My eyeliner wings out, creating a sweeping, exotic look. It’s dark navy, like my eye shadow. My dress is bold and modern, a gift from Cece. Knee length and cut tightly, the cream fabric is covered in lace and small beads. It accentuates my baby bump. In the past few days, it’s become obvious. Or maybe I’m just into showing it off.
I turn my body from side to side in the mirror. “Looking good, little Frances,” I whisper.
“I heard that!” Cece yells from the den.
“What happened to Cecelia Ivy?” Brogan bellows.
“Just thinking out loud,” I yell back.
My hair is stick straight and long as it frames my face. I slip on four-inch clear stilettos and march out to the den.
Cece gasps. “Oh, Fran, you look so gorgeous.”
I blush. “The baby makes my hair shiny, yeah?”
She gives me a hug, careful not to mess with our dresses. “It’s more than that. Since you met the Russos, you’ve been radiant. You found your family.”
“You and Brogan and Darden are family. They are the cherry on top.” I smile.
She pouts. “I’m happy for you, but what if I don’t like these girls? Are they prettier than me?”
I snort. “Just be sweet to them tonight.”
“I’m already jealous. I want a sexy Italian name.”
I kiss her nose. “You’re the prettiest girl in Manhattan, boo bunny.”
“I know, right?” She simpers. “I wish Darden was coming.”
I nod. “He’s found a show on the nature channel he didn’t want to miss, something about a harpy eagle.”
Brogan takes some pics of us with his phone, then heads out to Decadence. Herman buzzes up to let us know that our limo has arrived.
We get inside with Gianna and Valentina, who greet Cece warmly. Our DNA tests, again in twenty-four hours, came back yesterday. I’m officially a Russo. The limo gets into traffic and heads to the gallery in Brooklyn near the Greenpoint waterfront.
The line outside the gallery is long but moves fast. A red carpet has been laid out from the entrance. Cece tells me to be careful to stay on the carpet. She’s spied black ice and is worried about my heels.
We move into the three-story converted warehouse. The first floor has been set up to allow for large groups to congregate. A quartet plays string instruments in the back, there’s several bar areas, and servers carry trays of champagne and finger foods.
It’s a throng of people, and the Russo sisters introduce me as their cousin. An hour after we arrived, we finally head up to the second floor. We’re on the stairs when my cell pings. I pull it out of my navy clutch. It’s Jasper.
Where are ya? We’re here at this dumb gallery. Darden told us where to find you.
Him and Tuck? My heart skips. I type out our location, then stuff my phone away. I don’t want to get my hopes up. Jasper might be with Courtney.
We meander through the second floor, then head to the third, where Levi’s exhibit is.
Levi looks up from a group of women, smiles at us, and walks our way. He’s dressed in a crisp dark-gray suit paired with a matching tie. I introduce him around but don’t include him in the news that I’m their cousin.
He leads us to his display.
“Oh.” My hand drops from Cece’s as I take it in.
“It’s as if the statue is alive, isn’t it?” Levi murmurs to me. “As if you’re really there.”
“Me?” I frown at a female nude in white marble. Life size, her body lies on a bed as she gazes up. A single tear rests on her cheek. Ghostly white hair frames her heart-shaped face. She looks heartbroken.
Blood rushes through my veins as I recognize the arch of my widow’s peak, my lips, my breasts.
She’s me, a depiction of beautiful agony.
Pain makes the best art, right? Pollock, Van Gogh . . .
“This is how I recall you,” he says.
In pain? I remember our love, but it seems so unimportant now.
My heart twinges for Tuck, and I glance around, as if expecting him to appear.
“Do you remember?” Levi says, and I finally turn to him. Yes, this. I focus on this . . . art.
I nod. “She’s very real. Quite a statement piece. What’s it called?”
“Virgin.”
“Original,” I mutter. “Is there more?” I hope not. While I appreciate his talent, I feel as if everyone in the room knows it’s me. It’s as if he peeled me open, and I’ve had enough of that lately.
He lets out a laugh, a frustrated sound. “Isn’t this enough? It’s what I’ve been working on for over a year. Painstakingly. It’s taken up all my time.”
I shake my head. “But why immortalize me? I don’t get it.”
“Because I took your innocence, then deserted you. I ruined you.”
