Priceless (An Amato Brothers/Rixton Falls crossover)

by Winter Renshaw

  The hotel phone rings on Cristiano’s nightstand. He cradles the receiver on his shoulder, mumbles something, and then turns to me.

  “Car’s downstairs,” he says.

  “I have to go, guys. I love you, and I’ll see you soon.” I end the call, directing my attention to Cristiano who’s zipping his suitcase now. He hoists it with one arm and sits it by the door.

  “Everything all right?” he asks.

  “They admitted Delilah. She’s in labor for real this time.” My eyes water, and I look away.

  He moves to my side, running his palms along my sides. Bringing a finger beneath my chin, he guides my gaze onto his.

  “I’ll get you home,” he says, straightening his shoulders. There’s a certain sadness in his voice, as if he knows he could be sacrificing something he isn’t sure he’s willing to sacrifice. “Even if we have to take a detour . . .”

  “No,” I cut him off before he can make any more promises. Shaking my head, I tell him, “You’re not missing that wedding.”

  His hand slides down my arm, stopping at my wrist as he looks me in the eye. “You’ll be home in a few hours. I promise you, Daphne.”

  Chapter 17

  Cristiano

  The car is noiseless save for a hint of road noise and the chintzy clicking of the turn signal as I pull off on an exit that’ll lead us to Scranton. We’ve driven most of the last three hours in dead silence, Daphne biting her nails and me wondering when might be a good time to mention that I want to see her again.

  A million thoughts run through my mind, most of which reach the conclusion that after the week she’s had with me, she may never want to see me again in her life. Granted, it’s not my fault any of this happened, but she might associate me with one of the worst weeks of her life so long as she lives. Yeah, the sex was hot. But that’s about the only positive takeaway from this week.

  Amazing sex, but . . .

  Long hours in the car.

  Mediocre gas station dinners.

  Lumpy hotel mattresses.

  The possibility that she could very well still miss the birth of her sister’s baby . . .

  I pull off the main road and veer toward a Shell gas station, the one I told my brother to pick me up at at twelve-thirty sharp. Scanning the parking lot, I spot his rusty Bronco and pull up beside it, killing the engine. For once in his life, he’s actually on time.

  “You okay to drive the rest of the way home?” I break my silence.

  Turning toward me, her gaze is averted and fixed on my seatbelt strap. She holds her phone up and turns it to me, the screen illuminated with a text that was sent a mere minute ago. I scan the message, reading the words, “DELILAH’S GETTING READY TO PUSH. JUST WAITING ON THE DOCTOR. SO SORRY, DAPHNE.”

  Fuck.

  She buries her face in her hands, exhaling as her shoulders fall.

  “I’m so sorry.” I rub my hand along her back, but her body is rigid so I pull her into my arms instead. Hugging over the tiny console of this microscopic rental car, I wrap her in my arms and kiss the top of her blonde head, repeating myself because I’m at a loss for words, “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Her voice is muffled against my shoulder, a melancholy whisper. “I just can’t believe the timing . . . we tried so hard . . . I didn’t think this would happen.”

  Cupping the back of her head in my palm, I hug her tighter. I’m not a touchy-feely guy, at least not beyond the confines of a closed-door bedroom, but this feels right. She needs a friend right now.

  Daphne pulls away after a moment, glancing at the clock in the dash. “You should get going. You’ve got a wedding to get to. It’s not too late for you, is it?”

  Pressing my lips flat, I shake my head. “No. It’s not too late.”

  She forces a smile, dabbing at her misty eyes. “Good. I’m glad this wasn’t a total loss for both of us.”

  My hand still rests on her arm, my fingertips grazing the soft skin just before her wrist. I glance into her baby blues, knowing damn well it’s going to be the last time unless I grow a pair and fucking say something. It’s now or never. And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what might have happened had I . . .

  Knock, knock, knock.

  My heart lurches in my chest until I glance over my shoulder and spot my younger brother knocking on my window. Rolling it down, I shoot him a quick glare because clearly he should be able to see I’m busy here.

