Romeo, Romeo Page 29

  “Don't you understand? There is no baby. You're off the hook. Go. Get out.” “What?”

  “You heard me. There is no baby. Now would you please go? Please?” She couldn't stop the tears. Rosalie pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in her arms, sobbing—waiting for him to leave again.

  “Don't tell me you lost the baby. Lee?” He sat beside her on the floor and pulled her into his lap. “I'm so sorry, sweetheart. But it's going to be okay. You'll see. I read that twenty-five percent of the babies conceived are lost early. A lot of times, the woman doesn't even know it. We can try again real soon.”

  What, was he dense? “Nick, I didn't lose a baby. There never was a baby. I was never pregnant.”

  “Then what's wrong? Why are you sick?”

  “What do you care? You don't love me. You only came back because you thought I was pregnant.”

  “Bullshit. If that were true, why would I still be here? I love you. Now damn it, Lee, tell me what the hell is wrong with you.”

  “Nothing.” She pushed herself up and threw the washcloth on the counter. He stood beside her, looking at her in the mirror. Fine. She needed to brush her teeth. Let him watch. After everything Nick had seen, seeing her spit shouldn't bother him. She put a little toothpaste on the brush, hoping the taste wouldn't start her heaving again.

  “I'll go make you some tea and toast. You need to eat, and we need to talk without you getting sick.”

  “I'm not hungry,” she said around the toothbrush in her mouth.

  “Do you realize that the only time you've ever not been hungry has been when you were sick?”

  After rinsing out her mouth, she wiped herself with a towel. “Do you realize the only time I've been sick has been when you were here?”

  “Well then, I guess we better move to my place.” He picked her up, carried her into the bedroom, and set her down on the bed.

  “Nick, I told you, I'm not sick, and I'm not pregnant—”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that suffering from a broken heart does not make one lose over twenty pounds in a month.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I haven't lost twenty pounds, and I not only lost you, but I lost Dave. And I love that dog.”

  “Well, if it's any consolation, he's been miserable without you, too.”

  “You lie down while I make some breakfast. I'll be right back.”

  Nick dialed his cell phone on his way to the kitchen, made an appointment while he poured himself some coffee, and disconnected the call as he filled the kettle for Rosalie's tea. After rummaging around the near-empty cupboard, he found tea bags and opened the fridge to get the bread. There was nothing but batteries and condiments in the refrigerator. It was worse then it had been when they'd first started dating. Then at least she'd had milk, eggs, and beer. There was nothing in the freezer, either. She was going to have to eat a dry bagel. That was close enough to toast.

  A few minutes later, he was back in the bedroom, and Rosalie looked as if she was sleeping. He sat beside her. Her eyes opened, and she greeted him with a suspicious look. “Hey.”

  He put the tray between them. “Here, eat slowly. This will help while we talk.”

  She looked wary. He'd thought they'd gotten beyond that. Hell, he'd told her he loved her—a sentiment she hadn't returned.

  He pointed to the bagel and handed her the tea. “Take a bite; it'll make you feel better.”

  She took a sip of tea instead. She never did what he told her to do. He loved that about her… almost as much as he hated it.

  “I was thinking of what it was like when we were together. You know—you, Dave, and me. It was good, wasn't it?”

  “Nick, I'm sorry. I'm not interested in going back to whatever it was we had. I don't want that anymore. I've changed.”

  He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, raked his fingers through his hair, and then stayed that way, holding his head, staring at the floor. “What do you mean, you don't want that? Are you talking about the deal, or are you talking about me?”

  “The deal. I'm talking about the deal. You… we, well, it was good except for the lying. You really suck at lying.”

  “It was just good?”

  “Hold on. You're the one who said it was good. What do you want me to say? That it was magnificent?”

  He sat up straighter and smirked. “Yeah, magnificent works. I'd go with magnificent.”

  “So would I, but you said it was good.”

  “You're right. I'm really screwing this up, aren't I? This isn't the way I envisioned it at all.”

  “Envisioned what?”

