Wrong (A Bad Boy Romance)(55)
I’m still on edge when I join him at the breakfast table. He smiles at me, reaches out to take my hand. I have the pregnancy test clutched in the other hand. “Hi.”
“Good morning,” he answers.
I swallow hard. The morning sickness is starting to kick in, and I’m feeling more than a little off kilter. Woozy. Not my best, by any stretch of the imagination. Please, God, let him be at least a little happy.
I hold out the blue stick. “I have some news.”
“Good or bad?” He doesn’t seem to immediately understand the significance of what I’m handing him.
“Good, I hope.” I poke the air with the stick and he finally takes it.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a pregnancy test. I took it this morning.”
He’s silent a moment, and his easy expression has folded into something close to a frown. “This morning?” Peering at it, he turns it back and forth, obviously trying to figure out how to read it. My stomach’s going into knots waiting for him to react, but there’s still no real response on his face, just that thoughtful frown.
“Yes. You’re supposed to take them in the morning.” He still looks puzzled. “See the two blue lines?” I explain. “If there was just one, that’d be negative. So this one’s positive.”
He’s very quiet for a few long seconds. “How accurate are these tests?”
My voice comes out in a nervous near-whisper. What is he thinking? “Really accurate. False positives are super rare.”
He finally looks up. “What’s wrong, Sarah?”
“Nothing. I just…” I stop to swallow the tears that have suddenly risen in the back of my throat. “You’re happy, right?”
A wide smile creases his face. “Of course I’m happy! This is wonderful. Sarah, this is fantastic!” He practically leaps to his feet and comes to my chair at the table, hauls me up into his arms. “I thought it would take a lot longer than this.”
I can’t help but laugh at that, since I’d been thinking the same thing. I let my head fall against his chest, just breathing in the relief. “Well, it didn’t. Probably because you keep dragging me to bed every chance you get.”
“I didn’t hear you complaining.” He sets me back from him a bit and gives me a firm kiss on the forehead. “We need to go to the doctor right away. Make sure everything’s going all right.”
“I’m sure it’s fine—”
“No, no, no. Only the best for my girl. And my boy.” He lays a hand on my stomach.
“Or girl.” I don’t understand the obsession men have with fathering sons. It’s like we’re living in the Middle Ages. Of course, the mob isn’t much different, I guess.
He doesn’t seem to register my words. “I’ll go call the doctor. Or do you want to?”
I’m surprised he asked, even after the time he’s spent giving me more and more freedom. He doesn’t seem to want to control every inch of my life like Sal did. Or maybe he doesn’t want to have to talk to a gynecologist. Either way, I’m still almost giddy with the knowledge that he’s actually happy, that he’s not going to find some reason to berate me.
I dash a few stray tears from the corner of my eye. “I’ll call. Just give me the number.”
“And I want to come,” he adds.
“I could probably go on my own. I don’t think they’ll do much.”
“No. I’m coming. Let the doctor know.”
He walks off whistling. I smile at him, and a few more tears leak free. I didn’t expect any of this—not Nick taking me away from Sal, or Nick’s wanting a baby, and certainly not this feeling growing under my heart, that maybe I’m actually building something here. Something that will last.
#
As I suspected, the doctor’s appointment goes smoothly. There’s not much for me to do right now except rest and take my vitamins.
Nevertheless I’m feeling considerably less sure of things when we get home. I head straight into the kitchen and get a bottle of water out of the fridge.
“You okay?” Nick asks.
I take a long swig out of the bottle and then say firmly, “I want to get married.” He nods slowly. Before he can protest, I go on. “Before the baby comes. I want to be married before he’s born.”
“He?” He smiles a little, and I know he’s teasing me.
“He, she…doesn’t matter. I want us to be married before I give birth.”
Nick eyes me for a long moment, and I’m pretty sure he’s going to at best say no, at worst fly into a rage at me. But I forget—he’s not Sal. How many times will I have to remind myself of that before it sinks in?