Stacy — I let go (4)

Stacy — I let go (4)

"Finally. You took forever. Go ahead and order. We'll be right back. Good luck talking them out of dessert before dinner. You got this, dad," Scott said to Jeff, setting Evan down in his chair to come after me.

"What did you say to make them think this was on the table?" Jeff called after Scott.

"I believe in you, director," Scott called back, making his way to me. "Let's get some air," he said, slipping his hand in mine.

I let him lead me outside, where the tears began to flow in earnest.

"You're not going to get pissed off if I ask if you finally got your period, are you?" he asked me.

"No, I didn't," I said, letting go of his hand to start pacing.

How did I tell him I wouldn't be getting one of those for another 36 weeks?

"Okay. Is this about Don Angelo? My dad told me about the shooting. That you went by. How are you, baby?" he asked me, cutting my pacing off by coming to stand before me. He laid his hands on my arms, looked down at me and asked, "Are you okay?"

"No. I mean I'm fine. This isn't about that," I said, wiping away the tears. "You're so great with them. They love you. I don't fucking know what to do with kids.

"What the fuck are you talking about? You were incredible in there. Before you got here, I was crashing and burning with Evan. I saw you let him have that last point. I think you cut the little shit way too much slack, by the way, but he really looked like he needed it tonight. And Milly didn't stop asking where you were the entire thirty minutes it took you to show up. They think you're great, Stace. Where's this coming from?" he reassured me, rubbing his hands up and down my arms.

"Not like you, with your inappropriate jokes and hugs and kisses and tickles," I said, getting far too worked up.

What if I was shit at this? I didn't exactly have the best role models for parenting. I put one of my parents in a hospital bed and the other did her darndest to avoid me.

There's a fucking sonogram in my handbag that says you knocked me up, Scott. That's where this is coming from.

I couldn't tell him that though. After his second exhibition two months ago, his website has been getting more attention. He was selling more photos. Gaining more recognition. He even presented his portfolio to National Geographic for consideration. We were waiting to hear back.

And me? I finally graduated. Just started work at Tony and Tessa's company a few months ago. I already knew working for someone else wasn't for me though. The three of us were in talks about starting our own company. I even had Grandpa Kendrick surprise me yet again with a trust fund, so capital wasn't going to be a problem. We were just getting started. We weren't ready for a baby.

What if I can't protect our baby? The voice in my head taunted me.

Luca was right. On some level, to certain people, I would always be Stacy Luciano. The bookkeeper. Don Luciano.

"Hey, where did you go?" Scott asked, gently pulling me out of my thoughts and into his arms. "You sound like you're jealous of children, baby. I do all those things to you too, you know," he teased me, kissing my cheek. "That covers the hugs, kisses and jokes. Need the tickles too?" he asked me, his fingers brushing lightly up against my belly.

I wrapped my arms around his waist and clung to him.

"I'm sure it's just wedding stress," I said, trying to throw him off the trail.

He'd know I was lying though. I was crazy organized. What I didn't have time for Willow was more than happy to step up for as my maid of honor. By step up I meant delegating to our other friends. She was a sight to see, telling everyone what to do.

"You sure? Nothing you want to tell me? Problems at work? I'm sure your period being late isn't helping," he asked, calling me out like I knew he would while rubbing my back.

"I don't see you complaining about avoiding the dreaded sexless 72 hours," I said, regretting the words instantly.

If he didn't already know, he would figure it out soon. He knew my cycle better than me. He had this ritual a week before my period. He'd become more attentive. Set the mood more. Initiate sex constantly. Volunteer to do things for me. All with the aim of getting laid as much as he could before the dreaded three days of my period. Then he really turned into a sweetheart. Massages, chocolates, bubble baths and intimate snuggle sessions were the theme for at least the first day, because he knew I got really bad cramps.

"Well I don't miss that. You're so weak the first day," he said, answering like a concerned fiance.

"You don't care about the no fucking part?" I insisted, smirking up at him.

"Well obviously no one misses that," he said indignantly, making me giggle. "Ready to get back in there? I brought you here so you could try the place's chocolate cake on Jeff's dime."

"You already vetoed us having chocolate cake at the wedding," I snorted, still bitter that he got everyone to gang up on me by explaining the chocolate cake obsession, leading to me not getting my way.

This was the only thing he refused me as far as the wedding went though, so I didn't let it bother me too much.

"All the more reason to have some now. Maybe you'll finally find the myth in your head," he said, kissing my forehead.

"The stakes: one sexual favor. The bet: Jeff failed miserably and we're about to walk in on Milly and Evan's happy smiles smeared in dessert. What do you say, Scottie?" I asked him, taking his hand as I slowly led him back to the restaurant's doors.

"I don't know. Those are really persuasive kids and I can usually get into your pants pretty easily. Up the stakes. Two sexual favors. Anytime. Anywhere. No questions asked," he said, playing with my fingers, smirking at me as though daring me to say no.

"I feel like you're tricking me," I said, eyeing him suspiciously.

"If it's too rich for your blood, Kendrick," he said tauntingly, playing to my competitive nature, eyes dancing with mischief as he shrugged. "Feel free to back away slowly."

I didn't know why I did this with him. He had a winning streak of eight years. He fucking always won our bets. Did I really think I was ending that by putting my faith in a couple of seven year olds?

"Alright. You're on," I said, a sucker for punishment.