by Harlow James
“I know we still have some time, but since we’re supposed to find out the gender of the baby this week, I was wondering if you wanted to start discussing names?”
I swallow my food and then push down the words I was preparing to speak. “Yeah, I think we should. Do you have any ideas?”
“I think so,” she replies as more of a question than a declaration. “I’ll think that I have a name I like one day, but then I’ll talk myself out of it.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“And I do that weird thing that teachers do—you know when they have a student they don’t particularly like, so they vow they will never name their child that same name because it has a negative association?”
I chuckle. “I guess.”
“Well, there’s a lot of people I’ve met throughout my life, even briefly, that I couldn’t stand or rubbed me the wrong way, so it’s making it difficult to narrow down.”
“So what are you thinking then?” I ask, smiling at her across the table, intensely serious about this discussion.
“Well, if it’s a boy, I like Axel. And if it’s a girl, Amelia.”
“I like those, although Axel kind of reminds me of Axel Rose from Guns & Roses.”
She smacks her forehead. “I knew I had heard that name somewhere, but couldn’t remember. Pregnancy brain is real.” The waiter comes by and sets a plate of buffalo wings in front of us. “Buffalo wings aren’t Italian the last time I checked, Silas.”
“I know. We don’t even serve these on the menu, but I made sure the chef made some just for you.”
“Wow.” She leans back in her chair and rests her hands on her bump. “You are definitely schmoozing me tonight. Do you have an ulterior motive?” She arches a brow at me.
“Maybe.” I sit up taller in my chair. “But we can discuss that later. For now, let’s keep on this topic of names.” I watch her reach for a wing and then devour it in the charming way only Chloe could do—not charming at all. “I was actually going to ask you if you would have a problem naming our son after my father or grandfather—if we have a boy that is. And maybe incorporating my mother’s name if it’s a girl.” I reach for a wing this time, curious to see what Marco came up with. With one bite, I contemplate adding these to the menu even though they don’t fit the restaurant—they’re that fucking good.
She pauses while chewing and then clears her throat. “Oh. Yeah, I don’t mind doing that. I…I never thought about paying tribute to my parents at all, you know…because of how they died and stuff. But we could do that for you.”
“I appreciate that.” I watch her slide her tongue out to lick her lips, stealing my focus from our conversation again.
“So what were their names?”
I wipe my mouth with the cloth napkin before answering. “My father’s name was Lorenzo, which is part of why Valentina’s son is named that, but my nonno was Giovanni. My mother was Jenna. She wasn’t Italian though.”
“Well Lorenzo and Giovanni are very Italian.”
I smile wistfully. “Yeah.”
“Axel Giovanni?” She lets the name roll off her tongue, and then scrunches her nose and shakes her head. “Nope.”
Laughing, I reach for my water as the waiter comes back with more plates. “We have time, but it’s good to be thinking about it.”
“Yes. I agree. You’re almost done reading, right?”
“Yup.” She deposits a bite of pasta in her mouth, sliding the fork out between her lips, chewing before answering completely. “Almost finished actually. And let me tell you, the chapter on childbirth is no light reading material you should do before bed.”
“I agree. Pretty sure I had nightmares that night after I read it.” It’s true. All of the things that could go wrong during birth are constantly in the back of my mind. When people wish for a safe delivery for mom and the baby, now I get why—because having a child is fucking scary in more ways than one.
“I actually think Lamaze classes might be good, or just a birthing class in general so we know more of what to expect.”
“Do they still do those?”
“I think so.”
“I’ll look into it.”
“You know I can handle planning a few things, Silas. I’m not a child.”
“I know. I’m not saying that. I want to. I’ll figure it out for us.” It helps me feel like I have some control.
During more conversation, Chloe and I sample so much of the menu that I contemplate unbuckling my slacks toward the end. I’m proud of the food my restaurants are putting out on the tables, but I’m stuffed and feel like I need to walk some of this off. Besides, I’m not ready to go home. I want to spend more time with her now that I have her out of the house and she looks so goddamn beautiful that I can’t stop staring.
“Care for a walk on the beach?” I ask as I stand from my chair and button my jacket.
She stares up at me from her seat. “Really?”
“Yeah. When’s the last time you walked on the beach?”
She tilts her head in thought. “I can’t remember. But wait a second,” she pauses. “When’s the last time you walked on the beach?”
“I can’t remember either.” I offer her my hand and she takes it as she struggles to stand.
“You realize that this is something…” Her eyes peer off to one side, then the other, and then she leans in and whispers with her eyes wide, “fun.”
Her teasing has me full on laughing. “I know, so before I think better of it, we should just go.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. De Luca. I’m just along for the ride.”
Oh, I’d love to take you for a ride again, Chloe.
We settle into my car and then I make the short five minute drive to the beach just as the sky goes completely dark with the exception of the moon beaming overhead. When I walk around to her side of the car, the sound of the waves crashing on the shore in the distance, she has both of her legs hanging out of the door, kicking her feet playfully. “Mind helping me out of these? It’s getting harder to bend over.”