  “Seeing you again.” He moved his food to the side and took her hand in his. “I thought it'd be like one of those sappy movies. You know, you'd see me, and you'd be happy. I definitely didn't expect to have to tackle you to the ground and hold you down, not to mention having to pick you up off the bathroom floor after you—”

  “I get it. You don't have to draw a picture.”

  “I thought I'd tell you I loved you; you'd say you loved me, too; we'd have make-up sex; and then we'd get married. End of story.”

  “Hold on. I got you through the make-up sex. But marriage?”

  “Yeah. I thought you, me, and Dave, we'd be a family. Like the people you see in the park. You know, the mom and dad, a dog, and two point five kids. Like one of those Rockwell paintings.”

  “Kids? Nick, I told you, I'm not pregnant.”

  “So we'll get married and work on that part of it.”

  She put her hand to his forehead. “Are you sick? What's come over you?”

  “You. You make me happy. You drive me crazy. You fill my life. I want you to be a part of it, and I want to be part of yours. I want to take you home, introduce you to my mother and grandmother. I want to meet your family and friends. I was miserable without you. I felt as if I were in prison serving a life sentence. I never want to live like that again. I need you, Lee. Marry me.”

  It was a good thing Rosalie was in bed; if she hadn't been, she'd have fallen over. Marry Nick? “You mean marriage, as in wearing white, a church, a reception— that kind of marriage?”

  Nick crowded her against the pillows.

  “I'm talking about spending the rest of our lives together. Being a real family. Going to sleep with you every night. Waking up with you every morning. Making love to you. You know, love, honor, and cherish? Yada, yada, yada?”

  Pushing him back, she slid out of bed and started pacing. By the time she'd walked around the bed once, he'd moved a pile of stuff that had been on the dresser and put the tray there.

  “Why is it that men always remember the first three— love, honor, and cherish—because that's what they expect from their women, and the rest is 'yada, yada, yada?' That's the part about not screwing around. That's the part men forget.”

  Nick looked pissed, and when he got pissed, he tended to loom over her. “Lee, I'm not your father. I don't cheat.”

  “No. You lie.”

  Nick put his hands on her shoulders and slid them down her arms, linking their hands and pushing them behind her back, which also served to pull her against him. “I'm a terrible liar. You said so yourself.”

  'True.” Lord, he felt good. It amazed her how all she had to do was get close to Nick and she felt better. Like how, when she came home from a long trip, she'd be too stressed and too tired to relax, but then she'd open her front door and her spirits would magically lift. Being with Nick was like that.

  “And you love me.”

  “Uh, huh.” Oh God, how was she supposed to think with him nuzzling her neck? Somehow, his hands had moved to her butt, and she'd wrapped her arms around his neck.

  “And if you say yes right now, we can get to the makeup sex.”

  “Nick. Even Joey offered me a ring.” “Sweetheart, would you work with me here? You know, I've never done this before.” “Sorry.” “Sit
down.” “Why?”

  “Would you please, for once in our relationship, just do as I ask?”

  “Are you going to start expecting me to do what you tell me to? Because, if you are—”

  “Lee, please, you're killing me here.” “Fine.” She sat.

  “Good.” Nick got down on one knee and pulled a little blue box out of his pocket.

  Rosalie wondered if she was seeing things. She didn't know about every girl, but every Italian, Brooklyn girl, by the time she had her first Barbie doll stuffed into a wedding dress, dreamed of three things when it came to marriage. First, that she wouldn't look fat in white. Second, that she'd get married in St. Patrick's Cathedral. And third, that her engagement ring would come from Tiffany & Company.

  Rosalie knew at least one of her childhood dreams had come true. And luckily, it was the only one she hadn't given up hope on or outgrown. There was no way she could pull off wearing white without looking like the Pillsbury Doughboy, and she'd given up on the whole St. Patrick's Cathedral bit when she learned the true story of Cinderella and Prince Charming. But Tiffany's still had the power to make her heart sing, and she'd recognize a Tiffany's box at a hundred yards.