  “Give me a sec,” I say.

  Fabrizio crouches down, peering through the car toward the passenger side. “You must be Daphne. Let me just apologize, on behalf of the entire Amato family, for the terrible inconvenience of spending the last four days stuck in this chicken nugget with this obnoxious asshole.”

  Daphne laughs, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Nah, he’s been great.”

  “Get back in the car,” I tell him. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  Climbing out, Daphne follows suit and we reconvene at the trunk as I get my luggage.

  “So I guess this is goodbye?” She shoves her hands in the pockets of a hoodie we picked up back in Iowa a couple days ago. It’s John Deere green with a bright yellow zipper and a cartoonish ear of corn on the back with the words, “Do I make you corny, baby?” screen printed across the back. It’s a size too big for her, which she insisted on in case I needed to wear it too.

  I guess that’s the kind of girl she is, always thinking of everybody else. I think back to the moment I first saw her standing in line at the airport. A plastic ID rested on the tile floor a few spots back from her, and when I swiped it off the ground, I scanned the area for a match, never expecting it to be the girl I’d been admiring from afar.

  When I bumped into her at the coffee stand a short while later and made her spill her coffee, she could’ve lashed out at me. She wanted to. I saw it in her eyes, a quick flash of frustration. But she smiled and told me it was fine.

  And at the hotel – she let me stay in her room. Granted, it was supposed to be my room. But if it weren’t for that kind gesture, I’d have been sleeping on a park bench, celebrating New Year’s Eve all by myself and probably asking myself the kinds of questions a man never likes to think about unless he has to. Instead, I spent it with her. And it was so much better than I ever could’ve imagined.

  I wait for the click of Fab’s driver’s side door before taking a step closer.

  “I had fun with you,” I say, locking eyes. “This little . . . adventure . . . I’ll never forget it as long as I live.”

  She laughs through her nose, glancing down at her shoes as she digs a toe into the gravelly parking lot.

  “Thanks for coming with me.” Daphne lifts her gaze onto mine, peering up through curled lashes. “I know I fought you on it at first. I didn’t want you to come. But I’m glad you did.”

  “I want to see you again.” I decide to cut the small talk.

  Her eyes widen, as if it was the last thing she expected me to say to her right now.

  “These last several days . . .” I pull in a deep breath. “I don’t know, Daphne. They’ve been frustrating and aggravating . . . and wonderful . . . and incredible. I’m not sure if you feel the same way, but all things considered, I wouldn’t trade them for a million bucks. Being with you, getting to know you . . . and you’re so easy to be around. So genuine. It’s effortless being around you, in a way I’ve never had with anyone else. I-”

  “I want to see you again too.” Her mouth pulls into a half-crooked smile, and her blue eyes light up. It’s as if she’d been waiting for me to make the first move this whole time. “Give me your phone.”

  I hand it over, and she programs her number before giving it back.

  “I have to go,” she says, glancing at the driver’s side of the rental car. “You’re going to call me, right? This isn’t part of your whole heartbreaker schtick?”

  Smirking, I shake my head. “No, Daphne. I would never break your heart.”

  Her gaze
flicks onto mine. She parts her lips slightly, like she’s about to say something, but I silence her commentary with a kiss. A temporary goodbye. A sweet until-we-meet-again.

  “I’ll call you,” I say, coming up for air, missing the sweet taste of her tongue and the cherry smoothness of her lips. “I promise.”

  “Go,” she says, fighting a grin. “Get to that wedding.”

  Chapter 18

  Daphne

  “He’s so precious, Del.” I pout my lips, fawning over my freshly born nephew, Noah. “I’m so in love with him already. Look, he has your ears! And your mouth.”

  “Yeah, that’s definitely a Rosewood mouth,” she says, beaming proudly.

  Baby Noah’s not quite an hour old. I missed his grand entrance by fifty-four minutes and thirty-five seconds.

  “I still can’t believe I missed this,” I say, reaching for my godson’s tiny hand. He curls his fingers around my pinky.

