“I’ll give you both a minute. I’ll help your grandmother with dinner, Lucca … thank you ...” Mum smiles, her brown eyes glisten with moisture. I see a stray tear cascade down her cheek and it looks so bright … light … like a sparkling diamond. I think about Lucca telling me the same thing that my tears glistened like diamonds against my skin.
Now I get it.
“You’re most welcome, Grace.” He rubs her shoulder sympathetically.
I watch her walk to the house, her hair swaying down her back with each light, delicate footstep.
She leaves the shawl on the bench.
“Come here,” Lucca says softly, approaching my lips to kiss them, wrapping the shawl around me.
Still warm from the heat from my mum’s body, it comforts me. He kisses me sweetly again and again. Ready to move, we stand. I press my body against his. Under the thin fabric of the sundress I feel his hard, toned, muscular body against mine.
One hand is behind my head softly playing with my hair while the other nestles in the small of my back. His hand travels over my ass, under the shawl. Leaping up, he instinctively catches me while I wrap my legs around his waist. Lucca places his forehead on mine and spins me around slowly in the blissful, romantic Scottish sunset.
“I love you, Mr. Caruso. You never fail to amaze me. My mum loves you, and I couldn’t be happier. You’ve worked your magic.”
“Baby, it was you. She watched the way you look at me, and that is what she noticed. That is what convinced her.”
“Kiss me,” I demand. A warmth of gratitude radiating from my eyes.
It’s a slow, sensual kiss. The kind of sweet kiss that has me quivering helplessly with sheer loving desire, one that I don’t want to end. I melt into his protective arms with vulnerability.
Closing my eyes deep in the moment, I hear Doris barking. She’s jumping up and down next to me with jealously, little Tosh, the Westie, in her shadow trying to follow suit. Lucca kisses my neck tickling me, and I giggle throwing my head back while he spins me in slow motion, only causing Doris to bark with excitement and circle us even more.
Bucking and squirming, I reach my hand under his tight-fitting T-shirt to tickle him. We laugh, fondle, and giggle so much that we fall back on the grass, entangled in the shawl. The dogs are in a state of excitement bouncing around us, even Ruby the timid dog has joined us.
Lucca leans over me and moves that unruly wave of curls that falls over my face. His voice has lost its lightness, and he’s now very serious. Deep. The intense heat in his eyes singes my body and makes my heart beat rapidly.
“Lexi, we will get through this. Nothing is going to happen to you. I know you are exhausted thinking about it, but I promise you …”
He leans in, holding my two hands above my head on the grass, and kisses me passionately. His tongue swirls with mine slow, soft and seductive. My grandpa’s deliberate coughing shakes us from our intimate moment.
“Dinner is ready.”
Oh shit. I blush.
“Okay, we’re coming.” I bury my head into the crook of Lucca’s neck to hide my embarrassment.
“Come here,” he whispers turning my head so that he can meet my eyes, silently telling me he loves me.
Amorous.
Safe.
Complete.
When Lucca picks me up and lazily hangs his arm around my shoulder walking us back to the porch, my granny and mum are both watching us from the porch, amazed with our intimacy.
“If you two lovebirds are finished, dinner is ready,” Granny quibbles, ruffling her apron and her feathers. Her tone is a little sharp. I look at Mum who smiles and rolls her eyes at Granny. I never thought Mum would be so open-minded about my relationship with Lucca.
Oh God, I hope I don’t get the dreaded loafer swiped across my ass from Granny.
My mum smiles in loving appreciation with eyes of respect and adoration. Understanding.
I brush the grass off the bottom of my dress and kiss Granny’s cheek as I pass the front door, only to get an eye raising snigger from Mum because she knows Elizabeth Robertson does not like her feathers ruffled.
Everyone’s sitting around the dining table for dinner, including our three Men in Black. Hospitality and good manners are a must in the Robertson household, so our security team has been made very welcome—like guests, not staff.
I’m sitting between Grandpa and Lucca with one hand wrapped in Grandpa’s and the other around Lucca’s lower back. I skim his lower back through the material of his T-shirt, tapping my fingers lightly as I hang my head on Grandpa’s shoulder.
I offer to help but Granny insists I sit and relax as she thinks I look rather pale. Mum’s not buying the fever excuse. She’s studied every move, comment, and expression. I feel as if I’m being assessed by a triage nurse.
