A Natural Father

by Sarah Mayberry

  Her mother had sacrificed so much to give her and Rosie a good home, and now she was sacrificing again to support Lucy’s unplanned pregnancy.

  Lucy shoved her chair back so sharply it screeched across the timber floor.

  She had to convince the people at the bank that she was a good risk. Somehow she had to push the business into the next phase, and she had to look after herself and her baby without leaning on her mother. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t the kind of daughter Lucy wanted to be. She remembered how proud she’d felt when she and Rosie had presented their mother with the lush, expensive Italian wool coat. Sophia’s eyes had lit up then filled with tears when she’d understood that the beautiful garment was hers, a token of her daughters’ esteem and affection.

  That was the kind of daughter Lucy wanted to be—the kind of daughter who gave instead of took, the kind of daughter who could give her mother the retirement she deserved after all her hard years of work.

  Lucy ran a hand through her hair and let her breath hiss out between her teeth, wishing she could release her tension as easily. She had her business papers in order and her best suit was hanging at the ready—even though she had to use a couple of safety pins and leave the zipper down to get the skirt on. As long as she didn’t take her jacket off, no one would ever know.

  “They’ll listen,” Lucy said out loud, trying to convince herself. “They’ll see my vision. They have to.”

  “First sign of madness, you know,” Rosie said from behind her, and Lucy started.

  “For Pete’s sake!” she said, one hand pressed to her chest. “Have you been taking lessons from Ma or something?”

  “I knocked,” Rosie said, gesturing toward the door that connected the flat to the kitchen of the main house. “You were too busy talking to yourself to hear me.”

  Lucy punched her sister on the arm. “That’s for scaring the living daylights out of me.”

  Rosie rubbed her arm. “If you weren’t knocked up, you’d be in so much trouble right now,” she said. “But even a lawyer has to draw the line at taking on a pregnant woman.”

  “Very noble of you.”

  “I’m good like that. You coming in to watch Desperate Housewives with us?” she asked.

  Lucy shot a look toward her laptop. She had her accounts in order, but her nerves demanded she go over them one last time, just to be sure.

  “I think I’ve got too much work to do,” she said.

  Rosie’s face immediately creased with concern. “Everything okay? You’re all good for the bank?”

  “Sure. No problems,” Lucy said, careful to keep her voice casual.

  “I can still cancel my afternoon appointment and come with you,” Rosie said.

  While a part of Lucy wanted her support more than anything, she knew she had to do this alone. The whole point of getting the loan and growing the business was to become more independent and self-sufficient. Lucy didn’t want to be a charity case for the rest of her life. She owed her baby a better start than that.

  “It’s all good. Really. I’ve already ironed my shirt and everything,” she said.

  Rosie looked like she wanted to argue some more, so Lucy said the first thing that popped into her head.

  “Hey, guess who’s back in town? Dominic Bianco. Saw him at the market this morning.”

  As she’d hoped, her sister stopped frowning and got a salacious, speculative look in her eye. Rosie had always had a thing for Dom Bianco.

  “How long was he away? And is he as hot as ever?” Rosie asked.

  “Six months. And he looks the same as always,” Lucy said.

  “Ow. Must have been some divorce that he needed six months time-out to recover,” Rosie said with a wince. “Nice to know he hasn’t lost his looks, though. Tell me, does he still wear those tight little jeans?”

  “At this point I feel honor-bound to remind you that you’re a married woman.”

  “I can still admire from a distance. And Dominic Bianco is worth admiring. Those cheekbones. And those black eyes of his. And that body.” Rosie fanned herself theatrically.

  “Careful or I’m going to have to hose you down.”

  “How can you look at that man and not have sweaty, carnal thoughts?”

  “Um, because I’m four months pregnant,” Lucy said, “and about to become a walking whale?”

  “Irrelevant.”

  “Maybe he’s not my type.”

