rested her cheek in the palm of her hand and idly traced the pattern of veins on the marble countertop.
“Did you like any of your stepmothers?”
“That one, Stepmom Number Two? She was my favorite. Taught me a thing or two about cooking. The rest were just . . .” His voice faded as he thought about it. “I don’t know, interchangeable maybe. After Number Two, I stopped trying to get to know them.”
“Did you act out?” Cleo asked, thinking of her own rebellious years.
“I was a good kid, got the best grades and stayed out of trouble. I didn’t have many friends. I still don’t.” And he’d lost one of his best friends because of her, Cleo thought, swallowing past a lump in her throat. “It was only when I hit puberty that I started getting into fights, and my father thought it best for me to take boxing classes in order to channel that aggression. It worked. One of his more sound parental decisions.”
“Do you get along with him?” she asked.
“We get
along now. He wasn’t too happy when I decided to stay here. However, since I’ve made a success of the business, he’s back in the black and able to fund his current wife-to-be, Carmen’s, spendthrift ways. So he’s come to accept the idea. I love him, he’s my papa, but we’re not friends. If we go a year or more without seeing each other, both of us are fine with that. We’re both happy with a few Skype sessions a year.”
“That’s sad.”
“I don’t think so,” he said with a little shrug. “It’s life. Sometimes we get along with our parents, and sometimes we don’t.”
Her hand went to her abdomen, and she silently promised her child better than that. Dante’s eyes followed her hand to her stomach, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly.
“I would want a different relationship with her,” he said softly. “I didn’t know this at first, Cleo, but I do know it now. I want to be a real father to Nan, and I don’t want her to go through the turmoil of numerous stepparents. Just us. Her mother and father.”
“What you’re proposing is a cold and cynical arrangement that will result in a cold and cynical environment unsuited for raising a child. Please don’t bring this up again. I don’t want to marry you, and I know that it’s not what you want either. Not really.”
“I’ve come to . . .” He hesitated, clearly picking his words carefully. “I’ve come to like and respect you, Cleo, and I do think we can have a good marriage together.”
“Oh my God.” She jumped up and planted her hands on her hips. “That’s not enough, Dante! I don’t want good. I want amazing; I want fantastic; I want blissful. I want love, and you can’t give that to me.”
“Who says I can’t?” His handsome face was a study in frustration and building anger. Cleo gasped at his words and pinned him with a glare.
“Don’t you dare,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare treat me with such condescension and downright contempt, Dante. I’m not an idiot, so don’t even think about going down that road. I don’t need the ‘someday we might come to love each other’ speech. I don’t want to hear it. It’s insulting.”
“This isn’t easy for me either, Cleo,” he snapped. “I’m trying my damnedest to think of ways we can make this work for both of us, and you’re not making it easy.”
“I’m not talking about this again,” she maintained, rolling her aching shoulders as she headed back toward the staircase.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t feel like doing this with you right now,” she said. “I’m headed back to my room.”
“You haven’t eaten.”
“I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Cleo, you should eat for the baby’s sake.”
“Dante, I can’t sit at that table with you and pretend that every-thing is just fine. I wish to God that I’d never agreed to live here with you. It was a dumb decision that has already cost me my pride, my independence, and my brother.” He flinched and went as white as a sheet at the last two words, but Cleo refused to feel any guilt over it. It was time Dante Damaso accepted that, for once, he wasn’t going to get his way.
She was sitting on her bed, listlessly clicking through the multitude of channels available on the wall-mounted large-screen television, when a sharp knock sounded on her door. She ignored it and sighed impatiently when the door swung open despite her lack of response. Dante stepped in and placed a loaded tray on her dresser before leaving without saying a word.
Cleo couldn’t ignore the heavenly aromas and got off the bed to investigate the contents. There was a small bowl of salad beside a plate laden with delicious-looking seafood paella and a slice of rich, moist chocolate cake on a side plate. He had also been thoughtful enough to include a silver carafe of cold water. Cleo’s mouth watered. She dragged over a chair and sat right at the dresser and scarfed down half of the paella and salad in one go. It was absolutely perfect.
Definitely one of the perks of living with Dante was his cooking; the man loved being in the kitchen, and it showed in the meals he prepared. After polishing off her meal, she practically inhaled the cake, which was absolutely delicious, and there was no doubt in her mind that it had been baked by Dante.
After finishing, she considered going downstairs to thank him, but the thought of going another round with him was mentally exhausting, so she sent him a thank-you text instead.
You’re welcome. Glad you enjoyed it.
