Page 154 of Fix You

“Me either,” I remarked.

When Caterina gave Maeve and me a curious look, I quickly said, “I don’t want to think of her growing up and some asshole breaking her heart.”

With a snort, Callum replied, “Just let him try. He’ll find himself six feet under.”

Maeve huffed. “You two are ridiculous.”

“Don’t forget the others,” I mused.

No man would ever stand a chance with all of Julianna’s Neretti and Kavanaugh uncles.

Reaching forward, Maeve rubbed Julianna’s cheek. “Don’t worry, sweet girl. Your auntie Maeve will make sure to sneak you out for some fun.”

With a grunt, Callum replied, “Maybe we picked the wrong godmother.”

After Maeve playfully smacked Callum’s arm, Orla appeared at the church doors, beckoning us with her hand.

Callum shifted Julianna in his arms. “All right, let’s go get this little angel baptized.”

As we fell in step behind them, I leaned over to Maeve’s ear. “When do you want to tell them our good news?”

“Let’s wait awhile.” She took my hand in hers. “Let it be our little secret.”

“I like that idea.”

When we reached the church, Orla’s eyes narrowed on us. Maeve held up her hands. “I tried to get them here earlier.”

Sweeping her hands to her hips, Orla declared, “And just when were you going to tell me you were up the pole?”

At Maeve’s gasp, I furrowed my brows. “Up thewhat?”

With her face paling slightly, Maeve answered, “It’s an Irish expression for being pregnant.”

Now it was my turn to pale. “How could you–”

“It’s a mother’s, as well as Irish, intuition.”

“But we’re not telling anyone yet,” Maeve protested.

With a wink, Orla replied, “My lips are sealed.”

As we swept into the church, I leaned over to whisper in Maeve’s ear. “What are the odds that she’s not going to spill it to everyone?”

“Non-existent,” she huffed.

I hoped she would be wrong.

Two and a half hours later, a hearty toast was raised to the future heir of the Neretti family.

Epilogue: Maeve

As I lay sandwiched between Rafe and my new dachshund, Cannoli, on the couch, I balanced a massive bowl of chocolate-covered pretzels on my ever-expanding belly. In my hand was the latest copy of a book of Italian baby names. It was three weeks until my due date, and Rafe and I still couldn’t agree on a name for our upcoming arrival.

It had been so much easier naming Cannoli. When we returned from our honeymoon, Rafe took me to see one of the bodyguards from his youth. At ninety-three, Lucio was dying and leaving behind a wife who was already bedridden. Although I was touched to help him say goodbye, I realized the point of thevisit the moment a chocolate colored dachshund came running and yipping to the door.

It was very obvious that Rafe wanted to test me to see if I was ready for a new dog by helping Lucio take Cannoli. From the moment Cannoli slurped her little pink tongue across my face, I was a goner.

It had taken less than a minute for me to say yes.

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