  “You have twenty-twenty vision and a pulse, and you’re pregnant so it proves you’re heterosexual. He’s your type. Next,” Rosie said, wiggling her fingers in a gimme-more gesture.

  Lucy frowned. She’d never seriously given the matter much thought before. In fact, she’d never really paid much attention to Dominic, truth be told. He’d been married until recently, and she’d been living with Marcus, and Rosie had always had a thing for him—he’d been out of bounds for a bunch of reasons, really. And Lucy wasn’t the kind of person who got off on lusting after the forbidden.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I never let myself notice,” she said finally.

  “Ha!” Rosie said triumphantly. “I knew it!”

  “You want to share what you know? ’Cause I’m still in the dark here.”

  “You have the hots for him. Only someone who really has the hots for someone would completely block out the other person’s attractiveness like that. And The Bianco definitely qualifies as attractive. The man is a god. Sex on legs. H-O-T.”

  “Okay, I got it.” Lucy shook her head at both her sister’s convoluted logic and her use of her teen code name for Dom. “Is this the kind of argument you try on in court, by the way? Do judges buy this crap?”

  “It’s the only explanation,” Rosie said, crossing her arms smugly over her chest.

  “Really? How about this—you’ve been hot for Dom for so many years that you’re trying to live vicariously through me?”

  Rosie cocked her head. “Hmmm. That’s not bad.”

  They both laughed.

  “You’re a dirty birdy,” Lucy said, reaching out and tugging on her sister’s shoulder-length hair.

  “Thank you. I do try.” Rosie turned toward the door. “Sure you’re not up for ice cream and Housewives?”

  Lucy bit her lip, tempted now that she’d let go of some of her anxiety. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t already gone over and over her application. “What flavor have you got?”

  “New York cheesecake and macadamia toffee,” Rosie said.

  Lucy slung an arm around her sister’s neck. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” she said, planting a kiss on her sister’s cheek.

  “You, my dear, are an ice-cream hussy,” Rosie said. Then she slung her arm around Lucy’s fast-disappearing waist and kissed her back. “Love you, too.”

  * * *

  LATER THAT NIGHT, Rosie finished smoothing moisturizer into her face as she sat in bed. She dropped her hands into her lap, her thoughts on her sister. Lucy was so strong and bright and determined, but Rosie couldn’t help worrying about her. It was part of the job description of elder sister, but it also came down to simple empathy. Her sister was in a tough situation and Rosie would feel for any woman faced with the same challenges. The difference was, Lucy was her sister, and Rosie had a lifetime of feeling responsible for her to add to her natural sympathy. It made her want to move mountains for her, even though she knew her sister was determined to stand on her own two feet.

  If only Marcus wasn’t such a loser. It wasn’t the first time Rosie had had the thought, and it wouldn’t be the last. From the moment she’d met him she’d spotted him for what he was—a moocher, content to pursue his “art” while someone else footed the bill for all the everyday things like food, water, shelter. That someone else had been Lucy for so many years that Rosie had almost gone crazy biting her tongue. And now Marcus had shown his true colors and bailed on her sister when she needed him the most.

  What an asshole. Lucy deserved so much better.

  “What time are the Johnso
ns coming in tomorrow?” Andrew asked as he exited the ensuite bathroom.

  He had stripped down to his boxers, and as usual the sight of his solid, muscular body filled Rosie with a warm sense of comfort and proprietorial pride. He worked hard to stay fit, and she made a point of admiring the results as often as possible because she knew that, like her, he’d been an overweight teen and the ghosts of past shame still lurked in the corners of his mind.

  “Looking fine, Mr. James. Looking fine,” she said, giving him her best leer.

  Andrew struck a few muscleman poses, each more ridiculous than the last. She was laughing her head off by the time he slid into bed beside her.

  “Come here,” he said, sliding an arm around her waist.

