Page 59 of Fair Trade (New York Monarchs #2)

fifty-four

“Did you buy the bodega on my parents’ block?”

Nick shrugs as he moves us through the celebratory crowd.

“Your mom and aunts get their best chisme from there, and the current store owners were having trouble keeping the place afloat. So I bought it and gave it to them, rent free. Now they can focus on supplying your family with the best snacks and neighborhood gossip.”

I place a kiss on his jaw. “You’re a real softie, you know that?”

“Marrying my dream girl will do that to a guy. Especially when she’s dressed like that.” He looks down at the long emerald dress that hugs me in all the right places.

“Down, boy. We have to make our rounds and congratulate the players on Team Cuba for winning the series.”

We’re at the event space at Monarchs stadium, mingling with the who’s who of New York society and retired baseball giants. Sometimes I forget that this is my job and find myself fangirling over players my father and I used to love to watch when I was a kid.

I remember the last time Nick and I attended a fancy event like this, before we actually admitted our feelings for one another. It’s crazy to believe how much has changed since then.

For instance, my whole family is at this event, and I can see my dad and uncles taking a ridiculous number of selfies with a couple of hall-of-famers while my mother and aunts are over by the bar, indulging in baseball-themed cocktails.

I look around this room, and all I see is family. In the players, the staff, and the friends I’ve made along the way.

But when I look at Nick, I see my future.

For the first time, I dare to dream about the things I was once too scared of wanting.

The thought of little Nicks running around our home, causing havoc, brings a smile to my face.

I went to a specialist last week and decided to get real medical advice instead of doing internet searches and letting second-hand information from my extended family members send me spiraling.

Turns out, even though I do have PCOS, it doesn’t mean that my ability to grow a family is off the table.

It seems as though I have absorbed every morsel of information about the terrible side effects of having this syndrome but have failed to recognize the possibilities that are still available to me.

After some rather up close and personal testing, my doctor saw that there is no medical reason I can’t conceive. When we’re ready, figuring out my ovulation cycle will be the priority, since my cycles can fall out of sync and make me irregular.

What was important for me to hear is that conception, whether spontaneous or through medical assistance, is not a sure thing for anyone.

I very well could have fertility issues down the line. There is no crystal ball to tell me what lies in the future. Our family building plans can look different when we decide to venture down that road.

I think back to Nick and Daisy’s childhood and wish that they had landed with a loving family like mine when his mother passed. I love the idea of being a safe place for a child to land. And growing up as a first-generation immigrant has taught me that family is not only united by blood.

I have no idea what our parenting journey will look like, but I’m excited to allow myself to finally daydream about it.

For so long, I harped on feeling like my body had already failed before it even had the chance to try while also absorbing my mother’s experience and expecting it to be my own.

I never realized how heavily that weighed on me until the burden was lifted.

“What are you thinking about that’s got you looking at me like that? Not that I’m complaining.” Nick pulls me into his arms and kisses me deeply.

“Food. Babies. You.”

His eyes flash with heat. “Now, now, Angel. We’ve been getting plenty of practice. When do you want to stop taking your birth control pills? Because the thought of you carrying my child, filling you up with my—”

“Sangria.”

His brows furrow. “You want a sangria?”

“Ugh, no. I’m using my safe word. Parents are in the vicinity. Keep your breeding kink to yourself until we’re in the safety of our home, away from listening ears.”

His smile turns devious. “We could always run downstairs to my office. We could use my shower to—”

I throw my hands in the air. “I give up. You’re a lost cause.”

He leans down and nips my ear. “All right, all right. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I mutter.

The air seems to shift behind us, and Nick registers why a moment before my eyes land on the culprit.

“Oh look, the newlyweds are still glowing. Although I must say that I’m hurt that I have yet to be invited to any holiday dinners,” George Stonehaven tuts.

“What are you doing here?” Nick all but roars.

“Settle down, son. Last I checked, you owned this godforsaken place. I would imagine you keep some semblance of decorum at your place of work.” He raises a patronizing brow.

“Last I checked, you weren’t invited.”

