Taste (Cloverleigh Farms, #7)(75)

“That’s not what I’m doing!”

“Because my feelings are all over the place, and my dad made me feel like a terrible person.”

“That’s not a good reason to be with me, Gianni. Jesus Christ.” Tears spilled over and I wiped at them angrily. “I never know where I stand with you. I never know when something is just about your ego or if it’s real. And I don’t trust you to really stay. I’m sorry, but I don’t. Because I’ll never believe that I’m what you want.”

“God.” He rubbed his face with both hands. “Everything I say is wrong. I’ve never been good with words. I should have read more books.”

Even at a time like this, he could make me laugh, but that only made me feel worse. “We can be friends, Gianni.” I struggled to keep my voice steady as I pushed away the one person I wanted to hold close. “But that’s it, okay? Let’s not pretend we’re anything more.”

He exhaled, defeated. “If that’s what you want. But don’t . . . shut me out, okay? I want to be part of this.” Hesitantly, he reached out and touched my stomach, and it was so sweet I nearly broke down and begged him to love me.

Instead, I opened the door and ran into the house.

Once the kitchen door was shut behind me, I leaned back against it and sobbed, furious with myself for letting him get to me, with his dad for making him feel bad, with Gianni for being sweet when I really just needed him to be his old self—an unapologetic man-child only out for a good time.

Because he didn’t really want me. He wasn’t saying that. He was just ashamed that his father had scolded him. His feelings hadn’t changed just because I was pregnant with his child. Even if he thought he wanted to play dad for a while, he’d get tired of it. He’d leave me behind and move on. Deep down, he wanted fame, fortune, and the rush of the next new thing.

I wanted love. Home. The security of family and belonging.

And if I wasn’t careful, I’d end up wanting it all with him.





Upstairs in my bedroom, I curled up in my bed and made the call I’d been dreading.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom.”

“Ellie! I was just thinking about you! At the pastry shop today, I bought a tartelette au citron because it reminded me of you when you were a little girl. They were always your favorite.” She laughed. “And you’d lick the filling out before you ate the pastry.”

I nodded as I started to cry again, the sound of her voice taking me back to childhood. She’d been such a good mom—always there when I needed her, with a hug or a word of advice or a smile. It wasn’t her fault she was perfect and I’d never live up. And of course she’d had high expectations for me—wouldn’t I have the same for my child? Now I had to disappoint her when she didn’t deserve it.

“Your dad reminded me of—honey? What’s wrong?”

“Can you come home, Mom?”

“Ellie, what is it?”

“I need you,” I wept. “I need you and I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry, love? Of course I can come home if you need me. But tell me what’s wrong—are you okay?”

“I’m okay—but I’m—I’m pregnant.” The words came out between sobs.

She gasped. “Oh. Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I’m so sorry.”

“Ellie, honey,” she said gently, a catch in her voice. “You don’t have to be sorry. Everything will be okay.”

“But I feel so stupid,” I moaned. “I ruined my life and I’m ruining your trip and everything is awful.”

“Shhh. You didn’t ruin anything.” My mother’s voice was soothing. “And you’re not stupid. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Ellie. These things happen.”

“But not to you, they don’t,” I sobbed. “You would never have been so careless. You would never have made such a big fat mistake.”

“Ellie, I’ve made plenty of mistakes in my life. And I’ve definitely been careless. No one is perfect.”

“I don’t know how to be a mom,” I cried.

“I’ll help you, sweetheart. You’re not alone.” She paused. “But are you—is the father . . . in the picture?”

“It’s Gianni.”

“Oh, my God.” The shock was evident in her voice. For the first time, she actually seemed rattled. “That’s a surprise.”

“Yeah. For us too.”

“Are you two . . . together?”

“No,” I said. “It happened during the blizzard.”

“Ah.” Her laughter was gentle and shaded with regret. “For a moment I was hopeful you two were in love.”

“No,” I blubbered. “We were just stupid. And cold.”

“Well, it’s probably not the first baby conceived during a polar vortex.”

“No.” I laughed and cried at the same time. “Probably not.”

“Does Gianni know?”

“Yes. And we told his parents today.”

“I’m sure they were surprised too.”

“Yes.” I took a shaky breath. “But supportive, although they were upset that he’s still leaving to do that TV show.”