A Natural Father

by Sarah Mayberry

  “So am I.”

  They held each other so tight it hurt. She didn’t ever want to let go. Andrew kissed her temple, her cheek, her nose, her mouth. She kissed the tears on his face, rubbed her cheek against the stubble of his beard.

  “I love you so much,” she said.

  “I love you, too. Let’s never do this again,” he said.

  She hiccupped out a laugh and he pulled her into his lap. She sniffed back fresh tears and made an effort to pull herself together. Andrew had come to the party, and it was time for her to step up, too.

  “I’m going to go see someone,” she said. “Lucy knows a counselor. I think maybe I have some things to work out.”

  She could almost hear him thinking, processing what she was saying.

  “Is this something you want to do alone or together?” he asked.

  She squeezed him tighter and pressed her face into the angle of his neck.

  “Together and alone, maybe. Depending on how screwed up I am.”

  “You’re one of the most together people I know,” he said.

  “At the moment, that’s not saying much.”

  He tilted her chin up with his finger and kissed her fiercely.

  “Whatever it takes,” he said.

  She stared into his face, so beloved and precious to her.

  “Yes. Whatever it takes,” she said.

  They both blinked as the overhead light flicked on. Lucy stood in the doorway to her bedroom, squinting against the brightness of the light.

  “Andrew. Thank God. I thought it was either thieves or Rosie was talking in her sleep,” she said.

  The concerned look left her face as she took in the way they were sitting.

  “Anyway. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Sorry. As you were.”

  “Thanks, Luce,” Rosie said. She hoped her sister understood the world of gratitude the single word represented.

  Lucy waved a dismissive hand, then flicked off the light and retreated to her bedroom.

  “Is there room on this couch for two,” Andrew asked, “or should we go back to the house?”

  It was a no-brainer. “The house.”

  She wanted to be in her own bed, with her husband beside her.

  She felt his thighs flex beneath her, then he stood with her in his arms. She grabbed at his shoulders.

  “Andrew! God, you’ll kill yourself,” she said.

  “Do you mind? I’m having a moment here,” he said.

  He was smiling foolishly, and she couldn’t help laughing. Somehow he managed to get the door to the house open without dropping her, although he did knock her feet against the door frame a few times.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  She rested her head on his shoulder as he made his way through the darkened house. He set her down gently on the mattress and she fell silent as he knelt in front of her.

  They stared at each other. Rosie’s chest ached with gratitude and love.

  “Whatever it takes,” he said again.

  “Always.”

  * * *

  SINCE SHE DIDN’T HAVE to babysit her sister for the day, Lucy got up at her usual time and drove into the market. Dom had left her his car and taken the van, and she parked the Mercedes carefully before hunting him down at his father’s stand.

  He was sorting through a crate of apples when she found him, his head lowered as he selected produce for an order. She smiled to herself as she took in his jeans and steel-toed work boots. She loved him in his suit, all shiny and polished, but this was how she thought of him—a hands-on man, physical and ready for anything.

  “Dom,” she called as she approached.

  His head came up, and his gaze searched for her in the crowded market. He frowned as he caught sight of her, but by the time she was by his side his expression was unreadable.

  “Rosie’s okay?” he asked.

  “Andrew came home last night. Or this morning. It was dark, that’s all I know. They’re talking and sleeping in the same bed, so I figure they’re well on their way.”

  “You didn’t need to come in, though. You must be tired,” he said.

  “No more than usual. Besides, I wanted to see you.”

  She stepped closer to greet him properly, but he tensed and all her doubts from last night crashed down on her.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  She expected him to give a quick and easy affirmative, maybe tell her that he’d just had an argument with his father or a problem with a customer. Anything to explain away his reaction.

  But he didn’t. Instead, his gaze shifted over her shoulder for a few seconds, then he shrugged.

  “This probably isn’t the best place to talk,” he said.

  He took her by the elbow and started to lead her toward the coffee shop. She jerked her arm free.

  “What’s going on, Dom?” she asked, fear squeezing her diaphragm.

  “Come on.” He gestured for her to keep walking, but she dug her heels in.

  “Tell me what’s going on.”

  He sighed heavily. Then he slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and hunched his shoulders.

  “I’m not sure this is going to work out,” he said.

  For a moment she thought she had to have heard wrong. She blinked.

  “You don’t think this is going to work out,” she repeated. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “The other night was great, but I think you’re looking for something that I can’t give you.”

  Again she shook her head. This was the man who had touched her so reverently, so passionately the other night that he’d made her feel beautiful and shiny and new all over again. This was the man who had moved heaven and earth to help her save her business. This was the man who had held her hand when she’d been afraid her baby was going to die.

  This was the man she’d trusted enough to love.

  And he was telling her…what?

  “What exactly is it that you think I want that you can’t give me?” she asked carefully.

  Maybe this was all a misunderstanding. Maybe she was reading this all wrong.

  “I think you want a husband. A father for your baby. More children. And I can’t give you any of that.”

