The Italian Page 5

  A mysterious sort of calm serenity blanketed the trio as they stood in a circle, hugging and crying, until Riley broke free to find a box of tissue. A rosy blush seeped across Faith’s cheeks, her sweet smile full of blissful contentment, a kind of happiness she’d never seen her sister wear before.

  At that moment, Hope knew for certain, she’d made the right decision.

  No matter what the cost.

  “Coffee or wine?” Riley asked, glancing at the large, round, vintage clock. It was after four o’clock in the morning. “Or maybe this requires tequila.”

  “Coffee for me, please.” Moving into the kitchen, Hope reached out and took her sister’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “So where do we start?”

  “I hate to even say these words, but are you sure?” she tested hesitantly.

  “Hell no, I’m not sure! I just agreed to have a baby. Obviously, I must be out of my fucking mind. As a matter of fact, I think you might want to consider having me committed to a mental health facility for observation.” Seeing a subtle grimace weave across her sister’s face, she added, “It’s incredibly inconvenient and I’m sure there have to be some risks involved, but I promise, I’m not going to back out.”

  “Speaking of that. There’s a few hoops you have to jump through to get started.”

  Hope scowled. “What kind of hoops?”

  “You’ll have to get a medical evaluation from our reproductive endocrinologist—” Faith’s voice wavered. “—and you’ll need to get screened by a mental health professional who’s well versed in surrogacy.”

  “Whoa, time out.” Yanking her hand free, Hope shoved her fingers into the palm of her other hand in a vertical position, forming a T. “I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

  “Why not? They’re not going to dive into your past. I’m sure you’ll pass with flying colors.”

  “No, they’re going to dive into the present! You think I’m gonna pass the ‘So Hope, why do you want to carry a baby for your sister?’ There’s no way in hell I’m going to be a viable candidate. The last thing I want is to get denied the imaginary joys of baby-making—” Sarcasm coated each word. “—morning sickness, mood swings, and all the other fun stuff I’m supposed to be thrilled about experiencing. Even though I don’t want kids, having some therapist confirm my inadequacies might be more than my ego can take.”

  “It won’t be like that.” Apprehension riddled her sister’s soft laughter. “I promise it will be harmless. Plus, we’ve already been in touch with a reproductive attorney. I’ll contact him this morning.”

  “An attorney? You’re going to make me sign a contract? I’m pretty sure once the deed is done there will be no going back.”

  “Yes, we’ll have an agreement drawn up, but it won’t be anything like the typical contract. We’ll keep it simple. It’ll be as much to your benefit as it is ours. Plus, Riley and I will get you an extra insurance policy.”

  “My health insurance covers pregnancy.”

  “I’ll feel better getting an additional policy, that way everything will be covered. We’ll be paying for co-pays, maternity clothing, and anything else you need. Oh and there’s this yoga studio I found that does fabulous maternity classes. We can go together.”

  Scooting closer until the entire length of their bodies connected from shoulders to hips to knees, Hope joked, “You’re going to be glued to my side, aren’t you?”

  Faith nodded in short, quick successions, muffled sobs broke from her throat. Reality began to sink in causing her to unravel, bringing on a whole new surge of waterworks. Her body trembling uncontrollably as she embraced Hope, surrounding her in the familiar sweet florally scents of papaya and daffodil.

  Hope swayed back and forth, rubbing small, comforting circles on her sister’s back. “Shh, it’s okay, Faith.”

  “This f . . . feels so incredibly right inside,” she wept between deep gasps. “I know my emotional limits and I would’ve never been able to bond with another gestational carrier. It would’ve felt like . . . a business transaction.”

  “Well, there’s not going to be anything businessy about this . . . situation.” A sense of pride welled in her chest, overriding the immense terror churning in her gut. “I’m sure that a person like me, independent and forever single, isn’t typically the ideal choice, but this is about family and there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to help you.” Feeling the tremors slip from Faith’s limbs, Hope held her sister at arm’s length, adding sarcastically, “I’ll even put up with your hovering.”