Mum serves the starters: Granny’s homemade chicken liver pate with her own cranberry sauce, wild herbs from the garden, and Scottish oatcakes. Normally, I would love this, but my stomach is still delicate after today’s travel sickness.
The smell of the pate is actually turning my stomach. It’s killing me.
“Alexis, what’s wrong? This is one of you favourites,” Mum asks, alarmed.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, I think it’s the bug, I think I’m going to …” I place my hand over my mouth and escape to the downstairs toilet and vomit into the bowl just in time, not that there’s much in my stomach today.
The door opens seconds later and I know it’s Lucca.
“Oh, dolcezza, you are really ill. I think you should go to the doctor’s tomorrow … you must have a virus. Here, drink this.”
He moves my hair and holds a glass of water in front of me. I sit back on my heels. My hand is shaking, but I reach for it and take a sip, my teeth chattering against the glass. “Oh God, I’m mortified.”
“Hey, if you are ill, you are ill. It is fine. I just want you better. Are you done? Are you okay now?”
“Yes.”
I know there’s nothing left to physically retch out of my stomach. After washing, we exit the compact toilet to see my mum standing in the hall with her hands tucked into the pocket of her jeans looking through me.
“Alexis, Lucca, can you come here for a moment please.” She’s steady, serious, and level headed, so much so it’s worrying me. I look at her for reasoning but nothing. I shrug, glancing at Lucca, baffled as to where this is going.
Maybe I have a mystery childhood illness that she has now decided to share with me.
Lucca takes my hand to follow Mum into the sunroom. She takes a seat on a padded wicker chair, clasping her hands on her knees, while we sit on the three seat rattan sofa across from her.
“I’m sorry about dinner, Mum. Please forgive me. I just felt so … so sick.” I place my hand to my throat and swallow slowly.
She pauses, looking down and arranging Granny’s thistle coasters on the table in front. I wait for her to speak but she says nothing. I squeeze Lucca’s hand, looking for help as I’m still hot and sickly, trying to keep down the lurking seediness in my stomach.
“Is everything okay?” Lucca asks.
“Lucca …” She pauses again, taking another deep breath.
“Yes?” Uncertainty laces his voice. Mum takes a deep breathe, mindlessly twirls the pearl earrings in her ear then addresses him.
“Lucca. I know Alexis is pregnant. How far along is she? When were you going to tell me?”
Beam me up!
She’s losing her mind.
“Oh God … Mum, stop it. What are you talking about?” I retaliate with irritation.
“I know my own daughter and you, my girl, are pregnant.” I can’t quite process this.
“What?” I yell moving upright and turning to face Lucca.
“Lucca, I’m not. Tell her I’m not.” I plead.
He’s silent.
Why?
Speak, goddamn it!
“Of course I’m not pregnant. I’ve just been on my goddamn flipping period and have an implant in my arm.” I raise my voice towards my mum, which I’m ashamed of but she’s driving me to it. I’m angry and confused.
“Calm down, Alexis. Have you taken a test?” She softens her voice. I turn to look at Lucca for backup, but he’s frozen on the spot, shocked with this conversation, staring at the stupid bloody coasters possibly with a paler complexion than me.
“Lucca?” I yell, shaking his arm.
He blinks from his momentary trance, then stares at my midsection. “Lexi, are you? Are you pregnant with our baby?” It sounds more like a hopeful wish than an inquisition.
“What are you two going on about? You both sound ridiculous.”
Flustered.
Irate.
Hot and bothered.
“No, I’m not pregnant. I had to take a test at the clinic with the doctor before I got the implant and it was negative. I was bleeding yesterday and early this morning so I can’t be.” I begin to shake nervously.
“Alexis, sweetie, that doesn’t mean you’re not. I bled all through with Cameron, and halfway through my pregnancy with you. It can be very common,” she adds.
Lucca is white, like a frozen snow statue. He hasn’t moved, and I’ve never seen him like this before.
“Mum, please stop. You’re freaking him out and getting his hopes up.” I don’t know what I’m saying, I don’t know what she’s saying but I do know that I feel like disappearing into the ground below me.
