Baby V (Chianti Kisses #1)

by Tara Oakes

  Mike stands over me holding a rectangular shaped object in his hand, purposely ruining my tan. He waves the package around mockingly.

  “Looks like someone’s got a delivery... you look busy. I’ll help you and open it.”

  I’m on my feet and lunging toward the brown paper parcel in less than one second flat, making an unsuccessful swipe at it. Seeing my reaction only entices Mike more.

  “Give me that, you little jerk wad. It has my name on it, not yours.”

  We are now playing a game of chase around the pool chairs with my mail as prize. I’m smaller and quicker than Mike, who is more of a video game type of guy... not really an athlete. Almost catching him twice, I decide to bring out the big guns. I stop in my tracks and watch as he slows cautiously, confused as to why I’ve suddenly given up.

  “If you don’t give that to me right now, I’m going to tell Momma that a girl answered your phone when I called you last weekend.”

  He doesn’t quite get where I’m going. “So... that’s hardly a capitol offense, V.”

  I take off my sunglasses so that he will fully benefit from the gleam in my eye as I clue him in. “At six in the morning?”

  He drops the valuable piece of leverage down on the nearest chair and steps back, conceding in defeat. I run to my package and grab it before he changes his mind. Being the youngest and only girl beneath three older brothers has taught me some valuable survival skills, such as blackmail.

  “Good choice,” I congratulate him.

  Mike’s cell phone rings, interrupting our sibling bonding. He greets the caller before holding the phone speaker side down into his shoulder, reminding me, “You promise... not a word to mom?”

  I answer by making a zipping motion across my lips and throwing away the imaginary key. Satisfied with my silence on the matter, he raises the phone and continues his call while walking away back toward the house.

  Once I’m sure that I have complete privacy, I rip open the brown paper wrapping and hold the book out to inspect it. The pink cover is innocent enough but the title says it all. “The Good Girl’s Guide To Being Bad- a complete guide to dating”.

  The book is a simple enough read, I determine as I thumb through the pages. Skimming the first chapter, my excitement deflates. This book doesn’t tell me much more than the latest issue of Cosmo would. I close the book and pick up my phone to admonish Theresa for her advice through text message.

  JUST GOT THE BOOK. ARE YOU KIDDING ME WITH THIS? FATHER CROSS COULD’VE GIVEN ME BETTER ADVICE THAN THIS. THANKS.

  I take a quick dip in the perfect temperature-controlled water. Swimming a lap across the length of the pool, I exit trough the shallow end, wringing the excess water from my hair and shaking the extra drops from my limbs. Momma calls out to me from the back slider doors.

  “V! We have to leave soon to drive by the house site!”

  Ugh. I had forgotten that I’d promised Momma I would go there with her today. I gather my things, and the useless book, to re-enter the house. “Alright mom, I’m just going to shower quick!”

  I read one last text message from Theresa before I go to wash the chlorine off.

  SKIP TO CHAPTER FOUR. TRUST ME.

  Maybe I was quick to write the book off, not give it enough of a chance. It’ll have to wait‘till later as I’m sure mom won’t appreciate me reading such a book in her presence. Showering in record time and dressed in a simple cotton beach dress and thong sandals I finish preparing. Even with the air conditioning, it’s simply too hot of a day to run the hairdryer, so I opt instead for a bit of gel and a claw clip. Any attempt at makeup would just melt away, so it’s going to be a natural kind of day.

  Momma’s in the foyer matching me in her own summer dress. She fishes her car keys at the sight of me coming to join her. “Oh good. You wear flats. That’s good.”

  There’s a hint of humor to her voice.

  Mom’s driving reminds me of school bus ride. She insists on stopping fully, and I mean fully at every stop sign. She refuses to follow the rules of right away, instead waiting for intersections to completely clear out before she drives through, and she believes that speed limits are simply mere recommendations that she chooses to drive five miles per hour below. But, she’s made it this far carting children and grandchildren around endlessly without incident.