He pauses and clears his throat, maybe at what’s on my face. “Although you’ve recovered quite well.”
“That’s right.” I nod.
“I created this for me to remember.” He gives me a puzzled look. “I truly adored you, Francesca. I was in pain too. I messed up with you. If I hadn’t listened to my mother, we could have made it.”
I keep my face expressionless. Dude. Not in a million years . . .
Gianna does a hair flick. “This all sounds truly awesome, and the fake Francesca is gorgeous, but my feet hurt, and I need some champagne. Where’s a waiter when you need one?”
“Waiter, waiter, we need you,” chimes in Cece as she waves her champagne glass.
Valentina snaps her fingers, and a server rushes over. Gianna squeals and hands a champagne glass to Cece.
“What do you think, Francesca?” Levi says, still hanging on my sleeve. “Do you love it?”
It is beautiful.
And I hate it.
“How much is it?” Valentina inquires. Wearing a red sheath dress, she inches closer to us, sliding between me and Levi.
He tells her an exorbitant sum with six zeros, and my eyes bulge.
She doesn’t even twitch. “I’ll take it.” She leans into my ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll find somewhere to store it so no one ever sees it. After all, it does look a lot like me too.”
My eyes want to leak. I smile at her. “You really don’t have to.”
“No, it’s a baby gift.”
I laugh. “Odd, but . . .”
“Francesca,” says a husky voice behind us.
I whip around, and there’s Tuck.
It takes a moment to catch my breath as my eyes drink him in.
He looks pale, with dark shadows under his eyes. His hair is a mess, his scruff is now a beard, and his dress shirt is halfway buttoned up. There’s a bandage on his chest, and I gasp. Before I can ask him what it is, he rushes toward me, his gaze lingering on my face, then landing on my stomach. He weaves on his feet, finds his footing, and then takes my hands.
“What’s wrong with you? Are you okay?” I ask.
“Just dizzy. I’ll be fine.”
“What happened to your chest?”
“It’s nothing.” His throat bobs as he swallows.
The moments tick by as we stare at each other. A warm feeling pulses through my veins as his eyes refuse to let mine go. It feels like forever since I saw him.
“Why are you here?” I ask.
He licks his lips as he gathers himself. “Francesca. I thought that losing my career would be my zero hour, but . . .” He leans his head forward and inhales.
Unease washes over me. He looks ill. “You’re not okay. Are you drunk?”
He shakes his head. “No, sweetheart. Listen to me. It’s you; you’re my zero hour. I can’t lose you. Jesus. I’m wrong. I’m fucking wrong. I’m messed up, and that’s forever, but you make it okay. I’m scared, but you’re the optimist, the yin to my yang, peas and carrots—sorry to be lame, but it’s something Jasper says, and it fits for me and you. I don’t know what the future is, if I’ll go down a dark road, but I need you in my life. I don’t deserve you, but I’ll try. I’ll try; I’ll be good for you; I’ll be the best man I can. We know what darkness looks like. We lived it, but we won’t—we’ll be the best fucking parents in the fucking world . . .” He stops to breathe, and his eyes sweep the crowd and land on Levi, then the sculpture.
A growl comes from his chest as he glances down at me. “Is that statue supposed to be you?”
“Yes.”
Red rushes up his face, and his eyes glitter. He drops my hands. “Stay here.”
“Tuck. Let it go.” I follow him as he stands over the sculpture. His nostrils flare, and his fists clench. Levi shrinks back as Tuck stalks to him.
“This is a gallery, Mr. Avery. It’s just art,” he says as he backpedals. “No need to get physical.”
Tuck leans into his face, their noses nearly touching. “I’m not touching you. You’re the dirt on the bottom of my shoe.” He raises his fist and slams it into his palm, and Levi’s eyes bug out.
Jasper parts the crowd that has gathered, running as he calls Tuck’s name. He trips over someone’s shoe and shoves into Tuck. Tuck teeters, trying to find his footing, and falls toward the sculpture. Jasper’s shoulder hits the stone; then Tuck falls on top of him, his head connecting with the marble.
I run over to him, pushing people out of the way as they try to help. He was already sick, and now this? Jasper groans and moves away from Tuck and rubs his arm, holding it at the elbow and close to his chest.
