Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(64)

“But he doesn’t know about the baby,” Winnie argued.

“Doesn’t matter.” I shook my head, every ounce of my body alive with stubborn refusal. “Gianni and I talked about this, and he does not want to stay here. He said he wasn’t sure he ever wanted a family, let alone right now, and I’m not about to tie him down with one.”

“Maybe he’ll change his mind once he—”

“No.” I dug in my heels. “I will not be the reason he doesn’t chase his dreams, or the person he blames for being stuck in a dead-end life.”

“Ellie, I know you’re mad at him, but I’ve known Gianni a long time, and I don’t think he’d ever do that.”

“Fine, but I’m going to make it clear that I don’t expect anything from him. I don’t want to be his obligation. I can take care of myself. And this baby.” I put a hand over my stomach, and a shiver moved through me. It was the first time I’d thought of the little being in my belly in any concrete way. Suddenly I found myself wondering whether it was a boy or girl. What color eyes he’d have. What color her hair might be.

God . . . this was real.

“When will you tell him?” Winnie asked gently.

“I don’t know.” I fought tears again. “I need some time to get used to it. It’s my body, and I’m the one who’ll have to carry it and explain it and give birth to it.”

“You’re not alone, Ellie.” Winnie’s voice was firm and reassuring. “I’m here. Your family will be here for you. My family will be here for you. So will Gianni’s—I know it. And you’ve always wanted kids.”

I nodded, my throat closing up. I wondered what Gianni’s parents would say about this . . . Would his mom cry? Would his dad be angry? Jesus, this would make them grandparents too. It was so much all at once. “Yeah. It’s just not how I wanted kids. Or when. Or with who.”

“I know.”

The tears came again, and I slashed at them with both hands. “Fuck. I can’t fall apart. I have to work.”

“Can’t you take a night off?”

“No. We’re totally booked, and there’s no one to cover me.”

“I can pour wine. And I’ve certainly heard you talk enough about the wine list to be somewhat helpful. Let me fill in for you.”

“Okay,” I said, grateful for her. I needed to go upstairs and cry this out, and I didn’t want to break down in front of Gianni, which was sure to happen the moment I saw him. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure. I’ll just call Dex in a minute and let him know.”

I swallowed hard. “Winnie, I have to tell you something else.”

“Lay it on me.”

“You know how I said I’d developed a feeling for Gianni but then it was snuffed out when I discovered his lie about the car?”

“Yeah?”

“I lied.” I dabbed at the corners of my eyes with a tissue. “It’s not snuffed out. It’s still there, refusing to die no matter how much I try to smother it.”

“Are you sure he doesn’t have a feeling about you too?”

“Yes, I’m sure! He barely even speaks to me.”

“But you told him not to.”

“For my own protection! Look, I’ve known him my entire life. He doesn’t have those kinds of feelings. He doesn’t even want them. And he won’t want this baby either.”

Winnie sighed. “Why don’t you take some time for yourself before you tell him, okay? Think. Breathe. And sleep—you look exhausted.”

“I am exhausted,” I said, taking a shuddery breath. “Okay. If you don’t mind, I’ll take the night off.”

“Good.” She stood up and looked at her clothing. “Am I dressed okay?”

I nodded as I rose to my feet. “Yeah. Thanks, Win. I owe you one.”

She smiled. “I think I’d make a good godmother, if you’re taking names.”

Bursting into tears again, I threw my arms around her.





SEVENTEEN





GIANNI





“Night, Gianni!”

I glanced up and waved at Malik, one of Etoile’s two servers, as he passed by the office on his way out for the night. “Later, Malik. See you Tuesday.”

It was Sunday night, and Malik was the last to leave. The kitchen was quiet. I looked down at the ingredients list I was making and discovered I’d only written down two things, even though I’d been sitting there for fifteen minutes. Lately, I’d been doing that, getting distracted and staring off into space, losing chunks of time to nothing but daydreams and memories.

And they were all about one person—Ellie Fournier.

Every day, I expected to wake up and discover she was out from under my skin, but it never happened. I was consumed by thoughts of her, and not just about her naked body or the fantastic sex or the unbelievable blowjob, but by conversations we’d had, ways she’d made me laugh, things I’d felt comfortable saying to her I’d never said to anyone. Every memory had me sinking deeper, and frankly, I was tired of it.

Was this what people meant when they said they were falling for someone?