A Vow, a Ring, a Baby Swing

“Oh. Right.” She tapped a finger against her lips as she walked back and forth, deep in thought.

“Come on, Rosie. Didn’t anyone ever tell you honesty is the best policy?”

She stood still and met his gaze with her own troubled one. “Whoever said that didn’t have to face Flo and Tom Marchetti and tell them she was going to have a baby without a husband.”

“It’ll be okay. Trust your folks—”

“You don’t know what it’s like.”

“No, I guess I don’t.” He didn’t know what it felt like to face parents, period. “I only had to answer to a social worker.”

“Oh, Steve, I didn’t mean—” She reached a hand out, then let it fall. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “No big deal.”

“It’s just that I’ll have to look my parents in the eye and watch their faces. I can’t stand to see ‘The Look.’”

“They love you.”

“I know. That makes it worse. The Look only works when it comes from the people you love.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“A flogging would be easier. Bread and water for a month would be a walk in the park. The Look is the ultimate punishment.”

“What look?”

“Disappointment” She sighed. “I let them down, Steve. Big time. Nothing I could have done would be worse than this. Their friends, whose sons and daughters have given them legitimate grandchildren, will know that Rosie Marchetti screwed up. My folks will blame themselves, try to figure out where they went wrong with me. They should have been better parents, stricter.”

“You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

She shook her head. “That’s what I’ll see in their faces. Their daughter, their best and brightest, is pregnant and has no husband. How can I tell them that? I can’t stand to hurt them that way—” Her voice cracked and she clapped a hand over her mouth and turned away.

Here it is, he thought. Here come the tears. He should have known she wouldn’t cry for herself, but her family was something else. And he was still the only one there. He curled his fingers into his palms.

“Rosie, don’t—”

“I’m fine—” She stopped as emotion choked off her words.

“This won’t do any good,” he said.

“I know. I—I can’t help it—” The words were cut off by a strangled sob that shook her shoulders.

“Damn.”

He crossed the room in three strides. He put his hands on her arms and turned her toward him. He felt her reluctance to take the comfort he was offering, then her eyes swam with tears and she covered her face with her hands. She seemed to crumple against him.

Her sweet, soft body snuggling in his arms felt better than he had ever imagined, and he’d imagined it a lot. She was like a sister to him, he reminded himself. He had no right to be aware of her breasts pressed against his chest and the heat that burned through him. He should push her away. How long could he stand having her in his arms without doing more?

He gritted his teeth. As long as it took, he decided. She needed someone now. Fate had put him there. He would just hold her. That’s all.

But he couldn’t stop himself from rubbing his hand up and down her back in a comforting motion. He was unable to resist pressing her cheek more firmly to his chest. It felt natural and right for his arms to tug her closer, tuck her softness more securely to his hard length. He took a shuddering breath, then released it. She just needed a shoulder. It was the least he could do. She was his best friend’s sister. But he tightened his arms just a fraction. For himself.

When her crying subsided to an occasional wet hiccup, he said, “They’ll forgive you.”

“I know.”

“They love you.”

“No doubt about it. And I love them.”

“They would want to help you through this, Rosie.”

“Of course they would. But The Look will always be there—in their eyes. I’d do anything—anything—to spare them this disgrace and embarrassment.”

“Anything?”

“Short of murder and mayhem,” she said, nodding miserably. “But there’s no solution to this problem.” She sniffled. “I need a husband. But husbands don’t grow on trees.”

“No,” he agreed. “Not the last time I checked.”

She pulled back a little and looked up at him, a wavery little smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “They don’t fall off turnip trucks, either.”

“Yeah, I try never to do that. It’s not the fall that gets you, it’s the bounce.”

The sound she made was part sob, part giggle, but it was all victory, one that made him feel as if he’d won a marathon.

As he pulled her back into his embrace, her words sank in.

I need a husband.

Then she could face her family and friends without shame. He took half the blame for her situation. He owed her. He owed the family. There was a way to help them all. But it was a huge risk. He could lose the best friend he’d ever had, the only family he’d ever known.

But Rosie was a part of that family. Shouldn’t he help her? She was Nick’s sister. If Nick were in his shoes, wouldn’t he do the honorable thing, the gentlemanly thing? Steve hadn’t hung around the Marchettis all these years for nothing. He’d learned a thing or two. Rule number one: when one of them was in trouble, they were all in trouble.

He wasn’t a member of the family, not by blood. More than once he had wished there was a way to change that. But in this situation, blood lines worked in his favor. He could do something for Rosie that none of the rest of them could. He had a way to get her out of this jam.

“I could be a husband,” he said.

She glanced up at him and her eyes widened. Then she smiled, and her face lit up, and he understood about the glow of a pregnant woman. She looked so beautiful, for a split second his breath caught.

“That’s funny, Steve.”

He frowned. “What is?”

“The idea of you as a husband. Not as funny as the image of you taking a bounce off a turnip truck. But still pretty hysterical. Have you been into that bottle of wine that room service brought up?”

He looked offended. “Why?”