99 - Welcome to the Family

“It’s fuckin’ February.  In Jersey,” Tony Bongiovi explained very slowly to his older brother.  “Why in the hell would I want to leave my nice, warm house in California to freeze my nuts off?  For a housewarming party?  I don’t think so.”

“Oh come on, ya pussy,” Jon badgered.  “Come see the new place and meet my wife.  We’ll even put an extra blankie on the bed so your candy ass doesn’t suffer from hypothermia.”

Tony grinned into his iPhone.  There was nothing like a little brotherly bashing to brighten his day.  Sometimes he missed living in Jersey with the rest of the family, but not in the dead of winter.  When they had temperatures that involved negative signs and snow out the ass, he was quite happy in L.A..

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Jon…  You can’t be bothered to call me personally and tell me you got married, but you’re commanding my presence for a housewarming party?  Seriously?”

“I told you already, it’s more than that.  Our families have never met each other, so it’s more like a post-wedding party than a housewarming party.  You’re family.  I’d like for you to be here.”

He loved Jon.  He really did, but February?  In Jersey?  Tony hated wearing a coat. 

“I don’t wanna.”

“For chrissake, what else do you have to do?  It’s not like you’ve got a girlfriend tying you down… do ya?”

No.  He did not.  He remained markedly single.  Some days that was a good thing, and some days it sucked.  It just depended on his mood.  Parties like this generally marked sucky days.  They were predominantly couples and someone was always asking him if he was seeing anyone, or how he liked living alone. 

Or, if it was one of his brothers, they were nice enough to ask if he’d banged anybody lately.  That was only marginally better and, seeing as he hadn’t slept with anybody in several weeks, he wasn’t going to like answering that question any better than the others.

“I have a job – a business.  I have clients who need me.”

“It’s for one fucking weekend, Tone.  Just come.  We’ll hole up in my new pub and get drunk on Friday night.”

Tony snorted.  “Yeah, that sounds like all kinds of fun for your new wife.  She won’t bitch about it?” 

“Nah.  As long as I can manage to keep my temper in check, Sheridan never gives me grief.  If I’m tied up, she does her own thing.  You know I could never be married to a clingy woman.”

“So not only is she hot, she’s perfect.  Fuckin’ figures.”

The laugh that came through the line from New Jersey to Los Angeles was as familiar as his own.  It sounded just like his own, for that matter.  Many a person had remarked how the two brothers’ laughs were virtually indistinguishable. 

“No.  She’s not perfect, but neither am I.  It all works.  So are you comin’ or what?”

Sighing, he knew he was going to.  Tony was a pushover when it came to his family.  Whatever they wanted or needed, he would do, and they would do the same for him.  It was just the way they were and Jon knew it just as well as he did. 

That didn’t mean he had to let big brother off easy.

“You chartering a plane for me?”

“Hell no I’m not chartering a plane!  You can fly nonstop from LAX to Newark any day of the week on any major airline.”

“And here I thought you really wanted me there….”

“You little shit,” Jon laughed.  “Get your ass on a plane.  Ask me nice and I might even buy the ticket, but make sure and let me know when you’re scheduled to get in.  I’ll send a car for you.”

There wasn’t a doubt in Tony’s mind that a first-class ticket and a driver were his for the asking, but he wouldn’t ask.  He was a firm believer in paying his own way.  Of course, he made most of his money by working for Jon, so technically his brother was paying for it, but Tony wouldn’t be one of the greedy bastards that always had their hand out just because Jon had made a lucrative career of his passion. 

“If I show up, I’ll use my backstage ninja moves to catch you off guard.”  He let his voice go dramatic for full-effect.  “When you least expect it…  Expect it.”

Jon sniffed mockingly in his ear.  “I’m terrified, I tell ya, Ninjovi.  Now get your delusional ass here before Saturday.”

§§§

People were pushing back their plates, laughing and just generally talking bullshit all around him. 

“You are NOT going to leave that nursery white.  Seriously, Sheridan?” 

Tony grinned to himself.  Sheridan’s sister – Riley? – was a piece of work.  Not a bad piece of work, but a piece of work nonetheless.  It didn’t help that his sister-in-law Desiree had joined forces with her to make a bigger piece of work.

“We’re going nursery shopping with you.  That’s all there is to it.  No baby needs a completely white nursery.  It’s not an operating room!  Have some fun with it!”

Matt rolled his eyes at Tony and threw back another swallow of wine.  His expression and actions seemed to scream that pregnant women would drive you to drink.  Personally, Tony wouldn’t know, but if the refill count on their older brother’s glass was to be used as a gauge, it was a valid assessment.

“I’m going too!” piped up the redheaded friend.

“Oh for God’s sake,” sputtered the beautiful blonde that was the newest addition to the family, leaning closer into her husband for support.  “First I don’t feel the way I’m supposed to, and now I can’t even be trusted to decorate a room?  Are you going to stage an intervention when I try and bring it – her – home from the hospital?  Take it away from the unfit mother?”

Jon just chuckled and unobtrusively slipped his hand onto her thigh.  Tony didn’t know what was going on under the tablecloth, but from the way Sheridan jumped, he didn’t want to. 

He’d give it to her… she was a good egg from everything he’d seen so far this weekend.

She had been warm and welcoming when he turned up on their doorstep last night.  She had a good sense of humor and she seemed pretty laid back in general.  The only thing odd about her that he’d noticed was the way she tended to the baby as an “it-her”, but to each her own as far as Tony was concerned.

He understood that the original plan had been for his dad to cook – and Tony would’ve been glad to help out with that, seeing as he liked to cook.  Sheridan, however, had decided she just wanted everyone to have a good time and get to know one another without having to ‘work’, so she had called a caterer. 

