Marriage by Contract. Sandra Steffen
time meeting his father’s. When their gazes locked, they both nodded. Tony was the first to smile.
Vincent Petrocelli was a couple of inches shorter than Tony and had thinning gray hair and a face and hands that bore the lines and calluses of a man who worked hard for a living. He didn’t speak loud or often, but when he talked, people sat up and listened. They’d been the only two men adrift in a turbulent sea of talkative, demonstrative women. Despite it or because of it, their relationship was based on companionable silences. Tony could count on one hand the times he and his father had had heart-to-heart talks. He’d always known what his family had given up to help him through medical school, just as he’d always known what was expected of him in return.
He wasn’t sure why he chose that instant to turn his head slightly, but once his gaze settled on Beth, he couldn’t look away. At five foot eight, she was at least three inches taller than the women in his family. From here, her hair looked more red-gold than auburn, her skin pale, her lips tinted a soft pink. She was talking to two of his sisters—listening was more like it. She nodded politely at something Carmelina said, then casually glanced his way. For a moment, she seemed to stare, unseeing, past them all. Slowly, her eyes focused on him, and she smiled. Desire roused inside Tony all over again.
From a dozen feet away, Beth saw the invitation in the depths of Tony’s eyes. She couldn’t remember any man ever looking at her in exactly that way, and she could hardly believe what such a look could do to a woman.
See? she told herself. Everything is going to be fine. There’s no need for self-doubts.
“I think it’s a good thing the wedding is only four days away, don’t you, Maria?” Carmelina asked.
“From the look of that brother of ours, I don’t think he’d be able to wait much longer,” Maria agreed.
Beth glanced at Tony’s sisters, one older than him, the other younger. Heaven help her, but she was at a complete and utter loss for something to say.
Maria laughed, and Carmelina said, “Don’t look so stricken. I always knew he had it in him. Our mother and father have been waiting a long time for this. Tell me, Beth, how long do you and Tony plan to wait to have another child?”
Unease crawled down Beth’s spine, a disturbing thought close on its heels. Suddenly, she was face-to-face with the doubts she’d been having these past three days.
She didn’t remember how she responded to Carmelina’s question, but whatever she said must have satisfied both of Tony’s sisters. The entire family left soon after. If they noticed that Beth’s smile looked strangely out of place on her own face, they didn’t comment.
* * *
Tony stood to one side, arms crossed, waiting for Beth to unlock her door. She knew she’d been more quiet than usual since leaving the hospital, but she just hadn’t felt up to making small talk.
The door opened on silent hinges, the carpet muting her footsteps as she led the way into her quiet apartment. Other than the rasp of Tony’s deeply drawn breath, the only sound she heard was the door closing behind her. Choosing her words very carefully, she turned to face him. “Your family seems very excited about the idea of future Petrocellis.”
He studied her thoughtfully for so long she wondered if he was going to answer. “They’re very old-fashioned in that respect. Does that bother you?”
Bother? It terrified her, but not for the obvious reasons. Hoping against hope that she was reading more into this than was necessary, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. What she really needed was something to do with her hands. Clasping them in front of her, she said, “Everything has happened so fast, we really haven’t had much of a chance to get to know each other. Do you have time to talk? Because if you do, I could brew a pot of tea.”
Tony took a step toward her. Brewing tea was not what he would have preferred to spend the next several minutes doing. Or even the next several hours. “I have all the time in the world, Beth. For talking. Or whatever.”
Either she didn’t hear the double entendre in his voice, or she chose to ignore it. Extending her hand in a sweeping gesture toward the living room, she said, “Would you like to wait in here?”
Tony Petrocelli enjoyed a lot of things but cooling his heels in the living room wasn’t one of them. Instead, he followed Beth into the next room. While she filled a copper teakettle with tap water, he leaned against the counter in her small kitchen, quietly watching.
“Did Carmelina say something to upset you, Beth?”
The mugs in her hands clanked together as she swung around to face him. Turning back much more slowly, she shook her head.
“Then, what was it you wanted to talk about?” He was vaguely aware that she’d pulled her lower lip between her teeth, but before he could make more than a sweeping assumption that she was nervous about something, he caught a whiff of her perfume, and all but the haziest of impressions were lost on him.
“If you could have anything,” she said quietly, “anything you wished for, what would it be?”
Staring at the smooth skin below her cheekbone and the fine line of her profile, he drew a blank.
She turned her head to look at him. “Don’t tell me you have everything you want, Tony. There must be something you’d like. And I don’t mean peace on earth and no more hungry children. I mean what do you want for yourself and nobody else.”
In that instant, he only wanted one thing. Her. In bed, under him, all over him. He wanted her. Since he doubted that was what she’d meant, he said, “I’ll have to think about it and let you know. What about you, Beth? What do you want?”
Her answer was as direct as her gaze. “That’s easy. I want Christopher.”
He turned slightly, the movement bringing his chest within a few inches of her shoulder. “Then, you’re going to get your wish. Christopher will be leaving the hospital in a week or two. And he’ll be coming home with us. Isn’t there anything else you want?”
She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide open and brimming with tenderness and emotion. The Sicilians had a word for what was happening to him. Translated, it meant thunderstruck. Only a person who’d felt it would truly understand the enormity of the sensation.
The teakettle whistled, startling them both and saving her from having to answer. She turned off the burner with one hand, reaching for the kettle with the other. Pouring the steaming water into a small, round teapot, she cleared her throat and finally said, “Your family seemed very taken with Christopher.”
She’d said something similar before, but he answered her, anyway. “They love kids. Always have.”
“I’ve heard more than one of them comment on their excitement over the prospect of meeting future Petrocellis.”
Without a clue as to where the conversation was headed, he crossed his ankles and settled himself more comfortably along the edge of the counter. “I come from what very well could be the last completely functional family in the United States. Oh, we had our normal fights and tussles growing up—Gina had a screech that could make your ears ring for two days, and Andreanna could pinch hard enough to draw blood—I tell everybody that I became a doctor out of self-defense. But when push comes to shove, we’re always here for one another. We’re working-class people, and we’re proud of it. My sisters gave up a lot to help me through medical school, but no one gave up more than my mother and father. All they’ve ever wanted or expected in return is that I carry on the family name.”
Beth watched the tea seep into the clear, steaming water, her tension seeping out of her in a similar fashion. There, she told herself. See? There’s nothing to worry about. By adopting Christopher, Tony will be doing as his family wishes. In his new son, the Petrocelli name will continue.
His shirt rustled as he uncrossed his arms, his voice dropping in volume as he said, “Oh, and of course they want me to pass on the family genes.”
She