  “I appreciate that. I’ll try not to be too clingy.” Taking advantage of Hope’s moment of selflessness, Faith sniffled, “I was wondering if you’d want to stay with us. I could make up the guest—”

  “Stop. It. Right now.” Hope’s blue eyes widened into a scowl.

  “Too much?”

  “Definitely.” A grin tipped the corner of her lips. “But maybe we can have an occasional sleepover.”

  Faith wiped the wetness from the apples of her rosy cheeks with the pads of her middle fingers. A sweet smile, full of blissful contentment, washed over her face. It was a brand of calm serenity Hope had never seen her sister wear before.

  IN THE TWO WEEKS THAT followed, there was no mental or physical corner of Hope’s mind or vagina that wasn’t breeched or probed; neither was very pleasant. She’d been told everything from You must be absolutely upfront and completely open with your feelings to Scoot forward and spread your legs a little wider. The latter demand wasn’t all that terrible, especially coming from Ace Freeman, one of the sexiest doctors she’d ever laid eyes on. The good doctor bore a pristine white smile, chiseled good looks, and thick, inky-black hair perfect for delving your fingers into. Lying on the table with her eyes squeezed shut, his deep, raspy tone cast her mind adrift into a completely inappropriate doctor/nurse fantasy until the rustle of thin, sterile paper beneath her body forced her back to reality.

  After thorough medical and psychological screenings, and much to her complete surprise, doctors deemed Hope a proper candidate for surrogacy. Fortunately, she and her sister were already synchronized on the same cycle, which meant the process of baby making would begin immediately, leaving no time for Hope to contemplate her decision. Not that she would ever change her mind. She’d always been the type of person to jump into any project with both feet and once she made a firm decision, there was no looking back. However, somewhere in the back of her mind, indecisiveness loomed like a blanket of thick, dark, clouds covering the Seattle sky on any given day of the year. Small glimpses of doubt and hesitation crept into her subconscious, usually in the middle of the night during a vivid dream that involved terrified screams, metal stirrups, blue masks, and a baby the size of a toddler climbing out from between her thighs, fully clothed and smoking a cigarette.

  At the end of the week, the trio celebrated the commencement of baby-making over a casual dinner Faith brought home from Sugar Pies. Her sister hummed a happy tune arranging an assortment of gourmet sandwiches on a white ceramic platter. Hope assisted, slipping her hands into oven mitts, retrieving the lattice-top apple pie from the oven while Riley opened a bottle of wine she’d brought home.

  “How’d everything go this morning?” Riley questioned, tugging the cork from a bottle of cabernet.

  “It went great. Fine. Outstanding.” Hope joked, holding her glass beneath the rim of the bottle as he poured. “Nothing beats a good day of getting probed by a cold spectrum. By the way—” She turned to face her sister. “—you could’ve warned me. Dr. Ace is pretty hot.”

  Faith shrugged, wrinkling her nose in disagreement.

  “Seriously? You don’t think he’s attractive?”

  “Not really. I mean, sure okay, Dr. Ace is a nice looking man, but he’s so . . . metrosexual. He probably gets manicures, not to mention he has perfectly waxed eyebrows.” Faith rolled her eyes in contempt. “He’s practically got pussy tattooed to his forehead.”

  Hope’s smile broadened, unleashing a filth
y grin. “I’m sure he’s had plenty of pussy tattooed across his forehead.”

  “Touché.” Faith chuckled, lifting her glass, praising her sister’s quick comeback.

  “Not every man can be a rugged manly-man like you, Riley,” Hope teased.

  Riley straightened his broad shoulders and strutted into the living room, setting the bottle on the coffee table. He flashed an exaggerated wink at his wife, curling a bicep into a large softball as he lifted his glass to his lips. “I’m a fireman, it’s all about the big hose.”

  Faith laughed out loud, her face flushing cherry red. She pounced onto his lap when he lowered to the sofa, showering him with kisses.

