He said he’d work day and night if he had to, to make sure Marcello’s annual report would show Enrico he could do the job.
And if that didn’t work...
They would think of something. They would make their relationship work out. Somehow.
She and Andrew fell asleep that night in a tangle of sheets, legs, arms, and a happy well-fed cat.
In the airport the next morning, Gwen reached the line for security, but Andrew pulled her aside and kissed her gently stroking her cheek.
“Gwen...” His face blanked, searching for a way to finish.
She swallowed. “Me, too.” She had no idea what he couldn’t tell her, but surely her face looked the same as his did. Sad. In this moment, she would be the strong one. “I’ll text you when I’m on the plane.”
He nodded, tamping down his emotion. “I really want this to work, Gwen.”
She smiled and kissed him softly. But in her mind, she thought, it just may have to work.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
t’d been almost two weeks since Gwen saw Andrew...and her period should have arrived three Idays ago.
That night had been the worst possible time to have unprotected sex. She hadn’t put that additional worry on him, though. Andrew had enough stress with Marcello.
Yet that one slip-up had her in her bathroom for the last twenty minutes, peeing on pregnancy sticks.
“Give me another one.” Gwen stuck her hand around the bathroom door and waved impatiently to her sister. “The other brand. I can’t believe this.”
“Here you go.” Skye handed her a wrapped stick that reminded her of a popsicle.
The others rested on the edge of her sink, all positive. Gwen stuck the new stick between her aching thighs, set it beside the others on the counter, and waited.
Sitting on the edge of the tub, she clasped her hands together, a horrid memory attacking her. When she and Dan were first married, she had become pregnant right away, but after a month, she’d lost the baby. The weeks prior had been a shit-show of morning sickness and headaches.
When Gwen woke up that December morning with a churning stomach, the thought of telling Andrew she was pregnant gave her an even bigger headache.
Her nervous fingers picked up the latest stick. Just like the others. Two little pink lines winked at her. She slapped them all off the sink, shooting them into the shower, the cheap plastic echoing off the tiles.
“Am I opening another box?” Skye asked from the hallway.
“No.” She scooped up the sticks and opened the door.
“I hope you’re going to throw those away.” Skye scrunched her face at the five wet sticks in Gwen’s hand. “They have urine on them.”
“If these are accurate, I’m having a baby.” She ambled into her bedroom and let the sticks fall into the trash one by one. “And I’ll have more than urine all over me soon.”
“All those pink lines and you’re still not convinced?” Skye asked.
The last hour rocked Gwen’s emotions all over the Richter scale. She and Andrew had spent an amazing week together with the promise of a great relationship on the horizon. Now, his hand would be forced. And she only had herself to blame for being so anxious and not letting him put the damn condom on himself.
She glanced down into the trash bin. “Oh, I’m convinced all right.”
“Are you done being melodramatic? Come here.” Skye hugged her. “A baby. You’re having a teeny-tiny baby!”
“Andrew is six-foot-four. I don’t know how teeny this baby will be.” As if there weren’t enough to worry about.
Skye released her. “When are you going to tell him?”
Gwen dropped onto her mattress. “He’s four thousand miles away. Should I text him the good news?” She’d heard the term Expectant Father. What about an unexpectant one?
“I agree, you should tell him in person.” Skye sat and smoothed her back. “When is he coming home?”
“Christmas Eve.”
“That’s some present, Gwen.”
“Surprise!” she mocked.
“I’ll go make you some of that vanilla tea you never drink.” Skye stood and whistled her way to the kitchen.
Gwen rolled over and took out her phone. Christmas Eve was in a few days and Andrew arranged to fly home for the holiday. He needed the week to work on his report. His and Marcello’s projections were due on the thirty-first. He initially sounded optimistic about Marcello’s progress.
Andrew’s tone, however, had since turned grim.
Gwen mashed her wet face in her pillow. Wrapped up in Andrew’s arms that week and making love again and again, the distance had been easy to dismiss. Reality had been a cruel bitch since she’d been back in New York.
Nine-hour flights made weekend getaways impossible and U.S. and Italian holidays rarely lined up. If she moved to Milan, it would be completely unreasonable to maintain a relationship or expect they could ever grow into a real couple.
Now she added a dense, sticky layer of complication. How in the world would they raise a baby together living on two different continents?
Skye returned with two steaming mugs of tea.
“Thanks.” The smell of nutmeg filled Gwen’s senses. After two sips, she put the drink down.
“Skye?”
“What sweetie?” Her sister took a seat on the floor with her legs crossed.
“I guess I can admit to you that I’m in love with him.” First comes love. Yeah, right.
“I hope so!” Skye sat forward and tapped her stomach. “Did you tell him?”
“No. We had just worked things out.” She stared at the ceiling. “Now I’ll never know.”
“Know what?” her sister asked.
“How he really feels about me.”
“What do you mean?”
“This will force his hand,” Gwen said.
“Sweetie, this isn’t the fifties. Men don’t automatically feel they have to marry a woman anymore.
Especially a career girl like you.” Skye made sense, but Gwen suspected Andrew had moral values that went beyond today’s acceptable standards. “And just how much do you love this job, anyway?”
Here came that being a mother is the most important job in the world line. From a woman Gwen suspected secretly didn’t even like kids.
“It’s paying my mortgage. And...” She strained to look at her alarm clock. “It’s getting late and I have to wake up early to get to that job I love so much.”
“Okay, okay.” Skye got up. “I owe Casey a nice long walk anyway.”
“Bundle up, it’s cold,” Gwen said peeling herself off the mattress and followed Skye down the stairs and to her front door.
Her sister pulled her into a hug, held her for a moment, and then looked her in the eye. “Six-foot-four, huh?”
“Mmm.” She refrained from saying, ‘ yes, it is proportional.’ That was just mean.
“And I can’t tell Dad or Greg?” Skye asked, biting a fingernail.
“Do you want to see our six-foot brother get his ass kicked when he tries to throw a punch at six-foot-four Andrew?”
“Our brother needs a kick in the ass, because Faith has been back in town for three months and the big dope won’t go talk to her.” Skye’s passion on the subject shocked her.