Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“Well, in one bag, there are chocolate bars and a soft blanket. In the other, there is a cake and champagne. Since I don’t exactly know which outcome you are hoping for when you pee on the stick. Well, the six sticks.”
I honestly wasn’t sure what I was hoping for, either. I wanted kids with Cesare. There was no question about that.
That said, we had just moved into our new home. A four-bedroom limestone townhouse that I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around being able to call home.
It had been ostentatiously expensive. Though Cesare claimed it was a “steal,” because it needed a lot of work.
Which was what I had been throwing myself into the plans and the paint chips and material swatches.
And I was really enjoying it.
Reaching for the pharmacy bag that would hold the answers I was seeking, my engagement ring caught my eye.
He’d had it specially made.
A flower.
He’d gotten me a flower engagement ring.
“Whatever the outcome is, I will be happy with it,” I told Vega, realizing it was true.
If some of the renovation plans were rushed or not as thoroughly thought-through as usual because I was expecting, that would be just fine. And if this wasn’t the right time, and a baby would come later in our relationship, that would also be just fine.
I just wanted to know.
And wrap my head around the result.
That was why I was having Vega bring me the test, not having Cesare do it.
“That is a good mindset to have,” Vega said. “So, that means I can dig into the champagne now, right?” she asked, already pulling out the bottle, so she could pop the cork.
“Rough day?” I asked.
“You would think that working for mafia guys, I’d be working on murder trials or drug charges or something. Not paperwork. So much fucking paperwork.”
Vega didn’t work exclusively for the Costa Family. She also worked for the Esposito Family. The Morelli Family. And even the D’onofrio Family. Four of the Five Families of the New York City mafia.
She mixed some normal cases in as well, for appearances sake, but she took a page out of her mentor’s book and tried to work as little as possible.
The difference here was that Vega worked for herself. And she was making an obscene amount of money working just a few days a week.
“They own a lot of businesses,” I said, nodding.
I moved to the kitchen, grabbing my big water bottle, and chugging some of it.
“How goes the wedding planning?” Vega asked.
“I have no idea,” I admitted.
True to form, the ladies of the family had sort of… taken over that task. They were leaving the flowers to me, but had decided to do all the rest themselves.
I’d agreed because the pictures from all the other family weddings had been amazing. Far superior to anything I could have done. Though, objectively, I could have personalized the bouquets to the bride’s personalities.
Which was my plan for mine.
But that was all settled weeks ago.
“The house plans are in full swing, though,” she said, pushing some of the plans out of the way. “Might have to work a nursery into the plans.”
“Maybe,” I agreed, opening one of the boxes to read the instructions. “I mean… definitely. Eventually.”
Twenty minutes later, I had three of the six tests spread across the bathroom counter as Vega and I watched the countdown on her phone.
“And… time,” she said, and we both took a deep breath in unison before glancing down.
Negative.
They were all negative.
“I feel like a hug is appropriate,” Vega said as her arm went around me, the side of her head pressing into mine. “How are you?” she asked.
“I’m okay. A little sad, but also a little relieved. Somehow at the same time.”
“That makes sense, I think. You want Cesare’s babies. But maybe just not right this moment.”
“It would be nice to wait until after the wedding. Did you go to your dress fitting yet?”
“I did. Did I mention how impressive it is that you managed to find me a dress that tastefully shows off my underbust tattoo?” she asked as we went back into the kitchen. And this time, both of us drank champagne.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said a while later. “Can you make me a custom bouquet?”
“Always. For what? And who?”
“Well, I need something that says: I’m sorry I set your shirt on fire… while you were wearing it.”
“Anthony?” I asked, cringing.
“Really, it makes no sense how it even happened,” Vega said, shaking her head. “I’m starting to think that guy has a curse on him or something. So can you make the bouquet or not?”
“I don’t think there is a flower for accidental incineration, but I can certainly try.”
“You’re the best. Okay. I’m going to go murder some people,” she said.
While so many things had changed, some things never would. And there was a certain amount of comfort in that.