His response was almost immediate. She contemplated sending him a smiley face or something in return but decided to leave it at that. Ten minutes went by before her phone buzzed again.
Want to watch Star Trek with me?
It was the equivalent of a white flag, since Star Trek had become kind of an in-joke between them, but she didn’t think she could face him again tonight.
No thanks. Tired. Going to sleep.
Good night.
She decided not to respond to his “Good night” and curled up on her bed, her hand on her little bump. Nan shifted gently beneath her touch, and Cleo smiled before falling asleep with the TV still on.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
She awoke with a gasp. The TV was on, playing quietly in the background, the light flickering in the darkened room.
Something’s wrong. She tried to push herself up and nearly doubled over in pain. This wasn’t right. She tried to stand again, and this time succeeded for a few seconds before her knees buckled, and she groaned as excruciating pain knifed through her abdomen.
“No,” she moaned. She braced her palm on the night table and pushed herself up again, managing to keep her balance as she hugged the wall all the way to the bathroom. It was only when she got into the brightly lit room that she saw she was bleeding. The horror of the realization impacted her like a freight train, and she sat down on the commode as she tried to wrap her head around what was happening.
“Dante.” His name was just a whisper, as her breath was stolen from her by another sharp pain. She gritted her teeth and clung to the basin beside the commode. After the pain had passed, she managed to inhale; Dante’s name emerged on the exhalation. This time it was a scream.
Dante sat up with a frown; he’d fallen asleep while watching the movie and was still sitting in the living room. He focused his bleary gaze on his watch face and saw that it was after three in the morning. He must have been more tired than he thought. He rolled his shoulders and his neck, working the kinks out, when he heard Cleo scream.
Unnerved by the fear he heard in her voice, he was up the stairs mere seconds later and in her room in under a minute.
“Cleo?” he called, alarmed when he stepped into the room and she was nowhere to be found. He heard sobs coming from the bathroom and dashed to it only to stop at the door at the scene that met his eyes.
There was so much blood. Violent red smeared the white tiles of the floor. Cleo was bent double on the commode, clutching her arms to her middle and rocking back and forth.
She lifted her tear-stained face to his as he entered the room.
“Make it stop,” she pleaded, her voice weak. “Please make it stop.”
Swallowing down the fear and panic clawing its way up through his throat, he grabbed a towel and knelt in front of her.
“It’s okay, dulzura; it’s okay. I’ll take care of you. It will be fine.” He handed her the wadded-up towel. “Use this to stop the bleeding while I call an ambulance.”
“Don’t leave me,” she begged as he turned to exit the room.
“Just to the next room to get your phone. I’ll be back in a second,” he promised. Her phone was on the night table beside the bed, and he quickly dialed emergency services, then found the number for her OB/GYN and told her to meet them at the hospital. When he returned to the bathroom, Cleo was clutching the already blood-soaked towel between her legs. He grabbed more and held out a fresh one to her.
This was too much blood. Cleo could go into shock. Feeling helpless for the first time in his life, Dante tried to think logically. He needed to keep her
warm. He ran back into the room and tugged the comforter off the bed and came back moments later to wrap it around her.
“Why is this happening?” she wondered dazedly. “Am I being punished because I didn’t want her at first? I want her. I want her so much, Dante!”
“I know, dulzura, I want her too. She’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Just stay strong for me, okay?”
He gathered Cleo into his arms, comforter and all, and sank down onto the bathroom floor with her head tucked beneath his chin. She was trembling, a delicate armful of woman, and he just wanted to hold her close and keep her safe.
Cleo and Dante lost their baby at six thirty that morning. Cleo stared at Dr. Klein in horror as the grim-faced woman told them the news. She heard fragments of sentences.
Placental abruption . . . possibly caused by the accident . . . early labor . . . autopsy . . . couldn’t be helped . . . just one of those things.
Just one of those things.
Her baby had been taken from her, and she felt hollow, but it was just one of those things. One of those silly things that happened for no reason. She was empty inside now, and while she watched the doctor’s lips move, she heard nothing further. She didn’t want to hear.
Dante was still here. Hovering. Why was he still here? He could leave now. His sole reason for being in her life was gone, and he didn’t have to be here. She didn’t have the will or the energy to tell him that now. She just wished they would leave her alone. She needed to be alone.
“Cleo, do you want to say good-bye?” Dr. Klein’s voice intruded into her roiling thoughts. Grateful that they were finally leaving, she nodded numbly.
“Yes, good-bye.” But they didn’t leave. Instead, someone else came into the room. A woman. And in her arms she held . . .
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