It wasn’t anything fancy, but was a nice buffet-style setup with a little of everything.  The only thing Sheridan had made was the xerotigana pastries for dessert, for which she had recruited Stephanie to help her.  Apparently the eldest Bongiovi grandchild had been on the outs with Daddy since all this went down.  However, the prodigal child had now returned home, and Sheridan had done her best to embrace the girl while Jon had smiled like a sap at his little princess.

Tony didn't know what was in those pastries, although he made a mental note to ask about them later, because Sambora sure was a happy mother.  Licking his fingers, he was rabidly complimenting Sheridan's honey and sliding Jon a sneaky-ass grin while Dave tried to figure out what the inside story was.

I swear to God, I could walk away for a year and come back… nothing would change with these guys. 

The thought was both comforting and disturbing, he decided with a small grin.  At least Sambora kept him from being the only single guy here, even though Richie was flirting with the little blonde who was clearing the dinner plates.

Tony glanced across the living room whose lack of furnishings had made it the prime spot to turn into a dining room for tonight’s festivities.  Absently pushing the dark red tablecloth that covered all four of the big, round family style tables off of his thigh he uncrossed his legs and saw that the little brunette behind the makeshift bar was still looking like a hunted rabbit.

He’d first noticed her earlier in the day when he’d bundled up and gone outside for a smoke.  The various staff had been setting up tables and the like, but he’d overheard that somebody hadn’t put the bar on the truck, so she had been huddled into her coat outside on one of the patios.

He had offered a casual greeting, but she’d done nothing more than dart a glance his way, nod and stare back out at the river, giving him the impression she was scared shitless of him.  Being the nice guy he was, he stepped to the other end of the patio to give her some space.

After watching her through pre-dinner drinks and dinner, though, he realized it wasn’t just him.  It was everyone.  If the poor girl wasn’t on Valium, she needed to be.  She’d dropped something like three glasses and splintered them across the hardwood floor.  When the head catering chick had asked her if she needed to go home, she’d firmly shook her head and said she couldn’t afford to pass up the paycheck. 

Since then, she hadn’t broken anything, but she didn’t look any less freaked out either.  His curiosity was getting the better of him.

Snagging his empty highball glass from the table, he sauntered to the far corner of the room where the little rabbit girl was pouring a glass of wine for Sheridan’s brother.  Cole?

“Hey, man,” he acknowledged the fair-haired man who was about his height while covertly studying the petite barkeep.  Her plain brown hair was pulled back into a French braid at the back of her head and it whipped over her shoulder as she lunged to catch the wine bottle that had just toppled.

“Hey.”  Sandy eyebrows puckered with concentration.  “Anthony, right?”

“Anthony, Tony.  Whatever.”

The Cowardly Bartender gave the guy his drink and Tony requested a Jack and Coke.  Just like on the patio that day, she didn’t look at him.  She only nodded and left him to make small talk with the brother-in-law.  In-law.  Or however that went.

“You know, I was pleasantly surprised,” Cole mused, leaning an elbow on the portable mahogany bar.  “Being a rock star and all, I figured Jon might be a dick, but he just seems like a regular guy.  Who actually seems to love and respect my sister.”

With a soft snort, Tony informed him, “He is a dick.  But he’s my brother, so my opinion might be tainted.  He’s nuts about your sister though, who is a sweetheart, by the way.”

“Sweetheart?”  It was Cole’s turn to snort, before paraphrasing.  “She can be a bitch, but she’s my sister, so my opinion might be tainted.  I love her just the same.”

Both men chuckled at their sibling humor and then Cole excused himself, seeing that his wife was beckoning from the table where Sheridan and Riley were sitting. 

That left him alone with the woman who had just dropped two ice cubes in the floor instead of his glass. 

What the hell is with this broad?

“Do you have some kind of nervous condition?” he asked casually, with a little smile, reading the nametag attached her white tuxedo shirt.  Elizabeth.  “Because if ya don’t, lemme tell ya Elizabeth, we aren’t gonna bite you.  Well…  Most of us aren’t.  And those who would won’t unless you ask.”

The corners of her mouth twitched, but she still didn’t look at him.  Her attention remained zeroed in on the drink that she had finally assembled without further incident.  It was pushed in front of him with a tiny nod.  “Thank you.  Can I get you anything else?”

So that was it.  She wasn’t giving up anything, even a bit of friendly conversation.  Weird. 

“Nah, this’ll do me for now.  Thanks.”

When he returned to the table, he must’ve had a look on his face, because the first thing that Jon did was ask, “What?”

He shook his head as he took his seat and put the new drink on the tablecloth.  “Nothin’.  Your bartender could probably use this drink more than me.  That’s all.”

Sheridan, overhearing them, leaned in and quietly agreed.  “She’s very wound up isn’t she?  After she broke the third glass, I expressed some concern to the catering manager.  He assured me that she’s typically an exemplary employee because she needs the income so badly that she’s afraid of losing her job.  Then he offered to send her home, but I just couldn’t do it.”

“Are they our glasses she’s breaking?”

“No,” she laughed at her husband with a poke to his ribs.  “The catering service brings their own.”

“Then I don’t give a fuck how many she breaks as long as mine has wine in it.”

Tony silently agreed and pushed the woman from his mind as David stood, clinking his glass with a piece of silverware.  Sheridan rolled her eyes at Jon and settled into the curve of his arm to see what the keyboardist was going to say.

Oh God, this should be good.

“I just want to thank the lovely couple for letting us into their new home.  Sambora is relieved that you’ve lifted the restraining order against him.  I know this because he relieved himself in the foyer.”

Everyone laughed, and Richie had the good grace to look sheepish as he lifted his xerotigana in a quiet salute to Sheridan. 

“But we got that all cleaned up so you won’t slip on your way out tonight.”   He cleared his throat and clasped his hands together in front of him, taking in all the room’s guests.  “You all – most of you all – know I’m a composer and a wiseass.  I’ve chosen to use those one of those powers to commemorate tonight’s lovely soiree and its hosts.”

