Page 25 of There Are No Words

That was it.

She’d never hinted at needing or wanting more, and I was just going to have to get over what I wanted. Hell, I’d done it for months. Why should now be any different, I asked myself as I watched her walk outside without waiting for me.

No, Allegra Morelli didn’tneedme. Certainly didn’twantanything from me.

Damn. These next eighteen years and some odd months were going to kill me.

* * *

Allegra

I could do this.

As soon as Brady joined us again (he’d been behind me, or so I thought), I cleared my throat. “I have an announcement.”

All eyes turned to me.

“About the anniversary party?” Dad asked.

I shook my head. “No. Not about work.”

“Then what is it?” he asked, watching me closely.

Honestly, I didn’t know why I was so nervous all of a sudden. But even my heart rate kicked up a notch. Maybe it was because of all the pressure I was putting on myself about telling him. I turned and looked at Brady, my sisters, and Knox. Each one gave me a reassurance of some kind—head nod, smile, wink, the list went on.

Without preamble, I blurted out, “I’m having a baby. With Brady.” My eyes never left Dad as I waited for his reaction, which took a beat before it came.

And when it did, it was a smirk.

What the heck?

“Is this a joke?” Dad asked, laughing. “It’s a good one. A baby.” All right, this was borderline insulting. He was all out laughing. Like hysterically. “Brady, were you in on this with my daughter?”

As he laughed and looked around, it became obvious he was the only one who found it funny. He realized it, too, and slowly stopped.

“Sir,” Brady cut in, “it’s not a joke.”

Turning to me, Dad eyed me. “Allegra?”

I pinched my lips and shook my head. “It’s true. I have a sonogram to prove it.” I reached into my purse and pulled out the picture I’d carried with me since we’d left the doctor’s office. “Look. I’m just over eight weeks.”

“But we just found out,” Brady was quick to add as if that’d matter to my father. Timing wouldn’t matter to him. If anything, time would be the least of our concerns.

Dad stood up and put his glass down on the coffee table between the couches. “You are having a baby with an Irishman?” he asked, clearly distraught over the one thing that didn’t matter at all.

Meanwhile, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Knox lean over to Brady. Tuning into what he was saying, I heard him whisper, “Don’t worry, I’m also not Italian. Consider the way paved for you. My gift to you, man,” as he punched him on the arm.

Not exactly something I was worried about, and I had a feeling Brady wasn’t, either, but okay, Knox.We’re so glad you’re not Italian and came into our lives, loving Bianca, for this exact moment.

Answering my father, I finally spoke, saying, “Yes, I am. We’re very excited. I hope you can be happy for us.” That sounded believable, right?

Don’t get me wrong, I was happy, butexcitedmight’ve been a stretch, especially at first.

“Happy,” Dad repeated. “A baby.”

Brady leaned over to me. “He’s not blinking. Maybe this isn’t good.”

Then Dad started this thing he was known to do when he was upset—rant in Italian. I considered it a good sign. He was responsive (if not blinking) and following all his usual habits when annoyed. Case in point, my gaze fell to his hand wherehe was now spinning the Italian horseshoe ring he always wore around his finger.

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