“Dammit. My shoulder is dislocated,” he grunts, and I tell him to move as I reach for Tuck.
His left temple and cheek hit the edge, and blood drips down his face. His eyes are shut, his mouth parted.
“He’s knocked out,” Jasper rasps, kneeling down with me.
The crowd murmurs under their breath, and I shout, “Someone call 911!”
Without moving him, I check him for other injuries. “Tuck, darling,” I whisper. “I’m here; I’m not leaving you, I promise . . .” I push away my scream, striving for calm.
“Is he okay?” I ask Jasper.
He checks his pulse. “He’s breathing. It’s a head injury. He’s used to those.”
“He hit a rock, Jasper,” I snap. “Not another player.”
He winces. “I was moving too fast; I’m sorry. I thought he was gonna pummel that dude.”
“He wasn’t.”
I lean down to his face. “Tuck, can you hear me?”
His lashes flutter. He swallows and nods. “I love you, Francesca. I’ll love our little girl. I’ll be the best . . .” And then he’s gone, his eyes closing.
I’m pacing the ER waiting room when the doctor comes out and heads our way.
Gianna, Valentina, Cece, and Darden are with me. Brogan has called a few times to check in. Jasper has already been treated, his arm in a sling. He’s currently slouching in one of the hard chairs in the waiting room.
We’ve been here for two hours to see how Tuck is. We followed the ambulance to the hospital as soon as he was taken away.
They all walk with me as we meet the doctor halfway.
He smiles. “Hi, all. I’m Dr. Milson, and I’ve been in charge of Mr. Avery’s care. It seems he has a lot of family.”
“He does,” I say. “Tell me how he is, please.” Now. Look at me. I’m in charge.
He does. “Well, the MRI is good. No trauma to the brain, but he does have a serious concussion. Mr. Avery mentioned a pain in his ankle, and after a scan, we saw a fracture on his fibula.”
Dammit. Two injuries. I frown.
Darden points his cane at Jasper. “You broke his moneymaker!”
The doctor shakes his head. “It’s a minor fracture, but it will need to heal. I’d like to keep him overnight for monitoring.” He goes on to tell me he’ll need to see a sports orthopedist for more detail about his ankle, and I nod, my head racing as I take notes mentally.
“Is he awake?” I ask.
“We gave him pain meds, and he’s resting.” He gives us a sweeping glance. “He’s lucky it wasn’t worse. From what I understand, most of his weight hit Jasper.” Dr. Milson smiles at Jasper, clearly a fan.
“That’s me!” Jasper says. “See, I might have screwed up, but I saved him!”
“You pushed him, moron,” Cece corrects, and he pouts.
He huffs. “I’ve explained it a hundred times. I was trying to protect him from losing his temper. I got clumsy.” He moves to cross his arms, then growls when he realizes he can’t. “And I’m thirsty. Cece, can you go get me some juice or soda? Pretty please.”
I turn back to the doctor. “Anything else I should know?”
“After his release, watch for unusual behavior, vomiting, or severe headaches. He needs to rest mentally and physically. The ankle will take a little longer. Before he goes, I’ll give you a packet on how to treat it.”
“He was already sick before he fell,” I say. “Did you check him out for that?”
The doctor smiles broadly. “Ah, yes, he has a phobia of needles and was experiencing agitation after getting a tattoo.”
Jasper snorts. “Pining. The man was pining.”
I look at him. “What tattoo? Why are you just now telling us?!”
Jasper smiles knowingly. “’Cause it’s not my story to tell.”
“How romantic,” Cece says on a sigh. “He’s deathly afraid of clowns and needles. Francesca, I’m wondering if you need a new baby daddy. Tuck is scared of a lot.”
I shake my head. “But . . . why would he get one?”
Jasper winces. “There was bourbon involved beforehand and a story about how if you’d had fifty dates, would he get a tattoo of you on his body. Apparently, he said never. Then the more we drank, a grand idea was born. He wanted to prove he’s in this with you.” Jasper looks at my stomach.
“Would you like to see him?” the doctor asks me. “We’ve moved him to a VIP room.”
Hospitals have VIP rooms?
I nod quickly and follow him on the elevator to the fifth floor. He tells me the room number, and I walk inside. It’s dim, lit by a lamp from the desk illuminating the area. His large frame rests on the white bed. His ankle is elevated and wrapped, and his head is bandaged.