“Watch this folks!  He’s about to pull a keyboard outta his ass,” Richie piped in, not to be left behind in the game of one-upmanship that the two had carried on for years.  Decades, in fact.

Subtly flipping Rich the bird, David waited for the continued laughter to die down.  Tony was amused to see that even Sheridan’s parents were laughing at the two morons. 

“Okay, okay!  Back to my tribute that was so rudely interrupted.”  Once again, he cleared his throat.  “There once was a schmuck from New Jersey…”

Welcome to the family.

98 - Bump in the Night

“Thank you for going tonight.  I had the best time.”

They had just returned to the Four Seasons and were now enclosed in their suite, all alone.  Sheridan folded her coat over the back of an armchair and turned to face her husband, her rear propped on the back edge of the same chair.  After putting the insulated tiramisu container on the table and slipping out of his own jacket, he stepped in to brush a kiss over her mouth.

“Seeing the girl I fell in love with again was thanks enough.  I had a good time, too.”

Hands creeping up to his shoulders, she locked her wrists behind his neck and tilted her head quizzically.  “I don’t know what that means.”

Broad hands settled over her hips, his thumbs stretching inward to stroke the protrusion at her waistline.  “It means, since the first of the year, you’ve gone from being a happy, confident, carefree creature to bearing the burdens of the world.  I hate seeing you like that.”

She felt like she was bearing the burdens of a very large world most days, but she didn’t realize she was doing such a visibly poor job of coping.  So much for harmonious tranquility in the Bongiovi household.  It was just one more thing that had her feeling dismally inadequate.  Every time she turned around, it seemed like she was doing something wrong.  Jon was upset because of her articles, the way she felt – or didn’t feel – about the baby, the press. 

“This is in no way intended to be arrogant, but I’m used to being good at whatever I do.  Do you know that about me?”

“I do, and I’m the same way.”

“Then maybe if I tell you this, you can understand what’s going on a little bit better.”

Sheridan wasn’t the type to throw herself a pity party.  It simply wasn’t in her nature to bemoan the valleys of her life.  When she was faced with problems or issues, she worked through them, researching and gathering information from whatever source was available, until she had clawed her way back to the mountaintop. 

Unfortunately, sometimes you just couldn’t find the answers that would haul you up that steep incline.  Sometimes you just had to grin and find a way to enjoy – or at least accept – the valley that you’d gotten yourself into. 

She was stuck in a valley.  On a hamster wheel.  Running and running and running, feeling like she should be getting someplace when all she got was tired. 

Now how did she convey that to him without seeming like she felt sorry for herself? 

Sighing softly, she unlocked her wrists and brought her hands to rest against the front of his sweater. 

“I sold my very successful business so that I could live my life to the fullest,” she began.  “Since then I’ve been floundering.  Nothing has been the success I wanted it to be.  Massage therapy turned out to be a bust.  Aromatherapy was just a time-wasting hobby.  Our pleasantly casual relationship took a one-hundred and eighty degree turn when I accidentally got pregnant like some dumb teenage girl.  My writing makes you apoplectic.  The media circus that follows you – and now me – around is like some foreign country to me and I don’t speak the language.  Everybody wants me to be all googly-eyed over the stranger that’s taken up residency inside of me and all I can think of is a mile-long list of things I have to do for that stranger.  The only success I can claim is that I screwed all these things up with the right man.”

“Oh, baby.”  Warm palms slid up her back, pressing her shoulder blades so that she would lean into him. 

Sheridan stiffened against his hold refusing to succumb to the compassionate embrace.

“I’m not asking for sympathy, Jon.  You called me a seizure-riddled cat once.  It was a fair assessment at the time, but now that cat has ice-skates strapped to its feet.”

He laughed out loud and she succumbed to his renewed insistence that she lean on him.  Resting her cheek against his shoulder and roping her arms around his waist, she declared quietly, “I will be the best damn epileptic, ice-skating cat you’ve ever seen.  It’s just going to take some time.”

“Kitten…”  He snorted, presumably at the irony of his nickname for her in that moment.  “Honey, you’re the only one who sees you as unsuccessful.  I may not always show it, but I think you’re doing a helluva job with the shit that’s been thrown at you.”

Frowning, she lifted her head and looked into eyes brimming with sincerity.  The love and confidence that swam with that sincerity gave her the courage to pose, “Then can I ask you a question?”

 “Sure.”

“Do you really love this baby already?  In the beginning, you weren’t any happier about this pregnancy than I was.  Can you honestly tell me that you’re all googly-eyed over this bump?  That you love it like you do Stephanie or Jesse or Jake or Romeo?”

He sighed and she figured he was likely trying to dredge up some semblance of patience.   Sheridan knew her obsessive lack of emotion toward their child was trying for him, but she couldn’t help it.  It was what it was and she would do anything to change that.  Including rehashing this thing... again.

“Love manifests itself in a lot of different ways,” he hedged.  “At this stage, we’re both showing our love for the little guy with our actions – creating a family and a home for him.”

“So you don’t love it like you do your other kids.”

“Him.  Or her.  Not it.”

Her face puckered dourly.  “Her.  You don’t love her like you do your other kids.”

“Thank you.”  He dropped a kiss on the end of her nose.  “No.  I don’t love him the same way.  Not yet.”

“Then why is it so important to you that I feel something?”

“Because it’s important to you.  You’re the one making yourself crazy over produce.”

She chuckled.  “That’s because everyone else is making me crazy over produce.”

“Well, no more.  Tonight helped me understand a little better, and you’re not even a little bit wrong in what you’re doing.  Suzy and Riley showed me that this is just you being you and, right now, you’re taking care of business.  You’ll let yourself feel when business has been handled.”

Tension seeped from her muscles at such an alarming rate that she thought her spine had dissolved into a limp piece of linguine.  Just that little bit of encouragement from him made all the difference in the world.  She no longer felt like he viewed her as lacking.  Like she wasn’t fit to be the mother of his child.