  “It’s fine. Really. Stop beating yourself up about it and just enjoy the preciousness that is Noah Zane de la Cruz.”

  “Speaking of Zane . . .” I sit up. “And everyone else for that matter . . . where is everyone?”

  “Mom ran home to get Dad. Demi left to call Royal. Zane is out in the waiting room making calls.” She smiles an exhausted smile, her gaze fixed on her new son. “There was all this commotion and excitement and then they all scattered like leaves in the wind. Wouldn’t be surprised if one of them were standing on the roof of the hospital, shouting the good news.”

  Rolling my eyes, I chuckle. “Well, enjoy the peace and quiet while you can. I’m sure they’ll be back any minute now, fighting over who gets to hold him first.”

  “You want to hold him?”

  Sitting up, I meet her gaze. She lifts him off her chest, hands cradling his tiny body as she waits for me to take him.

  I love my siblings and I’ll always love the children my siblings bring into this world. I can appreciate a drooly smile or a little baby fedora or one of those pacifiers with the mustaches on them because they’re freaking hilarious, but as far as actually holding them? That’s so not my department.

  But he’s my godson.

  And this moment is absolutely priceless.

  I suck in a deep breath and slide my arms beneath his swaddled blanket. Cradling him against my chest, my heart races.

  “God, I love him.” I lean closer, nuzzling my nose against the tufts of fluffy dark hair that covers his tiny head. “He couldn’t be any more perfect, Delilah. I mean that.”

  I want to stay in this moment for as long as possible, basking in the warm fullness that radiates from my chest. He begins to fuss a little, though his eyes remain closed tight. His cry is squeaky, and he reminds me of a fuzzy little mouse. His mouth opens as he yawns, and his tongue peeks out just a tad.

  “That was adorable. Where’s Zane? He totally missed a Kodak moment here.” I hand my nephew back to my sister, and he immediately melts into her arms, no longer crying. It’s like he knows she’s his mother, and something about that sends an unexpected twinge to my ovaries and a strange tightness to my chest.

  For a flicker of a second, I imagine what I might be like as a mother. I can only hope I’m half as natural as my sister.

  “Knock, knock.” A man’s voice pulls my attention toward the doorway.

  The first thing I see is a giant bouquet of flowers.

  The second thing I see is a shiny Mylar balloon attached that reads, “IT’S A BOY!”

  The third thing I see is Weston.

  Chapter 19

  Cristiano

  “You bring my suit?” I ask Fabrizio as we cross into Jersey.

  “Yeah, it’s in the back,” he says, pointing. “We have to be at the church by three. We’re going to be cutting it close since you had to bid farewell to your new girlfriend and all. I suggest you change in the car.”

  Unfastening my seatbelt, I grab the garment bag draped over the backseat and start suiting up.

  “You’ve been quiet,” Fab says, giving me side eye. “Something happen with that girl?”

  I don’t answer.

  “Or is this about Joey’s wedding?”

  I still don’t answer.

  “Look, everyone’s going to be there,” my brother says. “You’re going to have to put on a happy face whether you want to or not. You knew Joey’d be the first of us to get married. It’s not the end of the world. The end of an era maybe, but not the end of the world.”

  It’s the end of an era all right. And maybe even the beginning of something else entirely, though I can’t be sure. Everything feels oddly . . . up in the air at this point.

  “You not going to talk?” Fabrizio chuffs, hands gripped on the wheel as he changes lanes. “Fine. Whatever. Suit up though. I’m responsible for getting you to that church, but whatever happens after that is all you.”

  Chapter 20

  Daphne

  “Can I ask you a question?” Weston takes a sip from his Styrofoam coffee cup as we sit at a corner table in the hospital cafeteria. After an awkward-as-hell hello in Delilah’s recovery suite and Delilah’s nurse needing to tend to a few private matters with my sister, Weston insisted we give her some space and some time to rest and bond with the baby before she’s flooded with visitors again.

  “Of course.” I sit up tall, eyes fixed on his light blue gaze, finding myself wishing I was sitting across from Cristiano right now.