  His voice was flat. Distant. She stared at his face, trying to understand what was going on. How did a person go from so much intensity, so much connection, to this…emptiness? In the space of twenty-four hours?

  “I don’t believe you,” she said.

  For the first time he met her eyes.

  “It’s true. Believe me,” he said.

  “What about the other night? The things that you said. That you wanted more than one night. That you cared for me.”

  His eyes traveled over her face.

  “I meant them at the time.”

  She gasped. He might as well have slapped her.

  “Look, Lucy, I’m sorry. But I didn’t realize how intense things were going to get so quickly. I’m fresh out of a divorce. I don’t know if I’m up for so much so soon.”

  She shook her head.

  “No. You’re the one who wanted this,” she said. “You’re the one who told me your feelings wouldn’t change. You told me I could trust you. You pursued me.” She stared at him, at his distant eyes and his tight, unreadable face. “You made me fall in love with you.”

  He had the good grace to look away then.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He was sorry.

  It didn’t even come close. Didn’t even touch the sides of the pain and hurt opening inside her.

  She looked around, trying to find the words or the actions or something, some way of responding to the colossal hurt he’d just inflicted on her. She felt hoodwinked, swindled, cheated. For weeks he’d wooed her, and she’d held him at arm’s length because she was afraid, because Marcus had taught her not to trust. And finally she’d taken the leap of faith—and Dom had pulled the rug out from beneath her.

  “Listen. I never meant to hurt you. Beli
eve me, that’s the last thing I wanted,” he said.

  “Too late,” she said.

  She turned on her heel and started walking. After a few feet she stopped and retraced her steps.

  “Give me the keys to the van,” she said.

  He frowned. “I’ll do the deliveries today.”

  “Give me the keys to the van.”

  “You can’t do the deliveries on your own, Lucy.”

  “Give me the freaking keys!” she yelled.

  People stopped to stare. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mr. Bianco start to move toward them.

  “What about the baby?” Dom asked.

  She wanted to punch him in the face. Mash his nose, split his lips, pummel him until the rage bubbling up inside her was gone.

  “I’ll worry about my baby. Give me the keys,” she demanded.

  “What is going on? Is there problem?” Mr. Bianco asked as he came up beside them.

  Lucy didn’t take her eyes off Dom. After a long moment he pulled the keys from his pocket and handed them over. Her hand closed around them. They were warm from his body and her hand curled into a fist, squeezing the keys tightly.

  “You’re an asshole,” she said to Dom. She threw the keys to the Mercedes at his feet.

  More than anything she wanted to walk away and never see him or hear from him again. But she didn’t have that luxury. She had a business to run, and his father was her key supplier. Worse, Dom was her business partner.

  She turned to Mr. Bianco. There would be time to work out how to disentangle her life from Dom’s later.

  “Can you help me fill my order for the day, Mr. Bianco?” she asked.

  Tony darted a glance at his son before nodding.

  “Of course, of course, Lucia. No problem.”

  She didn’t look at Dom as she turned away. She didn’t so much as glance his way as Mr. Bianco helped her load her trolley over the next fifteen minutes. And she kept her head down as she pushed her load back to the van.

  Only when she was alone in the privacy of her van did she sit down on a stack of empty crates and let herself howl. Hands clutched to her belly, she rocked back and forth as all her shock and disappointment and hurt streamed down her face. She cried till she was gasping for air and her chest ached.

  It had been so hard for her to trust him. But she had. And he’d thrown her trust back in her face, along with her love.

  I can’t give you what you want.

  “Oh God,” she said.

  How could something so new hurt so much?

  Soon, she knew, she would be angry, and that would be a good thing. But right now, she was devastated and she didn’t know where to put herself.

  A rapid fluttering inside her belly drew her mind back into her body. Her baby was kicking in agitation, clearly distressed by her distress.

  She took a deep breath and let it out on a shudder. She needed to get a grip. She had orders to deliver. More importantly, she had her daughter to consider.

  There would be plenty of time to brood over her stupidity and gullibility later. All the time in the world.

  She wiped her eyes on a wrinkled tissue she found in her pocket, then pushed herself to her feet.

  She didn’t have the luxury of falling down and staying down. For the rest of her life, she would have to get up and keep fighting on her own. Because there was another life completely reliant on her ability to continually get up and keep fighting.

  She set her jaw grimly. She might as well get used to it now, because she would never make the mistake of trusting someone else to fight alongside her again.

  * * *

  DOM COULDN’T CONCENTRATE. Three times he added up the same order incorrectly. Every fiber of his being wanted to chase after Lucy and pull her into his arms and comfort her. But he couldn’t offer her comfort when he was the one causing the pain.

  He swore under his breath as he fumbled the keys on the calculator for the fourth time. His hands were shaking so much the glowing display shimmered before his eyes, blurring the digits together.

  Or maybe that was because he was on the verge of tears.

  Damn.

  Michael was walking past and Dom shoved the calculator at him.

  “Could you take care of this order? I’ve got to do something,” he said.