“So you do think I’ll love our baby the way it… she deserves to be loved?”

“Yeah.  I do.  You wouldn’t have married me if you didn’t love him.  You wouldn’t be worried about a nursery in our new house.  You wouldn’t have given up coffee and alcohol.”  He tapped her gently on the end of the nose.  “You’re making a physical and emotional home for this baby.  You love him already, but it doesn’t feel like you think it should so you’re questioning it.”

If there was any tension left, his affirmation erased it quite efficiently.  Her arms crept up around his neck again, and she placed a sweet, gentle kiss on his lips, quietly amused at their passive ‘him’/’her’ argument.  “I love you, Jon.  That’s the one thing I feel really good about.”

His left eyebrow kicked up for an instant as his lips curled up at the edges.  “I bet you’d feel good about some tiramisu love, too.  When I bury your nipples in that cold, creamy decadence… then lick and suck it clean… that’ll feel good, won’t it?”

“Mm,” she purred, nipping at his jaw and grateful to let the heavy conversation go.  With any luck, it would be the last one of its kind.  “You’ve got to let me kiss you right after though.”

“Ah yes.”  One wide hand curled over each of her butt cheeks and propelled her hips forward into his.  Sultrily grinning down into her face, he recalled, “Tasting it from my lips.  But are you sure you didn’t want to taste it on my cock?  A little sweet and salty combined?”

“Sweet first.  Then we’ll see about salty.”

Christ, would there ever be a time when he didn’t want her?  The seductive little sex kitten had her claws sunk so far into him that he didn’t think he’d ever get loose. 

“Dress off.  Now.”

Her eyes sparkled like the purest emerald he’d ever seen as she pushed the bulky part of her thumb up and over his cheek.  “But I haven’t given you your Valentine’s present yet.”

“Fuck ‘em,” he growled bending in for a nip at her collar bone.  “All I want is you… naked… doing depraved things with Italian desserts.”

She let her head fall back with a throaty chuckle that set his short hairs standing up from the balls that had just become painfully tight.  Jon took a firmer bite and that chuckle degraded into a combination purr/growl that would make a porn actress famous. 

Taking a step back, he let his voice drop a few decibels and put a little authority into it.  “Kitten.  I said to take it off.”

The left side of her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth and his wife blinked coquettishly at him.  Then she very nearly brought him to his knees with the meekest, “Yes, sir,” he’d ever heard.  It took every ounce of control he’d ever had or hoped to have not to spin her around and bend her over that chair, fucking her until they were both raw.

There had to have been oysters in my dinner.

An aphrodisiac was definitely at play here, but it was possible that it wasn’t food-related.  It might’ve just been her – relaxed, confident, alluring, sexy Sheridan. 

Impatient at the time it was taking her to shimmy that damn sweater up over her head, Jon snatched it from her and whipped it over her head.  As it landed somewhere in his periphery, the dick that was already hard enough to cut diamonds got that much harder. 

This gorgeous woman in those black high-heeled boots – matched up with a lacy black garter belt, stockings, panties and bra – was enough to make a man grovel.  But when he caught sight of the delicate swell peeking out from the middle of all that lascivious lingerie…

That’s my baby… and my baby.

He knotted the fingers of his right hand together with her left and spun on his heel, picking up the Mezzaluna bag as he dragged her along behind him.

“Jon!” she sputtered with a feminine giggle, very nearly tripping over her own feet as he hurried her into the suite’s bedroom.  “What’s the matter with you?”

What was the matter with him?  He didn’t have words to explain what was the matter with him.  There was so much testosterone and adrenaline pushing through his bloodstream right now that he couldn’t form a coherent thought.  The little head was definitely in charge, and it was anything but little as it strained to break free from behind his zipper.

The boobs that she’d been mercilessly teased about tonight bounced when he pushed her butt onto the bed and tossed the paper bag alongside.  Capturing one ankle in his hand, he worked the long zipper down until he could pull on the spiked heel and let the boot hit the floor.  The second one quickly followed, as did every stitch of clothes he was wearing. 

“Jon?” she whispered, anticipation and uncertainty highlighted by the color in her cheeks.  “Talk to me.”

Reaching for the bag, he unceremoniously withdrew the Styrofoam container and let the bag drift to the floor with everything else.  Shaking his head, he flipped open the little box.  There would be no words that weren’t absolutely necessary.  He didn’t want to dull the sharp edge of desire that he wanted to cut them both to ribbons with.

“Lay down.” 

The terse command was thick and unrecognizable as his voice.  Goose bumps sprang up over her arms and her chest flushed as pink as her face when she scooted herself up the mattress and did as he ordered.

Mounting the bed on his knees, he buried two fingers in the creamy mascarpone.  Cocoa dust drifted away in the air when he glopped the first bit of tiramisu over their baby.  She sucked in a surprised breath at the coolness as it was swirled over and around until the swell of her belly was masqueraded by light cream.

“Jesus,” she breathed, blowing out a breath to the ceiling. 

He didn’t say anything.  His already messy fingers dipped back into the confection  and he used his ‘clean’ hand to pull down the left cup of her bra.  Jon didn’t bother actually taking the satin and lace garment off, choosing instead to push the fabric under the fleshy fullness.  This was the way he wanted to see her.  Wanted to taste her.

This time she hissed when the tiramisu made contact with her skin.  With the nipples that were so very sensitive.  He swirled it around until her nipple and aureole were all but invisible in the after-dinner delight.

“Oh, God…”

She liked it.

She was about to like it even better. 

The container was pushed aside, so impatient was he to start his feast that he couldn’t even wait to coat the other nipple.  He just bent his head and devoured the dessert and tried his damnedest to devour her in the process.  Rum, coffee, sugar, slick cream and the cocoa filled his mouth in a decadent combination, made all the more decadent by her sweet nipple that was like a hard candy in the midst of all the softness. 