“Ah, always so quick to make assumptions. Didn’t you learn your lesson regarding getting all the facts before you make your final conclusion?

” He shakes his head as he drops his hands into his pockets.

“Or have you forgotten that I have a daughter who works here as well? My one child who still knows how to respect her father.”

I don’t know if it’s the look he gives my husband or the mention of my friend—the one I now consider a sister—but before I know it, I see red. “That’s rich, given that I have yet to see anything respectable about you, Paul.”

“My name is George,” he spits.

“What you are is forgettable. An inconsequential doodle in the margins of my husband’s past. A pathetic excuse for a real man who knows how to step up and do what’s right.

” I lean in closer, but Nick keeps a firm hand on my stomach, preventing me from potentially clawing George’s eyes out like I want to.

“And if the latest stock reports are to be believed, the sole owner of a company that is dangerously close to going under. A man whose billionaire son has better things to do than dig him out of the financial ruin he’s created.

But again, I have better decorum than to gossip about these kinds of things. ” I smile smugly.

Nick has been keeping tabs on George since we ran into him at the first gala we attended. And he ramped up his search after Daisy alluded to her father influencing her to marry Damien. The same guy who made a surprise appearance tonight, only to whisk Daisy away before the party even started.

Nick only got the very in-depth report this afternoon while we were getting ready for the party, and he filled me in right before we arrived at the stadium.

Which is how I also found out the asshole isn’t just visiting New York, he’s living here. That’s if his one-year lease in an overpriced midtown high-rise is any indication.

“H-how did you… that’s not accurate. We’re going through a…” He straightens, finding his composure. “That is quite frankly none of your business, and if I needed my son’s help, I would simply ask for it, given that I’m sure I still have something he wants.”

“I can take this one, Angel.” Nick pats my hip.

I smile. This part is going to be fun.

“You still worrying about my mother’s house in Jarabacoa?” Nick taunts.

His eyes dart between Nick and me. “You told her about that?”

“You know,” Nick starts. “After so many marriages, you’d think you’d know that open communication is important in relationships,” he mock scolds.

“Of course I did. And soon enough, it’ll be back to its rightful owners.

Until then, you can make yourself scarce.

Because you are not welcome here or in any other establishment in which my family sets foot in. ”

“Family? Really?” He scoffs.

“This guy bothering you, mijo?” My dad comes up beside Nick and pats him on the back while my uncles flank us.

They seemed to have appeared out of thin air the second Nick needed them.

I see Nick’s eyes soften as he takes in the support of the men who have accepted him as one of their own.

“Nah, he was just leaving.”

A heavy hand lands on George’s shoulder, causing him to wince.

“We got a problem here?” Luke asks. His face is impassive, but his bright blue eyes seem darker than usual.

Ace Middlebrooks sidles up to George’s other side, arms crossed.

His imposing stature is on full display.

The look on his face is nothing short of intimidating.

“I’ve had enough of this,” George sputters while trying to shake off Coach’s grip.

“No one speaks to me this way. You may have found a way to get that old rickety house back, but I know you, Nicholas. Far better than you think I do. And I know that you have a weak spot, so it’s best you play nice.

Because you may not fall in line, but Daisy will,” he sneers.

Coach taps his shoulder twice, forcing George to take a step forward.

“I do not need an escort. Who do you think you are?” George sneers, looking between Coach and Middlebrooks.

“Trash disposal.” Luke guides George to the front doors, Ace two steps behind, and hands George off to security to take it from there.

The ambiance returns to normal once he is out of our line of sight.

Yet something tells me we haven’t seen the last of Nick’s dear old dad.

I knew Nick was still hung up on the less than pleasant interaction we had with his father.

I left him to stew in peace once we got home. I showered and got ready for bed, but after, he was still hidden away in his office.

It’s funny how I don’t recall making the decision to make instant noodles, but somehow I find myself in the kitchen, opening up the stash I bought for Nick the other day.

It might be cheap and overly processed, but it does the trick for cold nights like these.

I find him sitting behind his desk. He’s removed his tie since I last saw him, and the top two buttons of his dress shirt are open, revealing his toned brown skin.