She quizzically looks at him, and me, then him again. “Oh, goodness gracious … I’m sorry, Lucca, you poor thing. I thought you both were aware. I thought maybe that was the reason you fell head over heels so early and got engaged. Of course, I might be wrong but, Alexis, you need to do another test. Your Aunt Eva had to take four tests before it showed positive with the twins.”
“Oh, I think I’m going to be sick …”
I lean over the rattan chair and vomit up the glass of water.
Splash. All over the floor.
The room is spinning. I need fresh air. I can’t hear this, not from my mum anyway. Once I sit up, Lucca takes my hand, sweetly stroking it but I feel him trembling. It’s the first time I have ever truly felt him shake like this.
“Jesus, Lexi, baby, you
are
pregnant. You must be.” His glistening eyes meet mine, hungry and eager for answers. Answers that I can’t give him because now Mum has put ideas in my head and I’m wondering about the effectiveness of the test I took.
“Lucca, I’m not. I must have a virus, please don’t make an issue of this. I have enough going on. I promise you I’m not and I had a negative test. Sickness is a side effect of the implant.” I choke and break.
I’m not. I’m not. I’m not.
Denial. File. Compartmentalise. Ignore.
Mum nods towards Lucca, giving him the look. The “mother knows best” look and confirms to him that I very much am pregnant.
“I’ll clean that up for you. Lucca, take her for fresh air. I’ll make something else to eat if she wants it.” Then she wraps her arms around my shoulders and kisses my head now covered in sweat.
“Alexis, I’m sorry to alarm you. I just know my own daughter. I’d like you to take another test tomorrow. I’ll go to the chemist for you. Please don’t worry, sweetie. We will work this out, and after seeing you both, I know this can’t be a bad thing. You love each other. Everything will be fine, I promise you.”
Promise.
A promise is a promise.
These are her words. She would always promise to make things better and protect us when we were kids. If she promises, then she means it and does everything in her power to make sure it happens. She’s soft and caring, speaking the way she would when I was a young, vulnerable girl. She is serious but she’s compassionate. These words end me. I cry.
“No,” I retort. “I’m not pregnant. I can assure you. Mum, please don’t … just accept I’m not. I want to marry Lucca first before thinking about children, and with everything else going on I’m not equipped, I can’t be a mummy. I can’t do it, I can’t because I’m too …”
I fall onto my knees, breaking down in sobs, holding my stomach as if in denial, searching for another sign.
Confirmation.
“Grace, I am taking her out for fresh air. I will come back with her if she is hungry.” Suddenly Lucca has snapped out of his trance and is taking control while I just need to evaporate into space. Forever.
Fuck!
File F for fate. Fate interrupting my already complicated life.
Lucca lifts a heavy shawl that’s folded and sitting on top of a wooden trunk and scoops me up in a swift move. Then he opens the sunroom door and walks with me around the back of the house to the wood shed. It’s pitch black.
“There’s a switch to the right,” I sob.
He flips the switch and a strip light above flickers then shines brightly.
“It’s full of logs. I was hoping to sit with you. To talk.”
“There’s another section to the back. It’s a barn. There are hay bales but no lights, only lanterns,” I inform him, snivelling through my broken sobs.
He walks past the rows of logs and finds the door into the barn. I signal towards the lanterns, and he balances me on his thigh while he fidgets with the lantern. He has two lit, so he leaves one at the entrance and carries the other, finding a corner by the hay.
He stands me on my feet then spreads the thick shawl out over the hay. Setting the lantern on a nearby ledge, he lifts me up and places me on the shawl, then kneels in front of me, leaning protectively over me.
I stare at the pine timber roof, nervous about how this discussion is going to go. He straddles my legs, lifting my sundress, then leans over and runs his thumb along the edge of my panties. Softly, he kisses my navel, covering every piece of skin. He kisses, strokes, and tenderly rubs the pad of his thumb across my stomach.
I ripple in a delightful flutter under his touch. I’ve never felt such soft, gentle butterfly wings flickering so tender, desperate, and profound. Involuntarily, I lace my fingers in his hair.
“Lucca, I don’t think I’m pregnant,” I whisper, not wanting to spoil the moment or burst his bubble, but I need to be honest.
He doesn’t say anything. He brushes feathery strokes, kisses, and softly licks along tummy. Then he rests the side of his head there, his stubbly chin and cheeks tickling my abdomen as his fingers skim my lace panties’ edge.