  Nick cleared his throat. “Lee, I promise to love, honor, and cherish you for the rest of my life. I promise never to screw around with anyone but you and always bring you chocolate. Will you marry me? You know you want to.”

  “Oh, Nick, you got me a ring.”

  “Why are you so surprised? I know I've never done this before, and I didn't say everything I should have, but even I know that when you ask the woman you love to marry you, you have to give her a ring.” He laughed and kissed her, and then he held out the box. “Aren't you going to open it?”

  Okay, Rosalie admitted to herself that she was a total sap, but she couldn't help it. She cried. She'd never cried happy tears before. She was smiling and crying at the same time. He wanted to marry her. He'd bought her a ring and everything.

  Nick opened the box, and she couldn't breathe. It had to be the most amazing, most beautiful ring she'd ever seen. It looked like a square diamond, but it wasn't an emerald cut, because it was rounded, too. A platinum band embedded with diamonds surrounded the center stone. The shank held graduated diamonds. Oh, and there was even a matching wedding band.

  He slipped the ring on her finger and then he kissed her hand. “Do you like the ring? Because if you don't—”

  Rosalie wrapped her arms around him and held him tight, breathing in the scent of him and feeling whole for the first time in a month. He was a part of her. Sure, Nick drove her crazy sometimes—he was her other annoying, sexy, pushy, gorgeous, loving, giving, and funny half. “I love the ring, and I love you. I'm so happy—scared to death, but happy.”

  “Sweetheart, I was scared when I thought I'd lost you. When I heard someone wanted to hurt you, I was terrified…” his hold on her tightened so that she could barely breathe “… and when I walked in on those two guys threatening you, there are no words to describe how I felt.”

  Okay, things were getting way too depressing here, not to mention painful—if he squeezed her any harder, she'd break a rib.

  “I don't understand what caused your one-eighty about marriage. You were always so against it. What happened?”

  “Does it matter? I want to get married now. Right now. Today. That's all that counts.”

  “No, it's not. You can't pull that “don't-ask, don't-tell” crap with me any more. It's time you declassified your life—to me, anyway. When I ask questions, I want answers, even if the answers make you uncomfortable.”

  “Okay. I never wanted to marry because I thought the

  Romeo men were a curse to women. It runs in the family—my father, his father, and his father before him. They met a woman, married her, knocked her up, and took off, never to be heard from again. I thought it was hereditary. I wanted to put an end to the Romeo line once and for all.”

  “That's ridiculous. What are you, stunadl The only reason your father and his father and his father before him did what they did is because they were assholes. You're not.”

  “No, apparently, I'm just stupid. Thanks, I think. You know, I could say the same thing about your reason for not wanting to get married.”

  “Sure you could, but you won't, because you don't want to fight with me.”

  “Good point. Get your shoes on. We're going out.”

  “Hey, what happened to the make-up sex? I was really looking forward to make-up sex.”

  “Oh, really? Well, I'm not in the mood. Come on. I want to take you home.”

  “Nick, what are you talking about? We are home. Can't we,” she kissed his neck, sliding her chest against his to reach his mouth, “you know, stay home?”

  He gave her one of those smiles that made her insides melt.

  “You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

  She was getting breathless thinking about how much she'd like that. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Fine, we can stay home as long as you want—right after you see a doctor. I called Mike. I need to make sure you're okay.”

  T'mnot sick.”

  “I'm not going to be satisfied that you're healthy until I hear it from a doctor. Either you get your shoes and a jacket on, or I'll pick you up and carry you out.”

  “Fine.”

  “Good.”

  Slipping on her Crocs, she grabbed her jacket, which hung on the vacuum, picked up her purse, and walked out the front door. “Why didn't you have Mike meet us here?”

  “I didn't want him to interrupt anything.”

  “Well, thanks to you, there was nothing to interrupt.”

  “Oh, pardon me. I didn't consider a marriage proposal nothing.”

  “That's not what I meant, and you know it.”