I take in his pale face and breathe out a long sigh of relief.
“Tuck,” I say softly. “What were you thinking?”
Being quiet, I pull a chair over to the side of his bed and take his hand. I trace the scars on his knuckles, the ones on his wrist. I press my lips to them.
“Hi there,” he murmurs, and I look up at him.
His voice is groggy. “I hit my head.”
I let out a small laugh and squeeze his hand. “Jasper went rogue.”
“Jay Bird. He worries about me.”
Tears pool in my eyes. “I was too.”
“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs.
He inches over as I lie on the edge of his bed, my arms around his waist.
He reaches for the remote and raises up the bed. “Help me get out of this gown.”
I frown. “What? You’ll be naked.”
“I have underwear on, and you need to see my chest.”
Oh. I help him slip his arms out, then tuck the covers around his abdomen.
“Go ahead,” he mumbles as he lies back on his pillow. “Look at it. Four hours of agony.”
I peek under the wrapping, and my eyes flare. Francesca is written in a fancy script directly over his left pec.
“I love the font you chose, and . . . wait, what is that tiny little thing underneath . . .” I sigh softly at an image of Bow Bridge drawn at the end of my name. “My favorite place.”
He grasps my hand and clings. “I’m so cliché, right?” He tries to laugh and ends up wincing. “I found some random tattoo parlor. I didn’t have a picture of your face—remember your question was if I’d get your face?”
I nod.
“I have one of us on my phone, but the artist said it would take too long to do the detail anyway. He offered to sketch something, and I talked about you in a masquerade mask and a wedding dress, and he got confused.”
“Too much bourbon.”
He grimaces. “Trust me; I was sober when he started inking. I passed out twice, and Jasper slapped me awake.”
“Jesus.”
“I wanted a gesture—shit, and this one is all screwed up. It should have been your face.”
“It’s my name and the bridge. It’s perfect. I love you, Tuck.”
His eyes mist. “You asked me once where my favorite place in New York is, and I couldn’t really give you a true answer, but . . .”
“Yeah?”
“It’s you, Francesca. You. Nowhere is good if you aren’t there. I canceled the yacht. I’m not going to play pro.”
“But you love the game . . .”
He swallows. “I’m too old to play. And I’m good with that. No more aches and pains. No anxiety about my performance. It’s been a relief to spend the past few weeks with you and not think about football.” He shuts his eyes, then opens them, his words getting groggier. “I’m sorry I made you leave and didn’t talk to you. I needed the space, but I could have been kinder.” Then he mumbles an apology about the paternity test and lawyer.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” I say softly.
He shakes his head and winces. I tell him to stay still and stop talking, and he nods. I hide my smile as joy takes over. He’s okay. We’re okay.
“I’ll tell you about my mom later, what happened when I saw her, but the important part is I’ve chosen to move forward with you. Our family.”
“Tuck, shh. Rest, darling.” I card my fingers through his hair.
A few moments pass; then his eyes open wide, and he turns his head to me. “Francesca, we’re going to have a baby. I hope you know all the things because I don’t know shit about kids. I’m still trying to imagine her. I’m scared—not gonna lie. I never thought it would happen to me . . .” A vulnerable look flashes over his face.
“When I get scared, I do this. Give me your hand again.”
I place his hand on my stomach and talk to her, telling her I adore her and her daddy does too. The baby kicks against him, and he starts, then smiles. I gaze up at him and see the wetness in his eyes. I scoot up and brush my lips over his.
He cups my scalp. “Thank you. Thank you for believing in me. For not giving up. We’re going to give her everything she needs. Two people who love her—”
Jasper sneaks into the room. He exhales. “Sorry to interrupt this touching moment, but I had to put my eye on you. Big T, you look like shit. Meh, I’ve seen worse. What about my arm, huh?”
“You pushed me,” Tuck grumbles.
“Sorry.” He puffs up his chest. “So if the baby is coming in June, I’ll still be around, yeah? Instead of moving out, you know, I’d be a great nanny until camp starts.”
Tuck narrows his eyes at him. “She won’t need a nanny. I’ll be there.”
“But I like babies!”
“She’s my daughter,” Tuck growls, and I hold up a hand.
