Page 196 of SINS & Riley
She points to a bright neon sign against a wall of flowers:
Get Pampered or Get Out
The kids start bouncing like they’re on a sugar rush in a bouncy house. “Yes, Papa! Pleeeease!”
Dominic rolls his eyes and sighs like a drama queen. “Fine. But no color.”
We head inside, and Mila’s assistant glides me toward a chair. She’s wearing a frock that screams Pamper Queen across the front, smiling sweetly as she hands me a color palette.
“When are you due?”
“Four months.” I sink into the chair, already half in heaven, then glance down and groan. “My feet look like two baby hippos. How about you do my fingernails first?”
“They’re hardly swollen at all, but I can start with your hands,” she assures me.
“Just relax,” she adds, tapping the armrest. “There’s a massage button. We’ll have you pampered in no time.”
Maybe Dante was right to insist on this. For the first time in forever, I actually let myself relax into the moment, without a care in the world.
Ahhh. Bliss.
I let my head loll back as Mila and I laugh ourselves silly, watching Misha and Katya gang up on Dominic. Or more accurately—hold him down.
His manicurist obeys their every command—blue polish for one, white for the other. What starts as crisp little stripes devolves into a tiny patriotic disaster smeared across his toes.
The second they dry, he shoves his feet into shoes and socks like the evidence might vanish. “Breathe a word of this to Dante, and no cannolis for you,” he warns darkly. “Forever.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“Now for your toes,” my salonist says. I’m about to slip my feet into the water when?—
A sharp stab knifes through my gut. “Ow.” I flinch, jerking back.
Then, just as fast, it disappears.
In two seconds flat, Mila’s on me. “What’s wrong?”
Slowly, I straighten, forcing a breath. The pain is gone. “Nothing. I’m fi?—”
The word dies in my throat as the cramp twists harder, vicious.
I gasp, clutching my belly. Sweat begins to pull up my neck.
I’m about to tell Dominic we should go, but out of the corner of my eye, I see him lowering the shades.
“What are you doing?” I pant.
“That black SUV is back.” His voice is flat, clipped. “And I definitely see a camera pointed right here. My guess? They’re calling for reinforcements. And will probably block us in—” His gaze cuts to me, eyes hard. “You’re not okay.”
“I’m fine,” I lie through clenched teeth. “You should probably get the kids out of here. I’ll be okay with Mila.”
“You’re delusional if you think we’re leaving you.”
“No—” I bite down hard, riding another wave of pain. “I just need to relax, and they won't chase you if I'm not in the car.”
I drag in a long breath. The pain eases, melts away like it was never there. I force a weak smile. “See?”
In the next breath, it slams back harder. I double over with a strangled cry.