Sheridan’s fingers scraped against his scalp when she buried her fingers in the back of his hair.  Those fingers were surprisingly strong, holding him close as he licked, sucked, mopped, tasted, bit and lavished every bit of the flesh and the tiramisu.  It was hard to tell the artificial sweetness from hers as he drew repetitive circles around her nipple and then sank his teeth into the underside of her breast.

“So good, baby…”

Her head writhed against the pillow and she arched herself into his mouth. 

“Nooo…”

She didn’t like it when he abandoned her nipple so that he could find the second dessert course on her abdomen.  Not at first anyway.

His tongue flattened against her skin and he dragged it up and over the mini bump that was their baby.  He could feel every curve, every nuance of their little person’s home.  Taking extra time, he was meticulous in removing each and every morsel of the tiramisu from the belly button that was already trying to turn inside out.  Around and around and around…  Flicking the tip inside had her hips jumping off the mattress.

“Jon…  Please…”

He smiled against her stomach and kissed his child before lifting his head to look at her.  His wife didn’t beg without damn good reason and he brought his left hand up to burrow beneath the inky triangle that covered her sex.   He would bet anything that…

Yep.  She was drenched.  The panties were drenched.  His hand was drenched.

“Tell me,” he breathed, breaking his self-imposed silence.

“What?  That I want you?” she panted, a fine sheen of perspiration glowing on her skin.  Her hands reached for him, scratching over his shoulders, in his hair and anyplace else she could touch.  “That you’re the only one who’s ever made me feel this way?  That I’d do anything – anything – you asked me to do?  That you have control over my body like nobody else?  Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

Christ almighty.

That was it.  There was no more waiting.  It was take her or explode all over her.

Pushing the wet satin aside, he wasted no time or finesse shoving into the sucking heat that was everything he needed in this moment.  She clutched at him like a hot glove as his cock withdrew, whimpering with appreciation when he filled her again. 

Heat infused flesh stuck together and pulled apart as he lost himself in her – in them.  In the place that was theirs and theirs alone.  He rode the rocket ship that took them high into the sky… until they both cried out into the stars.

As they clung together in the aftermath, he placed a soft kiss against her forehead.  “I don’t love him like I love my other kids, but I love him.  Because he’s part of you.”

Her eyelashes fluttered, blinking away what he suspected were tears.  “Get up.”

Not exactly the response he’d expected, but seeing as she was pushing at his chest, he complied. 

Rolling to his side, he watched her slide out of the bed, adjusting her lingerie as she went to open one of the dresser drawers.  Whatever was inside fit within the palm of her hand, because he couldn’t see anything until she climbed back onto the mattress and placed something in the center of his chest. 

It was a black velvet ring box – or something like that – with a white ribbon tied around it. 

“What’s this?” he asked needlessly, turning it over with his thumb and forefinger.

“Your present.  Open it.”

He harrumphed quietly.  “I guess it’s gonna be good since you just ran off my post-orgasmic  haze for it.”

Her mouth smiled vaguely, but her eyes were busy tracking his clumsy removal of the ribbon.  She didn’t speak.

Coaching himself to be properly appreciative no matter what was inside, he flicked open the lid.  Inside was a flat, heart-shaped pendant that looked very familiar.  He had four more of the platinum charms on the necklace he always wore.  Whereas all of those bore the names of his children, this one was blank.

Jon’s eyes sought Sheridan’s. 

“Is this what I think it is?”

She nodded.  “You said from the beginning that you wanted this child to be the same as your other kids.  I figured we could get it engraved after the birth and then you can add it to your necklace.”

Why couldn’t she see that she loved this baby already?  Making sure that he carried the same importance as his siblings was just one more way of showing it.  But Jon wouldn’t push.  She’d find it in her own time, and he’d stand right by her side until she did. 

“I’ll agree to half of that.”  With a grin, he raised up and planted a kiss on her lips.  “We’ll get it engraved after the birth… but I’m adding it now.”

97 - Dinner and a Show

“Oh my God!  Your boobs are HUGE!”

Sheridan shook her head resignedly and shot her sister a cutting look as Jon, being a gentleman and taking her jacket, tried to choke back his amusement.  The rest of the half-dozen patrons in the restaurant were kind enough not to whip their heads around and inspect her breasts.  From Riley’s reaction, one would think that her bra harbored the Hindenberg in one cup and the Good Year blimp in the other.

“Aren’t they HUGE?” Riley demanded and jabbed an elbow into Mitch, who was seated next to her at the round family-style table tucked in the back of the tiny restaurant.  It was the only one of its kind in the place, with the rest of the seating being geared for smaller parties of two or four. 

As the men shook hands, Jon spoke to Riley’s husband in a conspiratorial manner.  “Man, do us both a favor – don’t look and, for God’s sake, don’t answer.”

Mitch guffawed and reclaimed his chair as Jon sat beside him.  “No way in hell am I stepping into that trap.  I’ve been married too long not to know that’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Amen.”

“Oh shut up,” Riley ordered good-naturedly rising to her feet about the same time that her sister started to pull out her chair.  “Sheri, don’t sit down until I feel your bump.”

Sheridan let her head fall back on a sigh, pondering the restaurant’s light fixtures and wondering if this was what the next several months entailed.  Not only did she lose her body to an alien, she became public property to whoever wanted to grope said alien.

“Seriously, Riley?  Is this necessary?”  But it was too late.  Her sisters hands were already roaming the loose cashmere, zooming unerringly in on the swell that was the alien.

“It absolutely is!  I haven’t seen you since Christmas and my baby sister is finally going to have her own baby.  It’s my right as an older sibling.”

“Oh for the love of…”

“Hey!  You weren’t supposed to check out the bump until I got here,” Suzy’s voice interrupted.  “Can you tell yet?”

“Oh yeah, you can tell.  See?”  Her sister pulled the sweater dress’s fabric taut over her midsection. 

