Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
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.”
“Oh, like the thing with the turkey baster? I’ve heard about that.”
I sighed and sat up straight, feeling like a principal dealing with a troublesome schoolboy. “Yes, sort of.”
“That doesn’t sound very sexy,” he said, lifting his glass again—but not before I caught the grin creeping onto his lips.
“It’s not supposed to be sexy,” I said stiffly. “It’s science.”
“Okay, so what then, you get pregnant with our science baby and then I’m supposed to divorce you while you’re pregnant? No fucking way. I’ll look like a monster.”
“We can wait until after it’s born if you want,” I said quickly. “I’m just not sure how long it will take for me to get pregnant. I suppose we could write it into our contract that if I don’t get pregnant within a certain amount of time, the whole thing is null and void.”
Enzo thought for a moment and shook his head. “But if you do get pregnant, I’m an asshole for leaving.”