  ~*~

  Our old driveway is littered with pickup trucks, work vans, and piles of lumber. Parking as close as possible to the main work site, we exit mom’s Suburban and carefully navigate our way through the chaos. Mom holds onto my arm to both support herself and prevent me from performing one of my infamous clumsy falls.

  Men in work hats pursue lifting, carrying and hammering all around us. An older man with a clipboard acknowledges us as we take in the site, and greets us warmly.

  “Mrs. Lombardi! Welcome! And this must be your beautiful daughter,” he holds out his hand in greeting, “I’m Fred Martins. Foreman extrodinaire.” The man looks to be in his early sixties with bright blue eyes and weathered skin.

  I shake his hand. “Pleased to meet you. Please, call me V.” His hands are also weathered but his shake is kind. “My mom tells me you’re working wonders here.”

  Mr. Martins smiles at the compliment. It’s obvious that the house is far from complete but he takes us on a full tour of the property, complete with blueprints and sketches. I now feel guilty, knowing that once I move out, mom will be living in this beautiful home all by herself. I reach to hold her hand, needed to show her some sign of outward affection to quiet my inner guilt.

  She squeezes my hand gently. “I know honey, it’s so exciting!”

  I trail behind Momma and Mr. Martins as they talk all things window related. Size, pitch, and square footage. When they’ve covered all aspects of the impressive project, we express our thanks to the foreman and his crew before making our exit. On the road once agin, I lower the soft music to talk to mom.

  “Hey mom.... we should go get some dinner. Just you and me. What do you say? Maybe shop a little after?”

  Mom looks happy to hear my suggestion at spending some quality time with her. “Sure honey. We get some ices by the water after. It’ll be fun!”

  I had just made her day. It eases my guilt marginally, knowing I would never move into the beautiful new home she was creating.

  During summer vacations, while I was home from school, Momma and I spent a considerable amount of time together. Shopping, cooking, and salon appointments were the norm. We were the only two girls in the house and the only two left after the boys had moved out. Now that we’re staying at the DiBenedetto’s, I want to make sure mom still feels a special connection with her only daughter. If that means going out of my way to invite her for dinner, or to a movie, then I need to do that. She’ll have an empty nest soon enough, but I want her to feel anything but alone.

  ~*~

  We make it back to the house shortly after ten PM. After a long goodnight hug, I glide up the stairs and prepare myself for bed. Not quite ready for sleep, I decide to give the pink book another shot.

  Chapter four is proving to be a ton more interesting than the beginning of the book. I really start to get into the material as my phone lights up. Dom! I jump to read the text.

  HEY BABE... YOU STILL UP? I REALLY WANTED TO CALL YOU TONIGHT BUT I’M STILL STUCK IN A LAST MINUTE STRATEGY DINNER MEETING.

  No! I was looking forward to another flirty phone call. I’ve already rehearsed some sultry little innuendos in my head and was planning on testing out some new theories from my book on him. I take out my frustration by punching down on my bed in a mild tantrum.

  Disappointed, I text back to Dom.

  I’M JUST SETTLING IN WITH A BOOK BEFORE BED. I REALLY WISH YOU WERE HERE.

  If he is going to deprive me of my flirt-fest than the least I can do is pile on the guilt. Wait! I have an idea on how to really make him regret passing me over for a strategy meeting. I run from my bed and through the private door to Dom’s bedroom, my b
are feet cushioned by the plush luxury carpet. Switching on a table lamp I make my way over to his bureau in search of the old beat up, grey Yankees t-shirt Dom practically lives in during baseball season. I had given it to him as a Christmas present a few years back and he swears it’s good luck, wearing it to every home game he can.

  Rummaging through several drawers of socks, undershirts and boxers, I finally come upon a large selection of cotton t-shirts. The Yankee good luck charm is near the top of the pile making it easier for me to steal.

  Returning to my own room, I pull my trusty St Bart’s shirt off and Dom’s shirt on in it’s place. It’s about three sizes too big, practically swimming on me. Brainstorming, I tie the shirt in a knot halfway up my front, tightening it instantly. The navy blue Yank symbol is still recognizable on the shirt but my breasts swell it out, distorting it. I hop back into my bed and position myself sprawling out over the fluffy pillows. One last quick adjustment to lower the waistband of my panties exposing just the tops of my hips as well as my already exposed midriff, I hold out the phone in front of me and capture the image.