  She went willingly, curling close to his big, warm body, her head resting on his shoulder. She wondered for perhaps the millionth time how she’d gotten so lucky. She’d had the hots for Andrew James since she walked into her first common-law lecture at Melbourne University. He’d been sitting in the third row, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He’d glanced up from his notebook, and her brown eyes had met his blue, and the deal had been sealed then and there. He hadn’t even needed to smile, but when he did, she’d literally gone weak at the knees.

  Rosie smiled as she remembered. She hadn’t believed in love at first sight until that moment. Life sure showed her.

  “What are you smiling about?” Andrew asked.

  “Just thinking about the first time I saw you,” she said.

  “That old thing,” he said. “What is it with women, always mythologizing the past?”

  She dug an elbow into his ribs. “Don’t ruin my sentimentality with your man-logic.”

  Her thoughts inevitably clicked to the subject she’d been worrying at before Andrew came through from the bathroom.

  “I wish Lucy could have met someone like you instead of Marcus the moocher,” she said.

  “She’ll be fine. Stop worrying.”

  “I can’t help it. It’s in my genes.”

  “It’s not like she’s in this alone. She’s got Sophia and she’s got us. We’ll all pitch in.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “I know. But it’s close, and it’s more than a lot of people have. Lucy’s a lot tougher than you give her credit for, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Anyway, it’ll be good practice for us, being Uncle Andrew and Aunty Rosie. By the time our own kids come along, I’ll have mastered the whole diaper thing, no problems.”

  She tensed.

  “Wow. I’ll have to tell Lucy you’re volunteering for pooper-scooper duty,” she said.

  She felt his chest rise as though he’d taken a breath to say something, but he didn’t speak. For a moment there was a whole world of not-talked-about stuff hanging in the air between them.

  “Oh, I forgot. The Johnsons. They rebooked for eleven,” she said.

  “Right. Yeah, I’d forgotten,” he said.

  He stretched to the side and clicked off the bedside lamp.

  “Good night,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

  She kissed his chest one last time and slid back to her side of the bed. As much as she’d love to fall asleep on him, she knew she’d just wake up in half an hour with a numb arm.

  The sheets were cool on her side and she stared up at the ceiling, reliving that telltale little hitch in their conversation.

  You have to pay the piper sometime.

  There was a conversation coming, looming on the horizon. She knew that. And it filled her with fear. Because she knew how much Andrew wanted children—and she had no desire at all to be a mother.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ROSIE’S WORDS RETURNED to haunt Lucy as she approached the Bianco Brothers stall at the market the next morning. Dom was at the front of the stand and she was about to call out a greeting when he stooped to lift a box of potatoes. He was wearing a pair of well-worn Levi’s, and the soft denim molded his butt and thighs as he lifted the heavy load. His biceps bulged, visible against the tight cotton of a long-sleeved T-shirt, and Lucy found herself swallowing unexpectedly.

  Then Dom turned and saw her, and his dark eyes lit up and his straight, white teeth flashed as he smiled. His black hair was curly and unruly around his face, and he was tanned from his months in Italy.

  Okay. Maybe Rosie was on to something when she said he was a god, Lucy admitted to herself as she stared at him. Maybe he is attractive.

  “Lucy. Be with you in a minute,” he said, dropping the potatoes onto another customer’s trolley.

  Then he grabbed the hem of his long-sleeved T-shirt and tugged it over his head. Lucy’s eyes widened as she scored an eyeful of tanned, hard belly as whatever he was wearing underneath clung to the top he was removing.

  Okay. Attractive is the wrong word. Sexy. Very, very sexy.

  Lucy dragged her eyes away, frowning.

  She was pregnant. Having a baby. With child. She had no business ogling hot guys at the market. She cursed her sister mentally. This was all Rosie’s doing, planting stupid suggestions in her head. If she hadn’t said all that stuff about Dom last night, there was no way Lucy would be standing here right now feeling like a pervert.

  “How can we help you today?” Dom said, closing the distance between them.

  Lucy smoothed her hands down the sides of her skirt and shook her head slightly to clear it.

  “All the usual staples. Plus I need eggplants and a whole lot of fresh herbs,” she said, consulting her list.

