He whirled to face her, and for the first time she saw emotion on his face. Anger.
“Abortion, you mean?” he accused.
In a motion that was pure reflex, her hands covered her stomach protectively. She could no more abort the child growing inside her than she could take a gun in hand and walk into a fast-food restaurant and start shooting.
“Of course not.”
He seemed to relax. “That leaves marriage, then.”
“Not necessarily. There are other options.”
“Name one.”
“Adoption. I could have this child and surrender it to a couple who would give it a good home.”
He was shaking his head before she’d finished speaking. “Could you really give it up?”
She didn’t have to think. She was carrying the baby of the man she loved. She was probably being selfish, but once she held the child in her arms, once she felt it kicking and moving inside her, she knew she would never be able to let it go.
“No,” she said softly.
“Neither could I, Gretchen. A child needs both its parents. I firmly believe that.”
“I would allow you liberal visitation,” she said. “Or, if you insist, we could work out a shared custody agreement.”
“Under the same roof,” he said.
His expression was remote, turned inward. Watching him now, Gretchen found it hard to believe that this was the same man who, just last night, had stared at her out of eyes blazing with passion, and who had called her name at the peak of his pleasure in a voice thick with emotion.
“Some people might call your proposal extremely outmoded and old-fashioned,” she said.
“Just because an idea has been around for years doesn’t make it outmoded. On the contrary, it only proves that it’s stood the test of time. Our child needs us living together under the same roof. As husband and wife.”
She drew an uneven breath. “Even if we don’t love each other?” Oh, how it hurt to say those words out loud.
He turned to look out the window again. “Even then. All that matters to kids is that both of their parents are there. We’re good people, Gretchen. We won’t scream and throw things at each other. We’ll treat each other with kindness and respect. It will be a good environment for our child.”
But what about her and Marco? What kind of environment would it be for them?
His mother’s death had affected him far more deeply than she had suspected, if he was willing to surrender his prized bachelorhood for his unborn child. It was a gallant gesture, but could she really take him up on it?
This wasn’t the way she wanted him. How did women who deliberately set out to get pregnant live with their actions afterward? It had to be a hollow victory at best. And from that time forward a nagging question had to always be in the back of their minds: Would he have married me without the baby?
That was one question that would never nag at the back of Gretchen’s mind. Because she knew the answer was a resounding no.
She loved him. He cared for her, at least a little. He desired her. Was it enough?
She couldn’t think of herself now. She had to think of what was best for her baby.
Her thoughts flashed back to the weekend she and Marco had baby-sat Kristen together. Despite his doubts about his ability to care for the child, he’d been great with her. He would be a wonderful father. Gretchen couldn’t deprive her child of that experience. No matter the personal cost to herself.
“Very well, Marco,” she said, her heart aching for a love she knew would never be returned. “I’ll marry you.”
He turned back to her again. “I have to be honest with you. I believe the odds are stacked pretty high against us. It probably won’t be easy. But I promise you that I will do my best to make you a good husband, and our child a good father.”
They were being disgustingly adult and depressingly civil about the whole matter, she thought. If only he would show some emotion, throw something, kick and scream, rail at the unfairness of it all. If only she could let him see how scared she was, how vulnerable she was feeling. Anything but this stilted, polite conversation that left her wanting to scream and cry her eyes out at the same time.
“I know you will, Marco. I’ll promise to do my best by you, too.” She paused. “So, what do we do next?”
“Make all the necessary arrangements.”
“Do you want to go to a justice of the peace?”
“No, Gretchen. We’ll do it up right and proper. My family will expect that. Your family, if they were here, would expect it, too.”
She couldn’t deny the truth of that statement. “But that will take time.”
“Not too long. While we’re waiting, we can house hunt.”
“House hunt?”
“You don’t expect us to continue living in separate duplexes, do you?”
“No, but…”
“If all goes well, we can close on a house one day and get married the next.”
“But a house…” Things were starting to move far faster than she had expected them to. This was all becoming a little too much.
“Is there anyone you want to invite?” he asked.
She gave her head a brief shake to clear her muddled thoughts. “Gary, my boss. A few colleagues from work. Some of the neighbors.”
The scene was surreal. They were discussing marriage—their marriage—as if the decisions involved had no more import than the choosing of one’s outfit for the day, or the selection of which brand of toothpaste to buy.
“Are you going to tell your family about the baby?” she asked.
“No.”
“They’re going to figure it out, Marco. Especially if we wait a month or two to get married.”
He waved a hand in dismissal. “So let them figure it out. This is nobody’s business but ours.”
“If that’s how you want to play it.”
“It’s how I want to play it.” He studied her for a long minute. “Do you want this baby, Gretchen?”
She met his gaze directly. This was one truth she could give him. “Yes, Marco, I do.”
He hesitated, as if waiting for her to ask the same question of him. But she couldn’t. She was too afraid of the answer he might give.