“Not at all.” Squatting down in front of her, I reach for her right foot and pinch the strap around the buckle of her heel, holding her ankle in place. My eyes travel up the length of her leg—those legs, as my younger sister pointed out, that are definitely attention catching. Without thinking, I run my hand up her calf, relishing in the smoothness of her skin, the light freckles I didn’t realize she had, and appreciating the toned muscles she’s walked many miles for.
I can feel her watching me, so before I make her uncomfortable, I retract my hand and then move to extract her other shoe. Chloe clears her throat when I’m done and then I stand and help her do the same.
“Thank you,” she says almost timidly, as if I did make her uncomfortable. Dear God, I hope not.
“My pleasure.”
I toe off both of my dress shoes and pull down my socks, exposing my feet to the asphalt below us, knowing we’ll be in the sand in a minute.
“Oh dear. Your feet,” Chloe says as she stares down at the ground where I’m standing.
“What about my feet?”
“Let’s just say I hope that our kid gets my toes.”
I wiggle mine around. “My feet aren’t that bad.”
“It’s a good thing you have a beautiful dick Silas because those could be a woman deterrent.”
Laughing off her comment, I toss our shoes in the backseat of my Benz, and then lock the door once I shut it, leading us onto the sand just a few feet away. The cold grains of sand squish between my toes, but the sensation feels good—calming and playful in a way.
I truly can’t remember the last time I did this.
“It’s so beautiful out tonight, but you can definitely tell that the weather is changing.” Chloe walks beside me and I can see her visibly shiver as a mist from the ocean floats through the air.
“Are you cold?”
“A little. I mean, it’s early November. This is about the time it starts to get ch
illier in Santa Barbara.”
“Here.” I extract my jacket as quickly as I can, draping it over her shoulders as she clutches it tightly to her chest. “Better?”
“Much. Thank you.” The smile she gives me has me memorizing how she looks in this moment—the reflection of the moonlight in her eyes, her curls fanning out around her face from the light breeze, the way her green dress is flowing off to the side as well, plastered to her curves and her stomach carrying our child.
Fuck. She is taking my goddamn breath away.
And I am in so much fucking trouble because I would gladly let her steal the oxygen from my lungs at this point.
My walls are crumbling, and I can’t fucking stop it.
I didn’t want this to happen, and I knew she would have the power to infiltrate my defenses, but Chloe has wormed her way into my world, made a mark on it, and now is quickly becoming the center of it.
Without saying another word, I pull her to a stop by reaching for her hand, interlacing our fingers and then spinning her into my chest, knowing if there were any more perfect moment to give in to her, this is it.
She stares up at me with wide eyes, her breath catching for a moment. “Silas? What—what are you doing?”
“Something I’ve been wanting to do for weeks.” With no further hesitation, I lean down and gently press my lips to hers, lacking urgency and force because I just want to savor this moment—the feeling of her in my arms, the texture of her lips on mine, the way her body melts in my arms as she falls in line to the kiss with me—and a softer kiss is the perfect way to do that.
But then I swipe my tongue across her lips and escalate the kiss. Slow strokes, deep thrusts—I make sure to savor the taste of her, relish in this kiss because this one is different.
This isn’t frantic and desperate. This isn’t a momentary lapse in judgment that I acted upon on instinct.
No.
This is deliberate and meaningful, shifting us across the line that I thought I wanted to stay firmly planted on the other side of.
Chloe’s hands travel into my hair as she drags her fingernails along my scalp, down my neck, and then she squeezes my shoulders, as if she’s trying to hold on to me, bracing herself for what is next.
But I just keep moving my lips over hers, tilting our heads so far to deepen the kiss more, moving in tune with one another, feeling every nerve ending in my body light on fire from her touch.
Reluctantly, I break the kiss, pausing to take a breath and leaning my forehead on hers, but I can feel Chloe trembling in my arms.
“Silas?”
“Yeah?” I ask, my voice husky and desperate—because I’m desperate for more of her, but I’m curious as to what she’s thinking right now.
“Why do you keep kissing me?” Her voice is barely a whisper.
I take a deep breath, running my hands up and down her arms as I lean back to see her entire face now. “Because I want to.”
“You wanted to at Nonna’s?”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
“Fuck yes.”
“But…what does this mean?”
Swallowing down the frog in my throat, I give her the best answer I can without revealing my entire hand—because my mind is spinning with visions of a future with her, and I just don’t know if I can let myself go there fully yet.
I want to—but my anxiety, my head—is holding me back.
“It means I want to kiss you again, and probably again after that.”
“But…don’t you think it’s going to make our situation more complicated?”
“Our situation is already complicated, Chloe. But what isn’t is the fact that I can’t stop thinking about putting my lips on yours, about touching you.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“So how do you feel about it?”
She licks her lips and then bites the bottom one, looking up at me playfully beneath her dark lashes. “I don’t want you to stop either.”
“Then I won’t.”
Our lips meet once more, this time more desperate, more unabashedly honest in our desire for one another—more intense in every way.
Because this is a kiss that we both want, that we both know means more—and that’s exactly how we leave it when we get home later that evening.
