Tangled In Strings

Chapter Thirty-One

"Good. It's about time."

She lays down the print-outs on the desk. "I bet Giovanni will be glad to hear this."

I tilt the images, studying them fleetingly. The woman I hired to furnish and design the new corporate office in California is the best, most sought after modern decorator in the West Coast. I have no real concerns on her ability. "Overjoyed is more alike it. He wants to leave New York right after Christmas. Start the New Year in California. To be honest, I'm kind of anxious for it too."

"Well, after the year you've had..." She shrugs her next words off, and clearly changes them. "It will be nice to have the baby in warmer weather."

"February? I doubt it will be warm."

"Warmer, I said. I'm sure Giovanni will take you to the fanciest hospital known to man, where only the rich and powerful go. And you'll have the baby quick and graciously and be completely blissful."

"Quick? Gracious?" I chuckle, traumatized by the books I've attempted to read on the woes of labor, and instantly set down. "Doubtful, Bec. Very doubtful."

I catch her roll her eyes at me. "One of these days, you're going to warm to the idea."

"I have warmed to it."

"No, you've accepted it," she says, with a laugh to soften the blow. "You put up the front around Giovanni, but I've never once heard you speak about the baby on your own."

She's saying this out of only love, and truthfulness, and I know it. However, naturally, her words sting, and send me straight into silence. She has every right to judge, and I wish I could change how I feel. I wish I could let go of his blanket of doubt, and uncertainty that is draped over the subject of the person inside of me. I want to be warm, and glowing, and anxious—I want to feel whatever Giovanni experiences when he thinks of our child, because it's apparent and beautiful...how impatient he is to meet this little person we've made together.

"I'm sorry. I...shouldn't—"

"No," I whisper, waving my hand. "You're right. Don't take it back."

I bend for my purse, feeling the pain at the base of my spine radiate. I grimace as I come back up with the bag.

"You should start thinking about taking leave, Scar—"

I chuckle, glancing up at her while I stand. "The doctors haven't told me I shouldn't work, so I won't be taking maternity leave. I have to be here."

"Yeah, yeah. We'd be fine if you worked from home, you know that, right? We wouldn't fold."

"I know that. You run this place better than I do," I mutter, slipping on my stubbornly small heels, which used to fit like a glove.

"I'd go crazy in your job. I like waking up to no text messages, thank you. I could do without the millions of complaints."

"What do you mean? You fix those complaints."

"But you make the decisions," she argues, with a smile. With a sigh, I round the desk, reminding her to call the valet, and have them outside by six instead of instead of seven.

"And our gift to Trevor?"

"I've already sent you the email. Order the watch and have it sent to his hotel room before he leaves for the party tonight."

"Will do. By the way, we still need to talk about the baby shower—"

"I told you."

"I refuse to accept you ditching this tradition!"