Page 111 of Disarming Caine

“Honey,” I said. “You were asking about natural gas lines?”

“Sì, I was.” He winked at me and steered her toward the window at the back. “Do you know if the gas lines run through the backyard or the front? We were thinking about adding an in-ground pool.”

I eyeballed the distance between the front and rear gable windows, estimating where the dormer was. Antonio had seen something, so I should be able to, as well. Running a hand along where the slope of the roof met the wall next to a bookcase, I could almost make it out.

“What are you doing?” asked the man in the chair.

Shit. The woman near him turned to look at me as well. That meant I’d have Irene’s attention soon, too.

“I was—” I groaned quietly and shifted from feeling the wall to leaning against it, like that’s what I was doing all along. Eyes closed, I put one hand to my belly.

Antonio rushed to my side. “Samantha?”

“I need to sit down.”

My accuser’s face paled and he shot out of the wing chair when Antonio helped me to it.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees.

Antonio knelt in front of me, taking my hand. “What’s the matter?”

I squeezed his hand and looked him square in the eye. “Just a little morning sickness. I need to sit for a sec.”

His eyes widened for less than a breath, then brows furrowed when he caught on. “Always at this hour. Every day.”

“Every day.” I kissed his hand, a hint of regret for the hope I’d seen flash across his face. Seriously, we’d been dating for less than five months. “I think the heat from all the bodies is making it worse.”

The woman who’d come up behind us hurried for the stairs. “I’ll get a damp cloth and some ice.”

“I’m okay.” I gave a weak smile to all the people in the room who gathered around me.

The couple who’d been by the rear window came closer and she took my free hand. She said to the man with her, “Go get my ginger chews from the car.”

Irene’s focus was on me, likely just praying I didn’t vomit. The scent alone would scare buyers off.

I could work with that. “Irene, can you get me a bowl, just in case?”

“Yes!” She snapped into action and hurried down the stairs.

Wing chair man and musty bookcase woman snuck out of the attic behind her, leaving the ginger chew woman and Antonio up here with me.

“How far along are you?” she asked.

I slipped my hand out of Antonio’s and placed it on my belly, groaning again. “Only a couple of months.”

“That was the worst for me.” She ran a hand over her full belly. “We’ve still got three months to go.”

Antonio drifted away from us while I engaged her in light conversation, trying to retrieve all the memories I had of Cass’s pregnancies. She talked about salty chip cravings, we laughed over our panicking husbands, and she gave me multiple recommendations on where to find the best pregnancy clothes.

I pushed back the invading images of Antonio cradling a baby and focused on holding the woman’s attention away from him. But a knock on the wall had us turning to look at him. He knelt where the ceiling stood only three feet high, knocking and listening.

“Renovations—he’s checking for structural.” I blurted, “What about daycare wait lists?”

“Don’t even get me started!” she said, while I watched him in my periphery.

He ran his fingers along the seam where the roof met the wall, then toward the floor. Adjusted his position and repeated the action. He clenched a hand, pulled it back, and smacked the side of his fist against a spot on the wall.

It popped open. Not a hole, but a door. And light streamed in through it. Three feet high by five long, exposing a storage area and the dormer window.