  “May I?” Dom asked. He held out a hand for the list.

  “Sure.”

  She’d given her list to Mr. Bianco a hundred times. So why did it feel different giving it to Dom?

  Damn you, Rosie, and your stupid teen crush.

  “Sorry, did you say something?” Dom asked.

  “No! At least, I don’t think I did,” Lucy said.

  “The eggplants are down here. You want to come check them out?” he asked after a small silence.

  “Sure.” She waited until his back was turned before she hit herself on the forehead with her open palm. Then, just in case her stupid brain hadn’t gotten the message, she slid a hand over the baby bump beneath her suit coat.

  The smooth, taut curve of her belly grounded her in an instant. She was pregnant and scheduled for an important meeting with the bank. Her days of getting goofy over guys were over.

  One hand on her tummy, she followed Dom.

  “Nice and shiny,” Dom said as he showed her the eggplants. “Just the way we like them.”

  “Definitely,” she said.

  She kept her gaze focused on the dark purple vegetables in front of her.

  “I’ll take three boxes,” she said.

  “Not a problem.”

  She stood back as Dom hefted a box from beneath the trestle table, lifting it easily onto her trolley. When all three boxes were stacked neatly, he turned to face her.

  “What next?” There was a smile in his eyes and it quickly spread to his mouth. For the first time she noticed that he had a single dimple in his left cheek.

  Rosie hadn’t mentioned that last night.

  “Um, the herbs,” she said.

  They were about to move to the other end of the stall when Mr. Bianco found them, a clipboard in hand and a frown on his face.

  “Dom, you remember how much onions we order last week? Oh, hello, Lucy. You looking lovely today.”

  For some reason, Dom’s father’s compliment made her blush. Which was stupid. Every morning he said something along the same lines to her. Why should today feel any different to any other time?

  Because you were eyeing up his son like a side of beef five minutes ago? Because all of a sudden a part of you would like to really be looking lovely today?

  She squashed the little voice with a mental boot heel. She really was going to have words with her sister for causing all this crazy, too-aware-of-Dom stuff.

  “Hi, Mr. Bianco,” she said
. “How are you today?”

  “No complaints,” he said, patting his belly complacently. “But I interrupting. I wait.”

  “It’s fine. No worries,” she said, gesturing with her hand that they should go ahead and have their conversation.

  Dom shot her an appreciative look. “Two seconds,” he promised as he turned to talk with his father.

  She moved away a few steps to inspect a pile of zucchini while they talked, but she was aware of lots of hand gesticulating and the frustrated tone of their conversation as father and son discussed something intently.

  “Okay, sorry about that,” Dom said a few minutes later as he rejoined her.

  He was frowning and the smile had gone from his eyes.

  “If there’s a problem, I can wait for one of the other servers to be free,” she said.

  Dom shook his head. “No problem. Just stubborn pigheadedness.”

  “Right.”

  He sighed, and his frown eased a little.

  “You see that clipboard he’s holding? That’s the complete record of our stock on hand for the week,” he said.

  Lucy’s gaze took in the many feet of frontage the Bianco Brothers occupied, all of it filled to overflowing with fresh produce.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  She carried a tiny fraction of the inventory the Biancos did, and she kept it all neatly organized via a simple computer program. She couldn’t even imagine how Mr. Bianco kept track of his stock with paper and pen.

  “It gets worse. He’s the only one who can read his own handwriting. So whenever Vinnie or I or one of the others needs to check on something, we have to find him and get him to interpret for us.”

  “Wow,” Lucy said.

  “Yeah,” Dom said, a world of frustration in his voice.

  “Driving you crazy?” she guessed.

  “Just a little. There’s so much stuff we could be doing. Even having an up-to-date list of what’s available on a Web site would be a huge bonus. We get fifty phone calls a day from customers asking what we’ve got on hand. But Pa thinks that because his way has worked for thirty years, there’s no reason to change.”