“Okay, maybe we should leave the past alone,” I said, remembering why I didn’t like her much. “Clearly, we are always going to disagree.”
“Fine with me.” She pulled the pick from her martini and ate one of the olives from it. “So how’s your ego tonight? A little bruised, huh?”
“It’s fine,” I said, tightening the knot in my tie. “Reina obviously wasn’t the right choice for a wife. I’m glad she said no.”
Bianca started to choke on her olive. “Wait a minute.” She fanned her face and managed to swallow. “You proposed to—to—what was the little girl’s name?”
“Reina. And you’ve got no room to call someone little, Tiny.”
As I’d hoped, the old nickname drew a brief scowl from her. “We’re talking about you right now. Did you actually propose tonight? Like with a ring?”
I exhaled, regretting I’d mentioned it. “Yeah. I did.”
Her eyes lit up. “Let me see it.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you just want to rub salt in my wound.”
“For fuck’s sake, Enzo. You’re not wounded. You don’t even love this girl, you just needed to put a ring on her finger so your dad would put your name on the company letterhead.” She held out her hand. “Now give it here.”
Something told me I was going to be sorry, but I reached into my jacket and pulled out the ring box.
She took it from me and opened it up. “It’s pretty,” she said with grudging admiration. Then she squinted at it, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Did you have it engraved?”
I picked up my bourbon and took a hefty swallow. “No.”
“But it says . . .” She set the box down and pulled the ring from the velvet to examine it closer. Then she started laughing. “‘Love Always, Ricky?’”
“Give me that.” Leaning forward, I tried to swipe the ring from her hand, but she held it out of my reach.
“Just a second! I want to try it on.”
I thumped against the back of the booth, picking up my drink again and tossing back the rest of it. Could this night get any worse?
Bianca slipped the ring on her finger—it fit—and held out her hand, studying it. “So what did you say?”
“I proposed.”
“But how? Like, did you say, ‘You’re the love of my life and I want to be with you forever’ kind of thing?”
“Uh, not exactly. I didn’t want to lie to her. I just, you know, gave her the ring.” I made a grand, sweeping gesture with one hand.
“But you must have said something.”
“What difference does it make?” I asked irritably.
“Look, I’m only trying to help you. You obviously blew it tonight, and by your own admission, you need to find a Lucy for your Ricky sooner rather than later, right?”
I looked around for Lara. I needed another drink. And then a ride home.
“Right?” Bianca prodded me with her foot under the table again. “So let me help you.”
“The only way you could help me is to marry me,” I grumbled, waving Lara over. “And since that’s out of the question, this discussion is over.”
“Well, wait a minute. Who said it’s out of the question?”
I stared at her like she’d sprouted horns. “Huh?”
Bianca continued to study the ring on her finger. “I’m just thinking out loud here. But it seems to me we each have a goal, and they could both be accomplished with one simple—fake—relationship.”
I shook my head, as if to clear it, but the fog remained. “I know I’m drunk, but what the hell are you talking about?”
She sighed and picked up her martini for a sip. “I’m talking about the fact that you need a wife to get what you want. I’m willing to be that wife—temporarily, and under the strictest of conditions—if you’ll agree to give me what I want.”
I shook my head. “Oh, no. No fucking way. I see what you’re doing here. I’m not paying you to fake being my wife.”
Bianca rolled her eyes. “Give me a break, Enzo. I don’t want your money. Nor do I need it.”
“Then I don’t understand,” I said, feeling—once again—completely baffled by a woman. “What could you possibly want that I could give you?”
The smile that crept over those hellfire lips should have been a warning. “A baby.”
Two
Bianca
The look on Enzo’s face was priceless. “A what?”
“A baby.”
His dark eyes clouded over with confusion. “Whose baby?”
“Mine. And . . .” I ate the second olive off the pick. “Yours.”
“I don’t have a baby.”
I sighed. “Enzo, I know you’re somewhat inebriated, but try to keep up. You need a wife. I would like a baby. One and one can make three.”
Enzo continued staring at me as if he didn’t know who I was. “This makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense, actually.”
His brow furrowed. “I don’t want to marry you.”
“You don’t want to marry anyone,” I pointed out.
“True.”
“At least if you marry me, there’s an agreed-upon expiration date. We only have to stay married long enough to get you what you want.” I ate the third olive. “And what I want, of course.”
“That’s the other thing. What is this about a baby?” Even with consternation creasing his forehead and tightening his jaw, he was stupidly handsome. He always had been.
I cleared my throat. “Well, the baby is something I’ve been thinking about for a while. I’ve always wanted children, but I haven’t met the one yet, and unfortunately for a woman, the biological clock is an actual thing. And mine is ticking.”
“How old are you?”
“I’ll be thirty-three next month.”
“That’s not that old. My mother had my brother Matteo when she was like thirty-eight or something.”
“I’ve got some additional reproductive health concerns, okay?” Uncomfortable discussing them with him, I took a sip of my martini. “Without going into detail, I’ll just say that it would be better for me to try to get pregnant sooner rather than later. It’s likely I’ll struggle to conceive, so putting it off will only be worse for me.”
He looked like he might ask more about it but closed his mouth and took a drink. “So how would that even work? Would we have to actually—”
“No!” I set my drink down so fast, some of it splashed onto the tablecloth. “It would all be done in a fertility clinic. You’d donate your . . . you know.” I found myself struggling to say the word sperm. “Genetic material.”
One of his dark eyebrows peaked. “My genetic material?”
“Yes.” My face warmed, and I knew a hot pink blush was creeping into my cheeks. “The procedure is called an intrauterine insemination. You provide the, um, DNA, it gets washed and concentrated, and then a nurse performs the . . . placement into my uterus.”