Amedeo, Her Italian Billionaire(21)

She had no idea. She should probably get a book to tell her all of this. She’d never been a girl dreaming of children. Most of her friends from high school were on their third baby with their third baby daddy.

She’d wanted no part of that, instead, choosing to stand on her own. Never relying on a man. Ironic that she’d gotten pregnant out of wedlock and was relying on that man.

Still it chafed at her, but she had no choice. If he wanted her to bring this pregnancy to term, he’d have to pay for it since she couldn’t afford it.

She steeled herself for the fact that at some point, Amedeo would want nothing to do with her.

***

Amedeo woke in an empty bed. They’d made love again at bedtime and fallen asleep naked together. He had to admit he was beginning to like it. Waking up to someone. Coming home to someone. Who would have thought? He’d never considered himself that domestic and his broken engagement had been somewhat of a relief.

Was that because of Tory or him?

He shook his head. He didn’t know.

Hopefully, Violet wasn’t regretting their decision to become lovers. Women usually couldn’t handle the physical without the emotional. He hopped into the shower and cleaned himself off. He didn’t feel like shaving today. He always kept a little scruff on his face.

He whistled as he dressed, wondering where Violet had gotten to. She wasn’t rethinking what they’d done? Damn,” he thought, better find her and do damage control. Talk her off the ledge. Not just for his own satisfaction but for his own sanity.

He sniffed. He smelled breakfast. Breakfast burning maybe. He scrambled down the steps to the kitchen. Smoke billowed off the pan. Violet stared at it in horror. Amedeo put a lid on the pan to smother the fire then turned on his kitchen fan to get the smoke out of the kitchen.

“I was trying to cook pancakes,” Violet said.

She wore an apron and had a spatula in her hand. Her face looked like a little girl who had lost her puppy. A frown tilted her mouth and wrinkled her forehead. Oh. My. God. Was she going to cry?

“It’s okay. I don’t eat pancakes very often anyway,” he said.

“So you wouldn’t have eaten them anyway?”

He had the distinct feeling that one wrong word and she might explode. He put up his hands, approaching her with the same care he’d approach a ravenous tiger. “Of course I would have. If you made them I’d eat them. How about I make breakfast?”

“Because I can’t?”

“No, that isn’t it. I just want to make you breakfast. You cook so much for me.”

“I suck at cooking. I don’t know how you eat it.”

Oh. Shit. This was going downhill fast. Some women he could just throw his credit card at them and they’d take it and run. Retail therapy. This wasn’t going to work with Violet. She wasn’t a shopper.

What the Hell was he supposed to do? He couldn’t call his mother. Even if she knew about Violet, he hadn’t told her himself. He’d bet Dante had mentioned something. Or maybe his brother hadn’t thrown him under the bus, yet.

Still. He was out of his depth here. “You’re cooking is delicious, Violet.”

She dropped the spatula on the floor, then crossed her arms. “You’re just saying that.”

Her bottom lip grew to twice its size. Then it began trembling. Oh. Crap. She was going to cry. He hated crying women. He never knew what to do. His hand hovered over her shoulders, wanting to take her into his arms.

He couldn’t blame her. These were pregnancy hormones. Dante had talked about how his wife Gwen was a different person when she was pregnant. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“No need to cry.”

Shit. Wrong words.

“I’m not crying,” she wailed as the first set of tears streaked down her face.

Should he pull her to him? He didn’t know. He preferred coding or negotiating business deals. Crying women were not his forte.

With nothing to lose, he pulled her up against him. She resisted at first, but he held on. Soon, she melted into him, her sobs getting louder. He murmured into her ears. Finally her sobs slowed down.

Her breath hitched and she sniffed loudly. He grabbed a dishtowel, wiping her face. “It’s okay, Violet. You’re pregnant.”

“I’m not a crier,” she said. “I can’t remember the last time I cried.”

Sniff.

“It’s okay, honey. You can’t help it. How about I take you out for breakfast?”

“You’d do that?”

“Yes. I’ll make sure the housekeeper comes in today to clean. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Really?’

Her sniffing subsided. She looked kind of cute with her red eyes. He let her go and she stepped away. “Really, Violet. Wherever you want. What are you in the mood for?”