  An odd sense of warmth gathered in Hope’s chest witnessing the couple’s adoring, easy-going connection on full display. Seeing her sister so blissfully happy only validated her decision to put her life on hold and carry their baby. Hope considered herself to be a modern day stork of sorts. The good deed simply required her to jump through countless hoops at work, no wine tasting of any sort, endure nine months of no sleep, heartburn, and cankles that would surely look like a science experiment gone bad. But it’ll be worth it. She chanted silently in her head every hour of every day over the last two weeks. Hope could already envision Faith’s sweet smile as she sat in the cozy nursery, rocking back and forth, gently sweeping a palm over the baby’s fine blond hair.

  Relaxing into the corner of the sectional, Hope coiled both feet beneath her bum. She took a lengthy sip of wine, the velvety liquid danced across her tongue, allowing her to savor the complex hints of smooth black fruit, earthy richness, and smoky barrel. It would be the last drop of alcohol she’d consume for almost a year. A frank discussion with her boss was tentatively scheduled on the agenda in her mind, however nothing was concrete until it made it to her Google calendar. But for now, she had at least a month to work through every scenario imaginable and manipulate the dialogue of each plausible conversation with Samantha.

  Staring over the glass rim, she eyed a small stack of official-looking documents, paper clipped at the corner, atop a manila envelope on the coffee table.

  “Speaking of men . . . we need to go over a few things,” Riley proposed, draping a beefy arm around his wife, tucking her in close to his side. Faith glared up at him, delivering a non-verbal message of zip your lips.

  Hope could feel a puzzled frown etching a deep groove into her forehead. “What about men?”

  “I have a few . . . requests,” Faith stammered. Riley patted his wife’s thigh for reassurance, but her tongue seemed to be tied in a knot.

  “What kind of requests? I’ve already given you my uterus for the next year and used two days of my accrued sick days.”

  “You still have over twelve weeks of sick leave. I think you’ll be okay.”

  “How else can I be of service?”

  “Just easy stuff, eat healthy, go to all your doctor appointments, take all your prenatal vitamins . . .”

  “I know, I know, work out, take prenatal yoga together, etcetera, etcetera. What does that have to do with men?”

  “It helps with balance and prevents swelling, plus it helps release tension and will make you sleep better too.”

  The crinkles near her eyes deepened as Hope frowned in confusion. “I know the benefits of yoga. What does that have to do with men?”

  Riley interjected, “Your sister doesn’t want you sleeping with strange men.”

  Hope blanched hearing the unusual edge of seriousness in Riley’s voice. She didn’t know which part of his statement she found more appalling, the fact that he implied she slept with complete strangers or the slightest notion of putting her sex life under lock and key for nearly one-tenth of a decade.

  She shot him a dark look. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I don’t sleep with strange men.”

  Faith’s lips remained locked, the silence stiffening between them. Reaching for the bottle of cabernet, her sister replenished the red liquid courage, took a big drink, and closed her eyes as if praying to the wine gods. Before Faith had a chance to locate her nerve, which seemed to be hiding in some unknown location, Riley clarified, his tone saturated in mock endearment, “That means no sleeping around.”

  “What?” Hope screeched, waving a finger back and forth. “Oh, no, no, no, you don’t get to have any say over my sex life.”

  The pleasant energy which filled the room just seconds before, now vanished, replaced with awkward strain. Hope’s heartbeat throbbed at her wrists and neck, her breathing quickened. She was uncertain if it was her mind or her pussy having a meltdown, but either way, both firmly rebuked the idea of staying celibate for nine months. Her eyes beaded, narrowing to slits, darting between the couple. Faith squirmed in her seat, becoming more and more fidgety.

  “I warned you that she’d never agree.” Riley flashed a small speculative grin at his wife. “Besides, since we’re paying for all expenses, I might own stock in Love Shack Store by the time the baby’s delivered.”

  Ignoring her bother-in-law’s attempt at comic relief, she reproached, “That’s going too far, Faith. You can’t ask me not to have sex while I’m pregnant. It’s not like you’re going to be refraining from . . . from the firehose over there.” Hope waved a hand toward Riley.

  “Can you please abstain from having sex with any new partners and at least attempt to not hook up while you’re carrying our baby?” Faith implored candidly, handing the bottle of wine to Hope as a peace offering of sorts.