Emotion flickered in his eyes, but it came and went too quickly for her to identify it. He turned away.
“It’s been a long week,” he said, thrusting a hand through his hair. “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go home and go to bed.”
Gretchen sat motionless as he walked out of the room. A few seconds later she heard the soft click of her front door.
Tears spilled out of her eyes and ran down her cheeks. For the first time since their midnight swim, and on the night she needed him the most, they were going to be sleeping alone.
They were married six weeks later, on the first Saturday of October. Sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows of the church, bathing the sanctuary in a gentle warmth. Friends and family claimed the pews at the front of the church. Clad in a white suit and carrying a bouquet of tea roses and baby’s breath, Gretchen walked unattended down the aisle to her groom. Her heart melted at how darkly handsome Marco looked, waiting for her on the marble altar, in a plain, black suit.
Between work, buying and readying their new home, the surprise bridal showers thrown by Marco’s sister, Kate, and Gretchen’s co-workers, and the wedding planning itself, they had had little time alone together. Nor had they made love since Gretchen had told Marco about her pregnancy. In a surprisingly old-fashioned and unexpected gesture, Marco had insisted on waiting until their wedding night before being intimate again. He had said it would make a special night even more special if they denied themselves beforehand.
Though Gretchen had been genuinely touched, she hadn’t been able to dismiss a nagging certainty that he was deliberately keeping a distance between them. But if he had been dreading their upcoming nuptials, she hadn’t been able to tell. He’d entered into every transaction, ever
y negotiation, every discussion about what needed to be done, seemingly as eager as she was to have things be just right on their wedding day. She supposed he was making the best of their situation.
Miraculously things had fallen into place with little difficulty: they’d been able to secure the church on relatively short notice; the priest, after meeting with them, had consented to perform the ceremony without their attending the prerequisite premarital classes. They’d even managed to secure a photographer, a videographer and a band to play at the reception.
They’d both fallen in love with the first house their real estate agent had shown them, a beautiful Tudor with a large yard that was just perfect for a sandbox and a swing set. Because the owner was willing to provide financing, they didn’t have to wait on a bank and were able to close on the deal within the month.
Marco had moved in ahead of her. They’d used his belongings to fill the den, dining room, master bedroom, study and kitchen. Other than a few cherished items, Gretchen’s furniture, which had mostly belonged to her parents, would remain at the duplex, her half of which they would rent out furnished. The living room, spare bedrooms and nursery were still empty, the furniture they’d ordered was not scheduled to arrive for several more weeks yet.
There were times, when she pondered everything they’d accomplished, that she almost deluded herself into believing their marriage was going to be a real one. Of course, it would be real in the sense that it would be legal and binding. What made it less than ideal, less real, was that its foundation was weak because it wasn’t built on love. She only hoped that the mutual admiration and respect she and Marco had for each other would form a strong enough foundation to hold the marriage together.
They weren’t taking a honeymoon. Gretchen had exhausted the last of her vacation on her adventure, and Marco’s week off officially ended Sunday evening. Since they both were expected back at work early Monday morning, they had decided to spend their wedding night, together for the first time, in their new home.
Gretchen remembered little of the ceremony itself, which passed in a haze. What she did recall, vividly, was the recitation of her vows, another promise that she was making. While she gazed into Marco’s eyes and spoke of loving and honoring him all the days of her life, in good times and in bad and in sickness and in health, words she meant with all her heart, the memory of a previous pledge echoed in her ears. A pledge she had made to him on the weekend they’d watched Kristen. Neither now, nor anytime in the future, will I try to deprive you of your confirmed-bachelor status. You have my solemn vow.
It was the first promise she had ever broken.
If Marco’s family thought there was anything odd about the rushed nature of their wedding, they hid it well. Even Marco’s father, who had traveled up from Florida, seemed to approve of the match.
If only Gretchen could be as certain as everyone else seemed to be that they were doing the right thing.
Roberto and his wife, Louise, had insisted on hosting the wedding reception as their gift to Marco and Gretchen, in honor of which they closed the doors of Café Garibaldi to the public. When she walked into the main dining room, Gretchen caught her breath. Everything was a vision in white, from the table coverings to the streamers of wedding bells that were suspended overhead, the floral centerpieces that adorned each table, the suits of the band members, who were softly playing swing music, and the three-tiered wedding cake that Gretchen instinctively knew Roberto had baked himself.
Just when she thought she might go blind with the blizzard of white, she glanced out the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city and was greeted by the blaze of autumn foliage. It was the perfect backdrop.
“Oh, Roberto,” she murmured, turning to her host. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.”
The pleasure on Roberto’s face warmed her heart. “Not nearly as beautiful as my new sister-in-law. Don’t you agree, Marco?”
“Nothing could be that beautiful,” Marco replied, his eyes virtually burning into her.
The intensity of the look sent a rush of excitement through her. Gretchen knew he was thinking of later tonight, when they would consummate their marriage. She had wondered if his self-imposed celibacy had driven him as crazy as it had her, and now she knew.