I don’t take her up to my room and strip her naked like I want to. I don’t try to press things any further—because a lot like me, Chloe needs time to process things. So that’s exactly what I’ll give her.
And in the meantime, I will hold onto the memory of our night, the vision and recollection of that kiss, until we can both agree that crossing that boundary entirely is the right thing to do.
Chapter 9
Chloe
“Silas kissed me.”
“What?” Shayla shrieks.
We’re currently on the sidewalk at a table in front of the coffee shop where she used to work. I was out for my afternoon walk with a few of my clients’ dogs, and asked her to meet me since I needed to process this entire development with her.
“When?” She leans forward in her chair, her eyes fixated on mine.
“A few nights ago, after the opening of the restaurant. And then back at Nonna’s the first night I met his family.”
“He kissed you twice?” Her squeal is even more high-pitched now, but I know there’s no point in trying to get her to lower her voice. “And you didn’t say anything?”
“Look, I have a lot on my plate right now, okay? Somedays the only thing I’m focused on is what I’m going to eat and if there’s going to be a bathroom around in case I have to pee.” Shayla laughs and then urges me to continue. “When he kissed me the first time, we never spoke of it again, so I figured he just wanted to let it go, brush it under the rug, you know? So I did the same. Tried not to think about it.” I take a sip of my green tea with lemon, wishing it were a salted caramel cold brew with an extra shot of espresso right now. “But then he kept touching me—a hug here, a kiss on my temple there. And then after the opening, he took me to walk on the beach and kissed me until I was dizzy again.”
I sigh, thinking back to that night, how it felt when his lips hit mine the first time. It wasn’t the same as the kisses we’ve shared before. No there was definitely more to that kiss, and his words afterwards only confirmed it.
“So what happened after this time?”
“Well, I finally asked him why he kept kissing me, and he said it was because he wanted to,” I reply, fighting the smile on my lips but failing miserably.
“Oh my God!” Shayla sports spirit fingers and then bounces in her chair. “And what did he say?”
“And then he said he plans on doing it again.”
“Holy shit! Chloe!” She giggles, smirking at me across the table. “Waverly owes me fifty bucks!”
“What?”
“Oh, we made a bet on when you two would start mauling each other.”
I bring my hand up to my chest, mocking her like I’m offended. “I can’t believe you two would do that!”
Shayla just rolls her eyes at me. “Oh, come on. We did that for Hayes and Waverly. It was only fitting we did that for you guys too.”
“Naturally.”
“So has he kissed you since that night?”
“Not on the lips, but he’s been rather busy since the opening. He even said he might have to go out of town soon.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, to the east coast.”
“That sucks.”
I twist my lips. “It does.” I’ve grown so used to living with him now that the thought of being all alone in that house not only has me uneasy, but missing him already.
“Well, he’d better start making his moves now then so you’re satisfied before he leaves,” she teases, which instantly reminds me of something else that’s been on my mind.
“I am so horny, Shayla,” I declare, which has her eyebrows raising.
“Really? That’s not unusual for you though.”
/> I shake my head. “No, not normal Chloe horniness. I’m talking about def-con level ten. Like a light breeze on my clit has me seconds away from an orgasm.”
“Holy shit,” she says through a laugh. “Well, have Silas perform his fatherly duties then. He kissed you, so you know he wants you. Now tell him to follow through and give you what you really need.”
I veer my sight off to the side in contemplation because I hear what Shayla is saying. I hear her loud and clear. But I’m not the same confident woman I was five and half months ago, and part of me wonders if Silas will still find me attractive. Hell, how do you even have sex with a belly like this that’s only going to grow bigger before it gets smaller again?
“I—I found a stretch mark the other night,” I whisper.
“What?”
“A stretch mark. On my stomach.” I feel the sting of tears in my eyes, which instantly has Shayla concerned.
“Oh, Chloe. It’s okay. It’s perfectly normal.”
“I know.” I sniffle and then move to wipe away the tear sliding down my cheek. “I have some already, you know, from growing and stuff. But then I found another on my boob. And then another on my hip. What if they get worse?”
“They might,” she says, reaching across the table for my hand. “But it’s part of growing a human. And you know what, there is nothing to be ashamed of. Stretch marks are natural and a reminder of what your body is capable of. And look at society these days! Even marketing campaigns are using models that look like real women, stretch marks and all. I walked into Target not too long ago, and was damn proud to see the women they’re using in their ads now.”
“I agree. It’s just…what if Silas notices and they…turn him off?”
“Chloe, that would never happen. One, he obviously wants you, so a tiny stretch mark isn’t going to deter him. And two, those marks are a reminder and badge of honor that you’ll wear for growing his child. If he has a problem with them, which I seriously think he won’t—but if he does, you tell me and I will kick him so swiftly in the balls just like those soccer balls I used to knock in the back of the net.”
Gratefully, Shayla’s words help me relax. “I know I shouldn’t care. It’s just hard. My body is changing, it’s not the same as it was before, and it’s making me question all sorts of things.”