Page 155 of Fix You

Glancing up at him, I asked, “Are you sure we can't use an Irish name?”

He snorted. “Like I told you before, we can’t have a future Neretti capo named Connor or Declan.”

“Fine,” I muttered going back to my book.

Shortly after we returned home from Sicily, an ultrasound revealed I was carrying the future heir to the Neretti family. Rafe had been beside himself at the news. A son meant future stability, which was desperately needed after the shakeup at Rafe’s and Drea’s wedding. Of course, considering the way he was around Julianna, I knew he would’ve adored a daughter just as much.

“What about Benvolio?” I suggested.

Making a face, Rafe countered, “Seriously?”

“He was Romeo’s best friend inRomeo and Juliet.” Gazing up at him, I said, “We could call him Benny for short, which is a little Irish and Italian.

“Absolutely not.”

With a huff, I went back to my book. Rafe’s head was buried in his iPad as he went over contracts from Edoardo Caruso. It had been a tumultuous first year of marriage for Leandro and Drea, but they were starting to come out of the darkness. Living one floor down from us, we’d all gotten very close. I considered Drea one of my best friends, along with Caterina and Isla, Quinn’s wife.

“Paolo?” At Rafe’s grunt, I asked, “What’s wrong with it?”

“I knew a kid from the neighborhood named Paolo who was a pain in the ass.”

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed a pretzel and went back to my book. After several suggestions earned me more grunts from Rafe, I asked, “How about Publio?”

Rafe jerked his gaze from his iPad. “Excuse me?”

“Publio. It means ‘friend of the people’.”

The corner of his lip quirked. “You can’t be serious.”

I grinned. “I’m not. I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention and not just vetoing everything.”

“Although I imagine naming him that would make him tough since he would be getting his ass beaten constantly while being called ‘Pubic’,” Rafe mused.

“Yeah, not happening.” Motioning at the book, I suggested, “Why don’t you take a stab at it then?”

Tossing his iPad to the side, Rafe took the baby book from me. After flipping to the beginning, he pointed to one at the front. “I like Alessandro. Classic with a bit of a Greek influence like my fellow Sicilians”

“Can we call him Alex?”

He shot me a look. “My sons aren’t having anglicized names.”

Cocking my brows at him, I countered, “Really,Rafe?”

With a scowl, he replied, “It’s not the same.”

“Oh it is the same. Even withRaphael.”

“Excuse me?”

Taking the book back from him, I flipped over to the R’s. I tapped a spot on the page. “Raffaele is really the Italian version of Raphael.”

He rolled his eyes. “But it shows my spelling right under it.”

“So, your name is half pure in Italian,” I teased.

“Maeve,” he grunted.

Whenever he made the noise, it always caused Cannoli to yip in response. Lately, whenever Cannoli barked, the baby wouldshift inside of me like he was answering his furry sister’s call. “Omph,” I muttered.

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