  “Sweetheart, I know exactly what you meant. And I love that you can't wait to jump my bones. But there are some things more important than sex. Not many, but your health is one of the few. Just think, the sooner you get a clean bill of health, the sooner you can ravage me.”

  “Okay, let's go. But I better follow you over in my car.”

  “Why?”

  “'Cause your head is so big, I don't think there's room in there for both me and your ego.”

  “There will be plenty of room. I'll put the top down. It's a beautiful day.”

  Chapter Twenty

  When Nick said he was going to take Rosalie to his home, she figured it would be nice, but she never expected a freaking mansion. It was huge and stately, and everything a person could want in an upscale boutique hotel, but it wasn't exactly homey.

  She fell in love with the original stained glass, the intricate woodwork, and the paneling—old-world mahogany, not Home Depot.

  The decorating, however, gave her pause. It was so totally un-Nick. It looked fine for a guy who lived on a diet of ballet, champagne, caviar, and classical music, but not for Nick, who lived on beer, pizza, hockey, and rock with a little Sinatra thrown in for good measure. Not that Nick couldn't do the ballet, champagne and caviar, and orchestra thing on occasion, but he wouldn't be comfortable living in it, and neither would she. No wonder he'd moved in with her. Rosalie cringed at the thought of what Dave's tail alone would do to this place.

  Nick stood beside her in the entry. “You hate it.”

  She must not have hidden her feelings well. Damn, why did he have to be so perceptive? “I don't hate it, but I'm having trouble seeing you here.” She spun around, taking in the chandelier, the chichi knickknacks in the living room, the ornate Victorian dining room, the hunting club study/library. “The person who decorated it must not have known you at all. Are you comfortable living here? I'd be afraid to sit down.”

  “Lee, the only place I've ever felt comfortable was with you. Don't you see? You're my home, my love, my family. You're what I've been searching for my whole life. I sleep here when I'm not with you, and I use it as my mailing address, but I don't live here. I never have.”

  Nick wiped tears she
didn't realize she'd been crying off her cheeks and kissed her. She snuggled closer in his arms. “So, where did you live before you moved here?”

  “Nowhere.”

  “Where did you grow up?”

  “Here. In the basement apartment. My mother used to manage this brownstone when it was a tenement. Park Slope has changed a lot in the last ten years. Growing up, I used to dream of buying the place and restoring it.”

  “And you always get what you want. I know.”

  The doorbell sounded. It was like being in a bell tower on Sunday, only louder and longer. “What? A simple ding-dong isn't good enough? Rich people even have ostentatious doorbells?”

  “I didn't pick it out. The decorator did.”

  “I don't think I'd like this decorator of yours.”

  Nick choked and didn't grin. But he looked like he wanted to. “I'm sure you wouldn't.”

  He answered the door. It was Dr. Mike. Rosalie groaned.

  Mike walked right past Nick without acknowledging his existence. “Rosalie, how's my favorite patient?”

  Nick cleared his throat. “You're not even going to say hello?”

  Mike got in Nick's face. “You deserve to be shot. I was in bed… in bed with a woman, and we were just getting to the good stuff when you had me paged. You said it was an emergency.”

  “It is.”

  Mike looked at Rosalie. “Do you feel as if you're dying, Rosalie?” “No.”

  Mike turned back to Nick. “See, there's no emergency.”

  Nick seemed to grow in stature. He puffed up and looked scary. “Lee's sick. In my book, that's an emergency.”

  Mike looked Rosalie over. “You have lost a lot of weight. Have you been dieting?”

  She shook her head. She really didn't want to talk about her stomach in front of Nick. Mike must have gotten the hint.

  Mike took her arm and steered her toward the main staircase. “Since I'm here, I might as well take a look at you. Come on. Let's go up to one of the bedrooms. He's got a million of them.”

  Nick sputtered. “Bedroom? Why do you need to go to a bedroom? You're not taking Lee into a bedroom.”

  She turned around on the steps and glared at him. “What is your problem? You're the one who dragged Mike all the way over here. Where do you want him to examine me? In the kitchen?”