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Chapter Thirty-Eight

Roman

S he’s been here with me for a couple of days. I want to do something for her and the baby. Something that shows just how invested I am.

The moment she falls asleep on my bed, I close the door and tiptoe down the hall to my guest bedroom.

One benefit of having construction crews at my fingertips, I can call in favors in the blink of an eye.

If her naps are anything like they’ve been, I’ve got a couple of hours.

I buzz the guys up, who takes away all the furniture. I told them to take it to the nearest church that accepted donations.

An hour after Eva fell asleep, I’m standing in an empty room with fresh wood and tools.

I sit down on the ground and begin to sketch up some ideas. I want to build the baby its own crib—something my grandpa did for us. I know it’s what he would have loved to do for my child.

I sketch out dimensions and cuts which takes the rest of the time I have left before Eva wakes. I’ll need some different blocks of wood delivered here for some of the parts, but I’ve got a good amount to get started.

Before she wakes up and catches me, I place my sketch down and sneak out of the room, closing the door behind me.

I barely make it to the kitchen before I hear the bedroom door open.

She walks out with a messy bun on top of her head and a sleepy look on her face.

It amazes me how easy it is to love once you let go of the fear.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

She smiles lazily, then walks into the kitchen with me. “I love naps. I used to hate them. I didn’t know what I was missing.”

I chuckle, then take out some chicken salad to make us some lunch. “I think you’ll be enjoying naps for the next eighteen years. Or so I’ve heard.”

She scoots herself up on the chair at the counter. “You know, you can go to work this week. It’s one week of rest. I can manage resting on my own.”

“For the hundredth time, I’m taking the week off with you. Do you hate my company? Is that what this is about?”

She bites her lip shyly and smiles. “No. I love your company. I just don’t want you to feel obligated. I’m doing much better.”

I scoop the chicken onto toasted bread, then place the other piece of bread on top. I slide the plate her way and join her at the counter with my own sandwich. “There’s a difference between wanting to do something and feeling obligated. Just in case that wasn’t clear, it’s the former.”

That’s enough to get her to stop asking if I’m sure I don’t need to work.

Three Weeks Later

“Okay, close your eyes,” I tell her the moment she steps through my front door.

She hasn’t moved back to her place yet. I managed to convince her that it would be better if she stayed with me while she adjusted back to her regular work routine. Just in case it became too much for her.

I’ve also managed to keep my hands to myself.

I want to do this right. I don’t want our sexual chemistry to cloud her decision or have her second-guess why I want her here.

She looks at me with big doe eyes. “What?”

“Close those beautiful green eyes. I have a surprise for you.”

Her laughter fills the foyer as she obeys and closes her eyes. I take her hand and lead her through the penthouse until we get to the guest bedroom door.

“Keep them closed,” I repeat.

My hand finds the doorknob, turning it to the right, and I push open the door that leads to our future. I tug on her hand a bit until we are in the middle of the room.

The crib that I’ve worked extremely hard on is finished, stained, and placed against the wall. It’s the only piece of furniture in this room now. The rest can be up to her. I just wanted my mark on it.

It took longer than expected, which required me staying home to build it while she went off to work. I would put a suit on after I was done for the day, so she thought I’d just beaten her home from work.

Lately, she’s been going down to her apartment during the day to work in her office since it has all her stuff. Just another reminder that my time with her is limited unless I get up the nerve to say something.

“Okay,” I say finally. “Open your eyes.”

Her eyelids flutter open. I watch her look down at the crib as her jaw falls open.

“What’s this?” she asks with a gentle smile.

“Our baby’s crib. I built it.” I walk over to it and run a hand down the top railing. “It’s something my grandpa did for me. I wanted to do it for my baby. Our baby.”

I glance over my shoulder. Eva has a tear running down her cheek, a subtle but obvious display of emotion.

“You built this,” she whispers, “for our baby.”

Her hand touches her stomach. My own feelings get caught in my throat as I watch the protective gesture. I swallow them down and nod my head.

“I did.”

“Roman …” She takes two steps toward me, craning her neck up as she watches me intently. “This”—she looks back at the crib— “is … I don’t even have words for it. It’s … perfect. I can’t believe you did this already. When did you start? I’m only ten weeks pregnant.”

I shrug my shoulders, realizing I acted slightly irrationally by building it so soon. It’s just a gesture I thought would show her just how much I wanted our family.

“I started the day after you got home from the hospital. When you were napping.”

She throws her head back in an uninhibited laugh. “Roman Bertini. You are insane! You upped and decided to hand-build a crib only days after you found out about the baby?”

My smile fades as I close the distance between us. I reach out and run my fingers through her hair softly, moving some of it out of her face.

The teasing fades, replaced by a charge that hums in the silence. I can feel the anticipation radiating off her. I know she wants me to do more. I feel it.

I should say something. Tell her I love her. I want her and the baby to live here with me. To get married. To be a real family. But the fear keeps me from risking it all again.

“I’m hungry,” I say, and the disappointment is written all over her face. “What do you want to eat for dinner?”

She takes a step back, and I miss the warmth her presence creates.

“Oh, um, I’m not picky. What are you in the mood for?”

“You’re the one who needs the carbs and energy.” I lead her out of the room, angry at myself for not being able to speak the words that she needs to hear. “Speaking of, how are you feeling now? Poker again before dinner gets here, or do you just want to rest?”

She sighs. “If we don’t play, I won’t make it to dinner.”

I chuckle at how she exaggerates her body movements, like she’s about to power down right here in the kitchen. “Poker it is.”

I’ve come to love our nights together. We play card games, mainly poker, where she has proven to me that she’s not one to underestimate in anything.

“Go sit at the table. I’ll order some food. You’ll be tucked into bed in no time.”

“First,” she declares, “pajamas.”

She marches into my bedroom, where I have made room in my drawers and closet for some of her clothes.

That’s it. I’m going to tell her. Not tonight. Soon. I need to figure out a good way to say it. I need to know I’m saying it right so she doesn’t doubt me.

She’s been my obsession since the moment I laid eyes on her. Now, I need to make her mine forever.