“It went from my ear to my throat, and now to my stomach, I think.”
The woman didn’t grab the phone. “Sorry?”
Ginevra didn’t want to worry the doctor. After nearly four weeks of antibiotics—thank God she was done with them now and had been for a bit—she expected her stomach to begin to revolt. She had never been one who could handle long rounds of medication, but especially not the kind that made her feel like if she didn’t sleep eighteen hours a day, she couldn’t even walk.
Besides, she had more than enough people worrying about her between Corrado, Alessio, her sisters, and even Siena. No doubt, when she met up with Greta and Siena later in the day, they would ask her how she was feeling. And when she got home, Corrado would ask her how she was feeling. Then, Les would call later after he was done with The League and ask the same question.
Her stomach would settle soon.
Surely.
“It’s nothing,” Ginevra assured.
The doctor raised her brow. “Is it?”
“My stomach is upset once in a while. It’s not constant, and once it happens, I am usually good for the rest of the day. I’m more concerned about the fact that I’m still sleeping fourteen hours or more a day and feeling like it’s only five hours.”
“Breast tenderness?”
What did that have anything to do with it?
“Not really,” Ginevra said.
“But ...”
“In the evenings, sometimes.”
“Has your period resumed?” the doctor asked. “We were waiting for your cycle to come back after stopping the shot before I put in the IUD. You had that infection, so I hadn’t bothered to ask when I saw you the second time, but has it?”
Ginevra didn’t really have to think about it. “No, it hasn’t.”
The doctor kept staring at her. So did her sister beside her. Ginevra was starting to feel like the two of them might know something she did not, and she didn’t like that a bit.
“What?” she asked.
The woman across the desk smiled faintly. “Is there a chance you might be pregnant?”
“Oh.”
Giulia dragged the word out like she was watching a whole show. Ginevra did her best to ignore the teenager because they were always rude little shits. Even when they weren’t trying to be.
“I ...” It took her a second, and then two. Finally, she managed to tell the doctor, “I’m not sure.”
No, she knew it absolutely was a possibility. She hadn’t used backup methods with Les or Corrado after stopping the shot. Being sick, there had only been a couple of times when she even felt well enough to have sex between all the times when the boys were running back and forth between New York and Vegas, so it really hadn’t been a thought in her mind to begin with.
Not that either of them complained or said a thing about it to her. They’d told her once that they could take care of themselves. They knew how to get what they wanted from each other, and they did exactly that. Usually, she was the lucky bitch that got to watch while they did exactly that, too.
Not the time, Ginny.
“Should we do a pregnancy test before you leave the office while we wait for Giulia to have her implant done?” the doctor asked. “All it’s going to take is a bit of urine in a cup, and I will have the results in less than seven minutes, Ginevra.”
Beside her, Giulia’s fingers flew over the screen of her phone, typing away a text.
“We probably should,” Ginevra replied.
Her sister let out an excited screech. “Oh, my God, Greta is going to die.”
“Do not text the boys anything, Giulia.”
Her sister glanced up as serious as could be in a blink. “I wouldn’t.”
If she was pregnant—and that made a lot of sense now that she had a moment to think about it all—Ginevra had to tell them. Together. At the same time. As difficult as that might be considering how hectic their lives were at the moment.
None of that mattered.
She would make it work.
She had to.
5.
Corrado
THE keys to Corrado’s newest toy—a candy apple red Maserati—fell from his hand to the glass bowl Ginevra had set on a decorative table just beyond the brownstone’s front door. The cling-clang of the keys settling into the glass had him smiling for a reason he hadn’t expected, but then again, that could also be because of the man on the phone.
“Did you attempt to make friends today?” his father asked.
“If what you mean to ask,” he returned, “is if Andino Marcello was any easier to deal with today during lunch, then the answer is no.”
Gian chuckled. “One might think the two of you would get along considering how alike you are. Bad moods, attitudes, and all.”
“One might think that. One would also be wrong, Papa.”
“I appreciate you trying.”
Corrado sighed as he shrugged off his jacket and kept the cell phone balanced between his shoulder and ear all at the same time. A feat, really. “Water under the bridge, anyway. That’s what the two of us decided, and he’s good with that. We will not, however, be having weekly get-togethers, and I don’t think I’ll join him at his dinner table. Ginevra, however ...”
“Hmm, what about her?”
It took everything for Corrado not to scowl, but after he hung his blazer on a waiting hook and turned, he found he was still doing exactly that when he faced his reflection in a mirror across the entry hallway.
“She’s made friends with Andino’s wife, Haven. I blame that on Valeria, though. And Siena Marcello—John Marcello’s wife.”
“So, essentially you will all have to make nice whether you want to or not because the wives have deemed it so.”
“Why do you sound smug?” Corrado asked.
“Wives have a way of ... well, you’ll understand.”
“Technically, Ginevra isn’t—”
“They know what she is to you and Alessio. It is the same, even if a paper doesn’t say so.”
Right.
“You’re home now?” his father asked just as fast.
“Just got home. I was thinking ... well, it feels nostalgic for some reason. I was remembering how you always came home and dropped your keys into the candy bowl Ma had at the door. Every day. Never failed.”
He swore he could feel his father’s grin when Gian replied, “See, now my favorite part of that time of day was when my herd of boys came running around the corner to greet me. You all would hear the metal hitting the glass—not even the door closing. I could hear the sounds of your feet hitting the floors all the way across the mansion.”
“Oh?”
“Nothing felt quite like that. Someday, you’ll know, too.”
Would he?
Corrado didn’t know about that considering kids had never been a topic of discussion between him, Les, or Ginevra. It wasn’t that he didn’t want children, but rather that he didn’t ever sit down and actually think about it.
“You went quiet,” his father said. “My apologies if I overstep—”
“You didn’t,” Corrado assured. “But I smell something good coming from the kitchen, and I should make my way there, I think.”