  This is genius! I’ve just read in my new dating guide that men respond best to visual stimuli... this is about as much stimulation as I can think of, fully impressed with myself as I recline back and send the picture along with a text.

  I GUESS THIS OLD THING WILL HAVE TO DO FOR NOW.

  My delight is soon overshadowed by a deep longing. I really did wish he was here with his warm, strong arms around me instead of just his broken in shirt. I hug my arms around myself, pressing his shirt tighter around my skin. This is the closest I will get to him tonight, but I gladly accept whatever comfort it offers as I drift off to sleep.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The next afternoon, I find myself sitting in the bleachers at JJ’s ball game, rooting on his team as they run around the ball field. John is the coach of his son’s team, “The Sharks,” and stands near the dugout with his water bottle on stand-by for the little athletes. Mary sits next to me on one side with Cecily on the other and we catch up on gossip and chit-chat between cheering for the team.

  Cecily’s belly is getting larger these days, and she is apparently starting to become uncomfortable in the heat. Mary and I begin to notice her slight fidgeting and shifting. Standing up, I call out to Tony who is standing by the dugout with his camera taking video of the game for Momma, Aunt Rosie and Nonna to watch later. Catching sight of my waving arms, he runs over to check on his wife’s status.

  “What’s up? You doing OK babe?,” he nervously asks Cecily as he cautiously places his hand on her protruding middle. There is fright in his eyes. Tony is going to make a great dad, I’m sure, but man is it going to take a toll on him until the birth actually happens. Overprotective is not even on the radar anymore... he is in full-blown daddy-mode.

  Cecily blushes from the instant attention. She is a shy, quiet girl with nothing but positive things to say. Hell, even if the woman was dying of thirst, she probably would just ask for a little water for her parched throat. Knowing this about her, we all pay close attention to truly gauge her situation, not just accepting her words at face value. She stops shifting and tries to calm her nervous husband.

  “Tony, I’m fine. I’m seven months pregnant and sitting on a hard bench isn’t helping matters much,”

  I take hold of her handbag and suggest that we take a walk over to the shaded concession stand where there are large wicker chairs and sun umbrellas, to make her more comfortable. Tony looks leery, but Mary chimes in.

  “Tony, I’ve been through this a time or two before. We’ll take it from here. She just needs a nice cold drink and to put her feet up for a little while. Relax, go bother my husband and let the women take care of this.”

  ~*~

  The chairs are much more comfortable, and I appreciate the large iced drinks as we sit back and enjoy a little privacy away from the other screaming parents. Cecily props her swollen ankles up on another chair and exhales deeply as she appears much more content than before. Swirling her straw around in her iced tea, she looks up at us eying her for any changes.

  “I’m fine, guys, really. Let’s talk about something else... Mary, you guys still coming over for dinner tomorrow?” She begins sipping on her straw, continuing to cool herself.

  “It’s just going to be me and the kids. John’s flying to Miami tonight to help with some deal that’s going bad. I’ll pick up some pizzas and salads on the way. You don’t have to cook a thing.”

  My eyes perk up at the mention of Miami and unaware of my sudden enthusiasm on the topic, I blurt, “What? Why? What happened? Dom said it’s all going smoothly. A piece of cake.”

  The girls both turn to me, curious at my interest in business. Usually, I avoid such things like the plague.

  Mary speaks first, choosing her words thoughtfully. “This just happened late yesterday. Dom needs John to fly down and renegotiate some legal stuff. Um... so you’re talking to Dom while he’s down in Florida?” Her eyebrows raise but her eyes drop as if to concentrate on the ice floating up in her glass, attempting to feign her interest. Cecily on the other hand, drops her feet to the floor and sits up, inching herself closer to me with an open jaw.

  I need to be really careful here. If I’m not, I won’t have to worry about Theresa spilling the beans... I would do it myself.