Suzy dropped her coat over the back of the chair beside Riley’s and turned to inspect her friend.  “Oh my God, your boobs are HUGE!  Karl, aren’t they huge?”

“Don’t do it, man,” Mitch warned as the men exchanged handshakes amongst themselves.  “It’s a trap.”

Karl snorted.  “I may have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night.  Anytime these three get together I end up in trouble over some inappropriately personal conversation.  I’m just gonna talk basketball scores with you guys and let them go at it.”

Riley went back to her seat after placing an affectionate pat on Sheridan’s stomach, leaving Suzy to take over the public groping.  “When are you due again?”

“September eighteenth.”

“That’s what you get for being so skinny.”  Her red head nodded sagely as she released Sheridan’s stomach and settled in next to Riley.  “You start showing right away.”

Jon was finding the tolerant exasperation on his wife’s face priceless.  If Dorothea’s sisters had been this way with her first pregnancy, they had been kind enough to leave him out of it.  However, being older and more mature now, he thought he might actually enjoy it – as long as they didn’t turn on him.

“Beautiful necklace, by the way,” Suzy admired. 

“Yeah, speaking of which, show us that wedding ring.  I saw it in Us Weekly, but I’d like to see it on a hand that’s visibly connected to my sister’s body.”

“Hey, I’m proud of that shot in Us Weekly!”  Sheridan shot back, bringing her hand from her lap to the tabletop.  “That’s the only picture they’ve taken with my actual permission.”  Her eyes darted toward Jon with a smile.  “And the necklace was my Valentine’s gift from Jon.”

Riley clutched Sheridan’s hand and pivoted her head to the left with a look of pique for her husband.  “Why can’t you be a rock star and shower me with diamonds?”

“It wouldn’t matter if I was a rock star.  Our daughters would still spend more money than I make.”

Jon snorted.  “I hear ya.  I just gave my oldest an obscene check for her spring break trip.”

“Mine’s only seven.  I guess I should enjoy having money while I can,” Karl lamented just before the waitress came to take their orders. 

All of the group had been here at least a couple of times before, except for Jon.  He deferred to Sheridan’s suggestion of linguine.  Any Italian food was fine by him and if it was as spicy as she said it was, he would no doubt love it.

The women ordered a trio of exotic salads while the other two men chose spaghettini with clams and paccheri with veal meatballs.  The waitress had no more stepped away than the women picked up as though they’d never been interrupted.

“So do you want a boy or a girl, Sheri?  Do you have any names picked out?”

Sheridan slumped forward on the table, addressing her best friend with pure frustration.  “You can’t convince me it’s not an asexual alien taking up illegal residence in my stomach at this point.  Gender is irrelevant when I can’t manage to develop any feelings for it.” 

“I bet you’ve got the nursery all researched and planned though,” Riley speculated dryly.

Suzy chimed in with, “And outlet covers, baby gates and monitors.”

“Car seat, stroller, high chair …”

“Diapers, a snow suit, fuzzy sleepers…”

Jon wrapped his smile around the rim of his wineglass.  If he hadn’t known these women had spent most – or all – of their lives knowing his wife, he would still know it.  They had her pegged, and that slightly eased his worry over her analytical, obsessive, emotionless planning.  It sounded like this wasn’t a baby thing, it was a Sheridan thing. 

“Those things have to be done,” she informed them with a haughty shake of her head.  “It’s my responsibility to make sure it’s properly cared for.”

But that ‘it’ thing still digs at me. 

Riley laughed and Suzy was quick to join in, the two women exchanging knowing glances. “Get over yourself little sister.  It’s a baby not a bookstore acquisition.  If she sleeps in a dresser drawer for a month, it’s no great tragedy.  Mandi turned out just fine.”

“Oh God.”  Sheridan brought a palm to her forehead.  “You did do that to the poor girl, didn’t you?  I thought I was going to die when I saw her sleeping in that drawer next to your bed.”

It didn’t seem to concern Riley in the least.  She waved a careless hand and scoffed.  “She isn’t any worse for the wear.  I mean, she is dating a rock star’s son.”

Jon lifted his glass in a silent salute.  He could easily develop a fond affection for his new sister-in-law.

“I was convinced you didn’t love her,” Sheridan persisted.  “Now I’m afraid that’s going to be me.”

“Oh for Heaven’s sake.”  It was Suzy’s turn to interrupt.  “You were a godsend when Madison was born.  You were more help getting us on our feet than any nanny ever could have been, and you loved her just as much as I did.”

“Same with my girls.  You’re worrying over nothing, Sheri.”

“This is just what you do.”

The two women had begun a tag team type of conversation.

“You have undiagnosed OCD,” was Riley’s assessment.  “I’m convinced of it.”

“You have to get everything organized around you before you feel like you can relax and enjoy it.”

“Exactly.  Once you have all the nesting done, you’ll find out you’ve been talking to that ‘alien’ without realizing it.”

“So stop freaking out and give yourself permission to be you.”

Riley’s blonde head nodded its agreement and she pointed to her sister with a wicked grin.  “And give us permission to make fun when you blow up bigger than a whale and can’t see your fat, swollen ankles.”

“Wait.”  Suzanne looked back and forth between the siblings.  “We need permission for that?”

“Ooo!  Good point.  Scratch that.  We will be cruel and bitchy just because that’s who we are.”

“I hate you both,” Sheridan said around the grin on her face.  “Honest-to-God hate you.”

Suzy’s forehead wrinkled with a scornful frown.  “Of course you do.  But you can trust us to keep your obsessive-compulsive tendencies in perspective without the aid of medication.”

“Medication is bad for the baby,” Riley piped in.  “We want her perfect before we start spoiling her rotten.”

That was twice Riley had called the baby ‘her’.  Jon felt it was his manly duty to disengage himself from the men’s discussion about the Knicks and defend his future offspring’s gender.

“Her?  I think you mean ‘him’.”