“Okay, you can both change diapers and feed. It’s not a contest. Jasper, I don’t care if you stay until your place is ready. Now get out of here so I can kiss my baby daddy.”
He leaves, and I stare down at Tuck, taking him in. Harmony settles in my gut.
His gaze softens. “My brave little princess.”
“Yours. All yours.”
His arms wrap around me, and we hold each other. “Me and you and baby makes three,” he says softly. “Will you stay with me? Marry me?”
“You have a concussion.” I press my face into his throat and giggle. “You’re on meds, Mr. Avery, and while I love your ideas, we’ll chat later.”
“Jasper!” I come flying out of my and Tuck’s bedroom and into the den. “Where’s Tuck?”
“He left for a meeting with some investors.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the women’s volleyball game on TV. “You need me to make a french fry run?”
I stop in front of the screen, the only way to get his attention.
He peers around me. “Can you move a little to the left? Your ginormous belly is in the way.”
“That’s because I’m nine months pregnant and ready to give birth.”
He leans over to see the screen. “Uh-huh. Is everything all right? You aren’t due for another week.”
I take in a calm breath. “This is true, but a baby comes when it wants to. And this is a determined child.”
He tosses a Cheeto in his mouth.
“Jasper, I think I’m in labor.”
He munches. “Did you see how high that player jumped? Dude, these female volleyball players are kick ass.”
My hands clench. “Jasper! Stop watching TV! My mucus plug is out!”
His face scrunches up with disgust; then realization dawns. He jumps up, and his Cheetos and Pop-Tarts tumble to the floor. Cherry snatches some of it and darts off down the hall. I would chase her down, but this feels a little more important.
He rakes both hands through his long hair. “Shit! Call Darden. Call Brogan and Cece! Call the cousins! That’s my job when you go into labor. Right?”
“Calm down, and yes. I called Tuck, and he’s not answering.”
“What? How could he not be answering? He’s in charge! Are you okay?”
I nod. Thankfully, I was in the shower when it happened, and there wasn’t a mess to clean up.
He wrings his hands. “What’s a mucus plug anyway? Are you sure you’re in labor? You had those fake contractions last time—”
“It’s a wad of gooey stuff that’s been protecting my cervix.”
He pales. “Cervix?”
I demonstrate with my hands like Dr. Lovell showed me. “The cervix is the door to the uterus, and when the plug comes out, it means the door is opening for the baby.” I don’t have time for an anatomy lesson, but every man should know the wonderful, complicated parts of a woman.
He gags. “Was it gross?”
“Nothing about my baby is gross,” I call out.
A contraction starts, new, and I groan as it ripples over my body. Breathing through it, I try to time it as I jog back to the bedroom and change out of my robe for joggers, a soft thermal, and a cardigan Tuck picked up one day while out shopping with me for maternity clothes. I stick my feet in flip-flops, then think better of it and put on Converse. I wince as the contraction continues. That was at least over sixty seconds.
Stalking around the penthouse, I try Tuck’s cell again. Still no answer, but I hear a buzzing in the hall bathroom. I pop in and stop. “Well, at least I know why he isn’t answering.” I grab his phone.
Jasper comes flying out of his room, hair tamed, dressed in Pythons gear. “Got the bug-out bag. I left him a text to meet us at Saint Mary’s.”
“Yeah, I read it. He left his phone at home.”
Another wave hits, and Jasper pants with me. Labor is coming soon.
“That’s it; breathe, Francesca, breathe.”
“I want Tuck,” I growl. “You’re supposed to tell me you love me, how beautiful I am, and how wonderful our life will be.”
“Do you want me to?”
“No! It’s not the same,” I call out, then waddle to the den and grab the bag by the door.
Jasper grunts and takes it from me and slings it over his shoulder. “How long are they apart?”
“Maybe five minutes? I don’t know. I’m trying to time them in my head, and Tuck was supposed to be here for that part. When they hit, I just hurt.”
He whips to me. “Five minutes! We have to go. Right now!”
“That’s what I’ve been saying!”
He escorts me out the door and into the elevator. We stop at my floor, and Darden gets on, a spring in his step. He cackles as he takes in my red face and damp hair. “Looking mighty pretty today, Miss Lane. Being pregnant with an eggplant suits you.”
I stick my tongue out at him. “Where’s everyone?”