  “Um... you know. We talk sometimes.” I finish off my statement with a huge sip of my drink to occupy myself before giving anything else away. Mary and Cecily share a quick glance before Mary continues her prodding.

  “Oh sure, V. We all talk sometimes, but not usually when Dom’s away handling intense business deals, unless it’s company related. Hmmm... so, do you guys talk often?” Her drink is now empty leaving her nothing to fidget with.

  Choose your words carefully, V. I tell myself. One more thing to raise her suspicions and John will surely hear about it before they they even leave the ballpark.

  “I don’t keep track.” I notice my word are unintentionally terse.

  Cecily can sense that I’m getting hesitant, she hands her own empty glass to Mary and asks her to get a refill along with her own. Mary looks annoyed that she won’t be able to press me further on the issue right away, but politely takes the glass and leaves us to head toward the line at the snack bar. We have at least five or six minutes before she’ll return.

  I turn to my sister-in-law with grateful appreciation in my eyes. “Thanks. She is about to begin an inquisition, I think.” I joked, trying to make light of the situation.

  The sweet woman smiles back. “Don’t mention it. It’s nobody’s business unless you want it to be. Besides, you and Dom should talk. You two are very similar, you know. I’ve known him for a few years now and I’m not just biased because he’s my husband’s best friend. He’s a really good guy. He’s had some growing up to do, but his heart is pure gold. Mary’s just living vicariously through you. She’s stuck alone in a house with three kids all day.”

  I can sense a certain bit of satisfaction from Cecily as she speaks about Dom and I. Does she know something? She and Theresa are friendly but I can’t imagine them having clandestine conversations about my dating life behind my back.

  Thank God for interruptions! JJ comes running to us with dirt and grass stains covering most of his little league uniform. “Aunt V... Aunt Cecily... we won! Did you see me? I hit the ball soo far!” JJ practically jumps into my lap as he gets closer.

  Two little brunettes are chasing behind, as usual. Their outfits perfectly fitting for a day at the park. Pink jumpers with matching baseball caps and little white sandals, shouting to their brother, the hero.

  “Johnny! Wait for us!”

  We reward the little boy and his personal cheerleaders to some ice cream sodas from the food stand as my own brothers join our group. We celebrate the teams win with laughter while the kids enjoy their sugar high before packing up the cars and heading off to our respective homes, but not before the kids promise to come over to
visit grandma and go swimming soon.

  ~*~

  Mom and Nonna had grilled some salmon steaks and veggies for dinner but I excuse myself before dessert. It’s the beginning of bikini season and I don’t really think I need chocolate cake. Worn out and slightly tired from a hot day in the direct sun, I decide to relax and read some more of my salacious new book.

  As I pass the large front door on my way to the staircase, I notice a man through the glass window panes walking up to press the door bell. Opening the door before he’s had a chance to announce his presence has startled him but he quickly regains his composure. He’s holding a large basket of goodies wrapped in cellophane and tied with an oversized red-ribboned bow in one arm and a dozen large long stemmed red roses in the other.

  How had he managed to carry all of this up to the house? I can barely manage to walk and chew gum at the same time yet here he is expertly balancing large gifts. I can see the bottom portion of his face through the massive objects in front of him as he declares the purpose for his visit.

  “Oh, hello miss. I have a delivery here for a Vincenza Lombardi?”

  I nod, embarrassed, allowing the man to enter and place the contents in his arms on the large entrance table in the foyer. Signing for my delivery, I reach around to my non-existent pockets in search of some dollar bills to give the driver in thanks for his efforts. Realizing that my money is in my bag, I’m about to excuse myself to fetch some, when he shakes his head and politely informs me that all gratuities have been arranged by the sender of the gifts, I was simply to enjoy the delivery.

  Seeing the man out, I turn to the elaborate spread in front of me, planning their inconspicuous removal up to my room before they are spotted by someone. I already know who they are from and would have to have a serious conversation with Dom. What good is it to keep whatever it is between us under wraps from everybody, if he’s just going to do blatantly obvious things like this?