  Staring downward, Hope dragged her thumb over the stunning label reading Castello Giovanni, silently contemplating the ever-growing list of requirements she was giving up to help her sister. A cold ache spread through her veins, carrying a heavy dose of insecurity straight to her pride. The thought of being undesirable, especially to Antonio, robbed her of her voice. The man had a gift for worshipping her beyond the scope of any words.

  A nervous shiver traced down the links of her spine.

  “I guess it’s not like men are going to line up to have sex with me when I have a beach ball sticking out of my stomach,” Hope murmured self-consciously.

  “On the contrary. Some guys . . .”

  Faith glared at Riley, silencing him with one look. Quite an impressive feat. “Please don’t be upset with me, Hope.”

  “Is that what’s written in these documents?” Hope jutted a finger at the stack of papers before emptying the bottle into her glass. “Because, you’d better have some white out handy.”

  “No, not at all. I decided we could have an open conversation about most things. However, we did have our attorney draw up a simple legal agreement spelling out your role . . . and ours, during and after the pregnancy. It protects everyone. You’re the birth mother, but you’re signing away parental rights and we’re the intended parents.”

  “Can we please not use the term birth mother? I prefer surrogate.”

  “Why not? I love using it.”

  “Look, I understand that you want to be a mother with the whole white picket fence, devoted husband, and all that jazz, but that’s not my dream. My work is my life. Put me in a wine cellar buzzing with people, all the socializing and tasting, the travel, the contracts . . . that’s my world. I own it. But if you put me in a family setting, I’m like a fish out of water. Children are foreign to me. You might as well be asking me to be a brain surgeon, or an attorney, or hell even the President. I don’t even know how to hold a baby.”

  “You practically raised me.”

  “That was different.”

  “Not really. Besides you won’t have to hold the baby, that’s my job,” Faith assured proudly, momentarily bursting at the seams at the mere mention of holding her baby. “Okay, birth mother is off the list.”

  The topic of sex, or lack of, suspended in midair, hung out to dry, each sister waiting patiently for the other to come to her senses, but both refused to concede.

  “I’m not going to agree to something that I can’t promise, Faith.”

  “C
an we at least settle on the idea that you’ll make an attempt?”

  “I’ll agree not to date anyone new,” Hope proposed. It seemed like the easiest thing to offer and give up. No man in his right mind would want to have anything to do with a pregnant woman. Feelings of dread and anxiety began a steady assault on her thoughts, wondering if she’d even have a libido while being pregnant. Hope wanted to ask, but was terrified to hear the answer.

  Faith rolled her eyes back to half-mast. Releasing a huffy breath through her nose, she stated, “Fine. I guess that will have to do. And just so we’re on the same page . . . I won’t do selective reduction. We’ll only be transferring one embryo at a time. It may take longer, but I didn’t want to press my luck.”

  “Well, thank you for that because I definitely would’ve left the state and never returned. I agreed to carry one baby, not twins, and for fuck’s sake definitely not triplets. I’m already having nightmares about pushing out one little hot pocket. The thought of two . . .” Hope’s disputes drifted off into muteness, eyes bulging at the horrific suggestion. Her fingers worked at the cork, pushing the swollen topper back into the bottle. A thought occurred to her, a horrible, unthinkable thought, turning her palms slick with moisture. “Oh, my God. Please tell me my vagina is going to go back to normal?”

  Riley sputtered and coughed, choking on his turkey and bacon sandwich.

  “Of course it will,” Faith guaranteed, her gaze lingering upward at the ceiling. The conviction in her wavering voice hovered at seventy percent at best. “That thing is a damn superhero. I’m sure it will bounce right back like a champ.”

  Hope let out an explosive breath, collapsing back against the sofa, her head flopping from side to side. “You’re totally lying. It’s never going look the same.”

  Riley snickered.

  “Is there something funny about this?” Hope hurled indignantly.

  “I was merely going to point out that men never worry about their penis being permanently damaged for life after every erection.”