Riley had no qualms about contradicting him.  She looked him in the eye with the same haughty expression that he’d seen on her sister’s face several times and reiterated, “No, I mean ‘her’.  Suzy and I both have girls.  Sheridan will, too.”

“Jon thinks it’s a boy,” his wife explained with a shrug.  “Since three of his four are boys.”

With one arm draped over the back of Sheridan’s chair, he extended his other hand to rub the baby bump.  “And since I’m the one who put him here, my opinion is right.”

That started a running debate throughout the course of dinner.  The men were pro-boy and the women – with the exception of Sheridan, who remained neutral – were pro-girl.  Both came up with their own brand of logic as to why they were right, and that logic stretched beyond the boundaries of believability as the wine continued to flow. 

Men and women alike were laughing uproariously over Riley’s ascertainment that it had to be a girl because a boy would instinctively fill the hole left when the mucus plug popped out.   Then he would never get born, she reasoned.

“Jesus, don’t start with that mucus plug talk,” Jon begged, pushing away his nearly empty plate.  “That shit makes me nauseous.”

He liked both women.  More specifically, he liked the way Sheridan was with them – like her life was nothing more than one big awesome bowl of cherries.  It was the most relaxed and happy he’d seen her in weeks and it made celebrating Valentine’s Day worth the effort this year.  Hell, he was ready to have dinner once a week with the other two couples if it would keep her normal. 

However, as much as he liked Suzanne, he had a special appreciation for Riley’s smart, feisty mouth. 

“There’ll be far grosser shit than in the delivery room, big boy, so put on your cup and deal with it,” she ordered, flipping her head to a sassy angle. 

Delivery room?  God, he hated the delivery room.  He had been there for all of his children’s births, but he kept himself right by Dorothea’s shoulder, his back turned and fastidiously avoiding any mirrors.

In his mind, the area between a woman’s legs was beautiful and sanctified and made him horny.  Seeing it ripped apart and spewing forth a bloody, screaming baby would effectively turn him into a eunuch.  No doubt about it.

“I won’t be eating shrimp linguine in the delivery room.”

Sheridan’s head fell back and her laughter bounced off the walls in the small restaurant.  “God, I hope not!  That makes me nauseous.”

The waitress returned then, clearing the empty dishes and asking about dessert. 

“Tiramisu,” the three women chimed simultaneously and promptly burst into giggles.  Mitch declined dessert and Karl ordered gelato.  Jon? 

“I’m pretty full,” he told the waitress as his hand found a warm resting place under the hem of his wife’s dress.  He squeezed and let his fingers drift around unsupervised.  “But I can’t pass up the temptation of that tiramisu.  Give me some to go.”

96 - Regrets or Reflections?

“You look beautiful,” Jon complimented when she emerged from the bathroom in their Four Seasons hotel suite. 

Whether he said it because he knew she needed to hear it, or because it was true, she didn’t really care.  With that devilish glint in his eyes, she felt beautiful, despite having to buy the cashmere sweater dress in a size larger than what she normally wore.  Even at that, it still clung to her blossoming bosom a little more than she wanted it to. 

At least black is a slimming color.  And I didn’t have to resort to those awful elastic waist pants yet. 

“Thank you.  You look very handsome yourself.” 

Mezzaluna wasn’t a fancy place.  It was a tiny hole in the wall restaurant, where all the patrons dressed casually.  Sheridan had told him as much when he asked if he needed a shirt and tie for dinner.  The stiletto heeled knee-high boots she wore were probably too upscale for her favorite little restaurant, but his heather blue sweater and dark jeans were perfect.

Her justification was that, on Valentine’s Day, she should feel sexy, and the boots did that for her.  God only knew how much longer she’d be able to wear the sky high heels.  She figured she should take advantage while she still could.

“The front of your dress looks a little plain though.”

Frowning, she dropped her chin and surveyed the solid black cashmere that fell to her knee.  He was right, but there was nothing to be done about it now. 

“I didn’t bring any jewelry since I didn’t know what I’d be wearing.  I think it will be okay, though.”

But he was shaking his head.  “I don’t think so.  I can’t have your sister and friend thinking I let you go out like that.”

She was stunned into near silence.  Her jaw fell open and she was about to ask him what was so awful about it when she saw his hand slip around to his back pocket and produce a slim navy blue box.

“Why don’t you see if this might match your dress?”

He was smiling that arrogant little smile of his as he held out the red ribboned box.  Sheridan was wearing her own smirk, and just about to curl her fingers around the box, when he latched onto her wrist and hauled her close.  “I love you,” he rumbled against her lips before dusting them with his own.  “But don’t get used to me buying you a new piece of jewelry every month.”

She tittered softly and returned his kiss before removing the box from his hand.  “Every other month will be fine.”

“Minx,” he muttered, shoving his fingertips into the pockets of his jeans. 

Nobody was more handsome than her husband with his carelessly mussed hair and seductively sparkling eyes.  It was no wonder women went nuts over him, Sheridan thought, glancing down at the gift box she held.

And he can be awfully sweet when he wants to be.  It’s definitely a lethal combination.

While he watched, she slipped the festive red ribbon from the box and flipped up the hinged lid.  Inside was a bolero-style necklace.  The two ends of the long, white-gold chain were tethered together with a barrel-shaped pendant that very closely matched her wedding ring.  The inside of the box lid confirmed that this was another Possession piece.

“It’s beautiful,” she admired, lifting the piece of jewelry from its velvet bed.  She passed the empty box to Jon and slipped it over her head.  When her hair settled back around her shoulders, Sheridan looked down at the necklace and back to her husband.  “And it’s perfect for this dress.  Thank you.”

He accepted her kiss with a pleased smile.  “You’re very welcome.”

“Do you mind if I wait and give you your gifts after dinner?”

“Since I want my gift to be tiramisu licked off your titties, I think after dinner works best.”