Suddenly all doubts fled before the wave of the sensual haze that enveloped her, and she couldn’t wait to be alone with him.
Roberto chuckled and wagged an admonishing finger between them. “Uh,-uh,-uh, you two. Not just yet. The festivities have just gotten under way.”
Gretchen felt her face flame, but Marco simply laughed.
“I think you both need some time apart to cool down,” Roberto said, taking her by the arm and ushering her away. With a last, longing look over her shoulder, she went with him.
Roberto showed her around the room, pointing out the small touches that each of Marco’s brothers and his sister had contributed. That everyone had gone to such trouble for them warmed Gretchen’s heart.
She glanced across the room and saw Marco talking with Gary. He laughed at something her boss said, and she stared at his throat, at the way the strong muscles moved, and felt a love so fierce it was almost a physical pain.
“I knew this was going to happen the day I saw you up that tree,” Carlo said later, after she and Marco had cut the cake and their guests were still gathered around them. “Only true love would have gotten you up there in the first place.”
“Well I knew it the day he brought her to Sunday brunch,” Franco replied. “When he got all defensive about their relationship, it was obvious he was stuck on her.”
“Welcome to the family,” Kate said warmly, raising a glass of champagne in a toast. “I promise you there will never be a dull minute.”
She had a family again, Gretchen realized, and fought back sudden tears. As she gazed from smiling face to smiling face, she was filled with a happiness she was almost afraid to trust.
Marco didn’t carry her across the threshold, for which Gretchen felt mixed emotions. The lack of ceremony served as another reminder of how their marriage was different from everyone else’s.
When they entered the front hallway, he surprised her by saying, “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?”
“Yes, Gretchen, a surprise.” A smile played over his lips. “Now, are you going to close your eyes, or am I going to have to blindfold you?”
Obediently she did as he requested and felt the warmth of his hands settle on her shoulders. “This way,” he said, guiding her into the living room. There was a pause as she felt him reach across her, and she heard the overhead light click on.
“Okay, you can look now.”
Gretchen opened her eyes and saw a seven-foot grand piano sitting in the middle of the still-empty room. The lid was propped open, and the rich mahogany of the beautiful instrument gleamed like molten chocolate in the light.
She caught her breath and tears sprang to her eyes. In wordless wonder she turned to Marco. “For me?”
Marco, too, seemed strangely moved. “My wedding gift to you,” he said softly.
She looked back at the piano. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life. Thank you.”
When she didn’t move, he gave her a gentle push. “Go ahead. Try it out. You know you’re dying to.”
She sat down on the bench and reverently ran her fingers over the keys. “They’re ivory.”
“Antonio is an auction junkie. He found this at an auction a few weeks ago. It’s a hundred years old, but the last owner had it restored. Antonio assures me it is top quality.”
A hundred-year-old Steinway was more than top quality. It was a treasure.
“You shouldn’t have, Marco. This is far too generous a gift.”
He dismissed her protest with a wave of his hand. “Play for me, Gretchen.”
The first note transported her to a faraway place. The tone was rich, soaring on the a
ir like an eagle and filling the room with sound. Never had she played a more responsive and wondrous instrument.
She was so enraptured she had no idea how long she played. It could have been thirty seconds, it could have been an hour. But when she felt Marco’s hands settle on her shoulders, and his thumbs began making rhythmic circles on the sensitive skin of her neck, a familiar weakness invaded her body.
Her fingers stumbled over the keys, the music forgotten. His breath was in her hair, the heat of him enveloping her like a fever. Her nerve endings hummed the way the piano strings had while she was playing.
“You’re like a drug in my veins,” he said thickly, into her ear. “I can’t get enough of you.”
His teeth closed gently on her earlobe, and she dropped her head back to give him easier access. “I can’t get enough of you, either.”
He teased her earlobe until the pleasure was almost pain, then moved on to her cheek and temple. When she could no longer endure his touch without doing some touching of her own, Gretchen stood and turned into his arms. The look in his eyes scrambled her thoughts, not that they’d been all that coherent to begin with.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment for what seems like forever,” he told her. “For the past six weeks, it’s all I could think about, dream about. You don’t know how hard it’s been for me to keep my hands off you.”
Gretchen divested him of his suit coat and dropped it to the floor. Running her hands down his shirtsleeves, she plastered her body tightly against his, thrilling to the way he trembled at her touch.
“You were the one who insisted we stay away from each other,” she teased.
He ran his tongue along the inside of her lower lip, and she made a low sound deep in her throat. “And I think it’s time I was rewarded for such a sacrifice. Don’t you?”
“The one thing I firmly believe in,” she said huskily, “is that we should all receive our just rewards.”
Slowly she began rocking her pelvis back and forth against his. With a low moan, Marco lowered her to the floor.
“We’re wearing too damn many clothes,” he said, tearing at his tie.
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