  Months ago, I’d be foaming at the mouth in Weston’s presence. Drooling over the way he’s grown out his sandy blond locks or the way his shoulders fill out his navy blue polo, his muscles strained beneath the dry fit fabric. I’d be fantasizing about his jaw and the mouth he never quite could keep to himself whenever I was around. There would be hearts in my eyes, clouding up my vision and good judgment.

  I haven’t seen him in well over a year, and even six months ago, I was still having doubts as to whether or not I’d ever be as happy with someone new as I was with him.

  But something has changed. There’s been a shift. I’m not sure when it happened, but I don’t feel the way I thought I’d feel right now.

  Looking at Weston, I’m hit with a flood of memories. They come crashing down on me all at once. The night we met in Miami at that awful club. Walking the streets listening to Cuban music. Staying up all night talking. Exchanging numbers. Flying across the country to visit each other. Lying in his arms in bed, breathing him in and wondering how it was possible life existed before him.

  And then the rest of the memories follow . . .

  Catching him flipping through a scrapbook his ex had made while he was cleaning out one of his spare rooms. Finding a text from her on his phone. He didn’t respond to it, but she was definitely trying to make a connection with him again, and the shift in his mood during the weeks that followed was undeniable.

  That’s when I knew.

  He wanted to love me. He tried to love me.

  But he was still in love with her.

  “Why haven’t you taken my calls?” he asks, his voice his signature shade of Weston-calm.

  My jaw hangs. I’m not sure how to answer that. Normally when a person avoids another person’s calls, they’re able to avoid them in real life too. All those times I sent his calls to voicemail, I was never imagining what my explanation would be should he ask for one.

  “I thought,” he says, pausing and exhaling hard through his nose, “when we ended things, that we were going to be friends. I know that’s a thing that people say to people when they don’t want to be with them anymore and they’re trying to be nice, but I thought we were different. I thought you meant what you said. I know I did.”

  “Oh. Um.” I take a sip of coffee, my toes tapping under the table as I fidget in my seat. “I meant it. At first. And then I came home and I thought it might be easier, for both of us, if we weren’t friends. You were with Elle, and I didn’t think it’d be respectful if I was still in the picture.”

  “She wouldn’t have minded.
I mean, we’re over now. It’s done. For good this time. But she wasn’t like that.”

  “And maybe a part of me wanted to avoid talking to you because it was a reminder of what we had, and what we lost, and I didn’t want to know if you were happy with her because it would hurt too bad. It would only serve as a reminder that you weren’t nearly as happy with me.” My gaze flicks to a cardboard soup menu resting between us, nestled next to a salt-and-pepper shaker. “Maybe that makes me sound selfish, I don’t know. But my radio silence was never about you. I want you to know that.”

  He gives me a bittersweet, closed-mouth smile, his gentle crystalline eyes trained on me. “I think about you all the time, Daphne. I never really stopped. Probably annoyed the hell out of Delilah, always asking questions about you. She probably told you.”

  I shake my head, amazed that my sister actually listened to me for once when I told her not to so much as breathe his name around me that first year. “She never said anything. She was kind of under strict orders not to.”

  He rakes his teeth along his bottom lip before smiling wide. But it isn’t a happy smile. There’s sadness in his eyes. Regret. Longing.

  “I really hurt you, didn’t I?” He squints across the table.

  Looking away, I inhale sharply. “Yeah. You did. But I know you didn’t mean to.”

  His hand rests on the edge of the table, his fingers twitching. I think he wants to reach out to me, cover my hand with his, but something keeps him from making the move. It’s probably a good thing because despite the forty-year-flood of emotions happening in this depressing, gray-scale hospital cafeteria, I find myself wondering what Cristiano’s doing right now . . .

  . . . and why it’s so easy to sit here with Weston and not want to jump into his arms and start all over again, because something tells me that’s where this conversation is headed. He wants to start over again. To make it work. And for the first time in over a year, the idea of being with him holds zero appeal. It’s like my longing for Weston dissipated, fading into thin air practically overnight.