Darden nods. “Called Brogan, and he’s en route. He was in a summer class. Cece and Lewis popped out for breakfast. They’re also coming.”
I pant. “All right.” I glance up, then smack at Jasper’s hand. “Put your phone down and stop videoing. You are not the moviemaker of this event, no matter what you’ve been asking.”
“You’re flush with womanhood, and you’re bringing baby Jay into the world. Someone needs to commemorate it for prosperity when she becomes an Olympic volleyball player,” Jasper replies but sticks his phone back in his pocket.
By the time we get inside Saint Mary’s, I’ve had three more contractions, and I can physically feel my cervix expanding. I don’t know if that’s even true, but it sure as hell feels like something is trying to pop out of me.
“Bring the drugs,” I tell my nurse when I’m finally in the bed and hooked up to the monitors. Brogan feeds me ice chips, Cece paces, Jasper calls people who are at the meeting with Tuck, and Darden sits next to my bed and holds my hand. He keeps talking about financial stuff, the stock market, the current political climate, the latest honey badger show he watched—all of it to distract me. Valentina sits calmly in a club chair near the window, casually scrolling on her phone while Gianna keeps doing nervous hair flicks as she gives me terrified looks.
The pain relievers hit my system, but by the time the next contraction arrives, it’s as if they gave me absolutely nothing. I scream out and shake my head on the pillow. “That’s it. I’m done. I’m not doing this. Cece, pack up. Jasper, give me a hand. Let’s go take a baby from the nursery and call it a day.”
There’s a tense silence, and I rise up and yell, “Jeez. I was kidding!”
Dr. Lovell sweeps in the room, all calm and serene, and I beg her to give me more drugs. She pats my hand and reminds me that I didn’t want the epidural, and I groan.
“How much longer?” I ask her.
She checks me, then looks at me, her eyes big. “Everyone out but . . .”
“I’m here!” Tuck yells as he sprints into the room. He runs his eyes over the group, taking in our family. He rushes over to me and presses his forehead against mine. “Darling. Sweetheart. I forgot my phone . . . I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
I give him a steely look. “No, Tuck, I am not all right. This is all your fault. You got me into this, and then you weren’t there when my plug came out . . .”
He chuckles, the lines around his eyes crinkling. He kisses the five-carat emerald on my ring finger. He asked me to marry him half a dozen times, but I kept telling him no. I wanted him to be certain that it wasn’t because of the baby.
You are my soul, he said. The light that guides me home. So why does it matter if it was sooner than we might have anticipated?
I gave in last month on my birthday. I walked in my apartment, and he was on his knees. He’d asked Darden for my hand. And Cece and Brogan and my cousins. He bought me a gallery, with which I could do whatever I wanted. He even said he’d get another tattoo—which made me laugh.
“Maybe you can tell me about that plug later? Let’s have a baby,” he murmurs as he kisses my nose.
He takes my hand when I stiffen at the new contraction.
For some reason, no one leaves, and Dr. Lovell doesn’t seem particularly concerned. Maybe because she keeps barking orders at me, like “Push now” and “Stop pushing” and then “Again” until I’m so tired.
“Here she comes!” Brogan yells, and I don’t even care that he’s watching.
“Stitch me up, and make it pretty afterwards,” I mutter as pressure fills my abdomen, and I push, straining, my hands clenching around Tuck’s.
The world turns on its axis as life enters. There’s a shift in my heart. Hope, family, and so much love.
Sounds come and go as my body relaxes. “Is she okay?” I mumble as my muscles tremble.
“Welcome to the world, baby boy,” Tuck breathes down at the bundle in his arms. There’s awe and amazement on his face as he places him on my breast.
I push out a laugh. He has a widow’s peak and Tuck’s lips.
A tear runs down Tuck’s face, and I smile up at him, my own eyes wet.
“He’s beautiful,” I say.
“You both are.”
I gaze around, realizing the room has emptied of our friends and family. Thank God.
“Our little bundle of fate. Franco?” Tuck murmurs.
I laugh. “We barely thought of boy names.”
Tuck gazes into my eyes. “I love you, and I love this journey.”
I repeat the words back, our little mantra we say to each other.
“Franco Tucker Avery,” I say and grab his hand.
“Perfect.” He kisses me softly with a heart that is true.