  He didn’t wait for other man to reply, just took off.

  He barely made it into the darkness of the cold storage before his emotions overtook him. He swore out loud in English and Italian, then kicked an empty orange crate so hard it skidded along the ground and shattered against the far wall.

  It wasn’t fair.

  But life wasn’t fair, and he’d done the right thing.

  Now he simply had to live with the consequences.

  Lucy hating him. The mess of their business partnership. His own guilt and pain. The knowledge that he’d hurt her.

  “Goddamn,” he said, his voice deadened in the metal-lined space.

  He sat on a crate and dropped his head into his hands. He pressed his fingers into his eyes and tried to get a grip. Long moments passed where there was nothing but the sound of his own harsh breathing. Then light streamed in as the door opened.

  He shied away and tried to wipe his eyes on the tail of his shirt.

  “Dom, you here?” his father called.

  “I won’t be a moment, Pa. Tell me what you need and I’ll bring it back to the stand,” he said.

  He kept his back turned, praying his father would take the hint and leave him alone.

  Dom heard the heavy tread of his father’s footsteps before his warm hand landed on Dom’s shoulder.

  “Dominic. Talk to me,” his father said quietly. “What has you so upset? And why is Lucia so upset? What is happening?”

  “It’s not important. We’ll sort it out,” Dom said.

  He kept his back turned.

  “My son,” his father said heavily, “when did you stop trusting your papa?”

  Dom sighed. After a long pause he half turned toward his father.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Pa. There’s just nothing you can do about it. Nothing anyone can do.”

  His father dug into the pocket on his apron and pulled out a handkerchief.

  “Here.”

  Dom took it and blew his nose, feeling about nine years old. He was pretty sure that was the last time his father had caught him crying. At least that time Dom had had a broken leg as an excuse.

  Wood creaked as his father sat on one of the crates.

  “You love Lucia?” he asked. He made it sound so commonplace, so matter of fact, Dom almost laughed.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “I thought so. Your mama not so sure, but me, I see.”

  Great. His whole family probably knew about it by now—sisters, cousins, relatives back in Italy.

  “Lucia does not love you, this is the problem?” his father continued.

  “She loves me,” he said heavily.

  “Ah. You worry about bambino? That you not the father?”

  “I don’t care. It’s Lucy’s baby. That’s all that matters to me.”

  He could practically hear his father considering and discarding other options. Dom ran his hand through his hair.

  He’d been meaning to tell his father about his infertility for a long time. And it wasn’t as though this day could possibly suck any harder.

  “I can’t have children, Pa,” he said. To his everlasting shame, his voice cracked on the final word and he had to blink back fresh tears. “That’s why Dani and I broke up. Remember I had mumps when I was twenty? It doesn’t happen very often, but sometimes it can make men infertile. I got lucky.”

  His father was silent for a long moment.

  “No bambinos?”

  “No. Never. Dani and I tried everything. But it was no good.”

  “This is why you divorce?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your mother will be very sad for you. This is hard thing.”

&n
bsp; “Tell me about it.”

  He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from this moment—Recriminations? Guilt? Shame?—but his father’s quiet sympathy in the dark was unexpected.

  They were both silent for a while.

  “And this is why Lucia and you fight?” his father asked eventually.

  “Lucy doesn’t know.”

  “So why for you fight?” his father asked, bafflement rich in his tone.

  “She wants brothers and sisters for her baby, a family. I can’t give her any of that. So I ended things between us.”

  “I see. You ended things so Lucia could have what she wants?”

  “Yeah.”

  His father exhaled heavily, then pushed himself to his feet.

  “I am very sorry for you, my son.”

  For the first time in years, Dom found himself drawn into the all-encompassing embrace of his father. Tony Bianco’s big arms squeezed him tight, his hands patting Dom’s back comfortingly. Dom breathed in his father’s hair pomade and the smell of his mother’s laundry detergent.

  “This is big sadness for you to carry. I am very sorry,” his father said again.

  Dom hugged his father back.

  “I am very sorry for you, but I think you make big mistake,” his father continued.

  Here we go.

  Dom let his arms drop to his sides. “Pa—”

  “Lucia is not Dani,” his father said over him. “Lucia is Lucia. You not give her the chance to make her own decision.”

  Dom shook his head. “She shouldn’t have to make a decision. She should have what she wants—brothers and sisters for her daughter.”

  “You sound like one of your mother’s saints, making the big sacrifice.” His father mimed someone hanging on a cross.

  Dom shrugged uncomfortably. He hadn’t meant to come off as a martyr. “I just want her to be happy.”

  His father nodded as though he was agreeing with Dom. “And you are scared,” Tony said.

  “I’m not scared. What have I got to be scared of?”

  His father tucked his hands into the waistband of his apron. “What if you tell Lucia no bambinos and she says no matter? What if she says she loves you and one bambino is enough? Then she changes her mind and what happened with Dani happens with Lucia, all over again?”

  “What am I supposed to say to that?” Dom said.

  “That it is true. That it might happen. That you are afraid.”