Page 75 of Bellini Born
I let out a frustrated groan, dragging a hand down my face. Keeping my voice low, I hissed, “We didn’t use a condom last night.”
“Oh.” Matteo waved a dismissive hand. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Uh, yeah, I think I do. I’m not on birth control, and it’s bad enough the prissy preschool moms have a bet going to see how long it takes before you knock up the too-young-for-you nanny.”
The sip of coffee he’d just taken spewed from his mouth, and he began to cough loudly. He thumped his chest a few times, but his voice still came out rough. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
Wry laughter fell from my lips. “I wish I were.”
A rumble vibrated through his chest before he pulled in a deep breath and brushed off my concern for a second time. “The trip to the pharmacy is unnecessary.”
My temper flared, and my fist came down on the marble island as I shouted, “Yes, it is! You don’t get to make this decision for me!”
Angrily, I spun on my heel, stomping toward the stairs when a hand circled my wrist, hauling me back into a hard chest as arms locked around my waist.
“Let me go!” I struggled against his hold.
“I need you to calm down.” The command was firm in my ear.
“Fuck you,” I spat. “I might’ve agreed to be your whore, but I didn’t sign on to carry your baby.”
“There won’t be any baby.” He let me go so suddenly that I stumbled.
Sucking in gasping lungfuls of air, I turned around as his word sank in slowly. “Last time I checked, any time you have unprotected sex, those little swimmers of yours”—I gestured toward the prominent bulge visible beneath the fabric of his gray sweatpants—“are on the hunt to impregnate me.”
I pressed both hands to my stomach as bile rose up my throat. I was going to be sick just thinking about it.
“Someone was paying attention in health class,” he mused, and I saw red. Before I could scream at him that this wasn’t a fucking joke, he added, “But I don’t have any swimmers, as you so eloquently put it.”
My jaw dropped, and a rush of air escaped my parted lips. “You don’t?”
Matteo shook his head before retrieving a cup of coffee and offering it to me.
Gratefully, I accepted the mug. “Did you have some kind of accident?”
“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m afraid it was just a run-of-the-mill vasectomy.”
“Oh.” Now I felt like a total ass for flying off the handle, but in my defense, how was I supposed to know he’d gotten snipped? It’s not like we’d discussed he was shooting blanks before he took it upon himself to come inside me without asking.
He ran a hand through his dark hair. “After everything that happened when Serafina was born . . .”
My heart twisted. I could only imagine how painful it must’ve been for him to lose his wife, and that was before taking into account he was left to care for a premature infant and a toddler while grieving.
A heavy sigh lifted his chest. “I won’t sugarcoat it. Things were rough. Truthfully, I didn’t come out of the fog until that day you pulled Bianca out of that pool.”
“Matteo.” I reached for him, but he stepped back.
“You were right. I wasn’t watching her like I should’ve been. And I’m so fucking ashamed that my negligence almost cost my daughter her life. But it was enough to scare me straight. I made a promise that I’d get my shit together, get back to being the father they deserve. The one I used to be.”
“If it’s any consolation, minus that little blip when we first met, I’ve only seen you be a loving and attentive dad. Bianca and Serafina are very lucky.”
A sad smile formed on his lips. “For a long time, it felt like I’d failed them. So, on one particularly dark day, I decided to eliminate the risk of dooming any other innocent lives to having me as a father. A thirty-minute procedure later, I was sterile.”
This time, when I went to place my hand on his arm, he let me. I moved closer, my touch skating up his bicep until his stubble prickled against my palm.
“Everyone has demons. You fought yours the best way you knew how.”
He grunted, eyes cutting to the side. That’s when a chair scraped against the tiled floor, indicating we were no longer alone.