Heat rushed from Sheridan’s chest, up her neck and into her cheeks.  The image of that cold, sweet mascarpone concoction being lapped from her breasts was enough to dampen the silken crotch of her new Agent Provocateur lingerie.

His crudeness embarrassed her as much as it enflamed her, but she wouldn’t trade him or his ways for anything.  What made it even more titillating was knowing that he didn’t talk this way to anyone but her.  It made one of the small gifts she’d picked up for him seem very appropriate.

“Are you ready to go?” she asked, reaching for her small purse and leather overcoat.

He, too, picked up his jacket, chuckling.  “Yeah.  When we get in in the car you can tell me about the visual that just went through your head.”

A possessive palm in the curve of her back guided Sheridan from the room and remained lodged there through the elevator ride and most of the sojourn through the lobby.  It didn’t fall away until they both spotted a very dressy Dorothea coming through the front entrance – accompanied by a man whose suit and tie were just as dressy. 

She looked about as thrilled to see them as Sheridan was to see her. 

“Dottie,” Jon greeted with a nod while Sheridan smiled silently.  “Where are the kids tonight?”

“Hello, Jon.  They’re with my sister.”

He nodded again and extended a hand toward Dorothea’s companion.  “John Bongiovi.  The ex.  And this is my wife, Sheridan.”

The other man’s smile was open and pleasant as he returned the handshake.  “Michael D’Angelo.  Our kids go to school together.”

“Jon, Sheridan…  It was nice seeing you, but we’re late for our dinner reservation.”

Dorothea clearly didn’t want to linger and Sheridan blessed the woman in her head.  They hadn’t had much contact as of late, but what little they did had been polite.  The best way to keep it that way was to keep things short and civil, in Sheridan’s opinion.

“Tao?”  Jon asked, clearly not in as much of a hurry, and when Dorothea confirmed that he was correct, he gave her one of those press smiles that Sheridan hated.  It didn’t meet his eyes and left her feeling cold inside.  “You always liked their sashimi.”

“I still do.”  His ex-wife’s smile was much smaller, but just as artificial.  “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll leave you to enjoy your evening.”

Rather than picking up their tiramisu conversation when the driver sealed them into the back of their hired car, Jon appeared to be lost in thought.   

“Jon?”

“Hm?” 

His face turned toward hers, but, while she could see his eyes, Sheridan could tell by the vacant expression in them that he wasn’t seeing her.  It didn’t take a genius to figure out where his mind was.

“Did that bother you?”

With the quiet question, he blinked.  That’s when the famous blue irises became sharp again and his forehead creased with confusion.  “Did what bother me?”

“Seeing Dorothea with a date.”

He didn’t avert his eyes from her as he contemplated her question, nor did he answer right away.  Finally, he shook his head.  “No.  I was really thinking of how I’d feel if I ran into her like that and didn’t have you.  If I was still single.”

“How would it feel?”

“I’m afraid it might hurt like hell.  Makes me understand a little better why she’s been so…  not the person I know lately.”

Sheridan didn’t know whether to be impressed or worried that he didn’t use the word ‘bitchy’ there.  It wouldn’t have been an unfair observation. 

“But you do have me,” she reinforced, draping one hand on his thigh and squeezing.  “So how did it feel?”

He removed the hand from his thigh and kissed its palm.  “A little weird, but it’ll be easy to get used to.  Whether this is only a date or something more, I’m genuinely glad to see her happy.”

“No regrets?”

Shrugging, he twisted his face into a mask of indecisiveness.  “I’m a demanding perfectionist.  My regret is that I failed at something and that my kids are paying the price. But do I want Dottie back?  No.”

There really hadn’t been any doubt in her mind as to the answer.  He’d never given her the impression that he was looking backward and wishing for a different outcome.  Jon was the type of man who, when he made a mistake, learned from it and moved on.  His head wasn’t stuck in the past on what might have been. 

A tiny part of Sheridan was worried that she might find herself in that position someday.  What might have been if Karma hadn’t had PMS and given them a baby.  She had just started living her life when Jon stormed back into it and the very things she’d chosen to pursue in that new life were now gone.  Her massage therapy training had fallen victim to the whole “Trouser Tom” incident and her aromatherapy…  Well, it was just a hobby anyway.

Outside of baby preparations, she had nothing significant to devote her time and attention to.  She, whom the bookstore world couldn’t revolve without, was a suburban mommy in the making and…  Well, right now it wasn’t enough.  She needed to make more of her life than being a pampered rock star’s wife and baby mama. 

“How about you?” he interrupted her soul searching.  “You regret not still being with your ex?”

The sign for Mezzaluna was shining in the next block.  There wasn’t time to explain her most recent thoughts to him now.  It could wait for another philosophical time and place. 

She leaned into his side and touched her lips to his jaw.  “No.  Regrets are wasted energy.  I prefer to concentrate on the future and not doing anything that I might end up in regret.”

 

95 - An Evening at Home

“Hey.” 

Sheridan looked up from where she was chopping a salad and smiled.  Jon had been gone for most of the day and she was surprised at how much she’d missed his presence.  “Hey.  How was your day?”

“It was good.”  He twirled her into a loose embrace and slanted his mouth over hers, immediately diving his tongue inside.  The knife she’d been using to cut a tomato hit the floor when one wide palm came up to cradle the back of her head.  For whatever reason, he was doing everything in his power to kiss her senseless. 

When he finally let her up for air, she was breathless.  “Holy shit, did you miss me that much?”

He chuckled, dropping one more kiss against her lips before releasing her and retrieving the knife from the floor.  They were both lucky not to have been stabbed in the foot.

“Not that much,” he admitted, placing the sharp utensil in the sink and turning to prop his backside against the counter.  “That was more like a combination miss you/thank you thing.”

“Well, seeing as my lazy butt was here all day doing pretty much nothing, I’m not sure what you’d be thanking me for.  But if you’ll tell me I’ll do it again!”

Folding his arms over his chest, he grinned lopsidedly at her.  “You didn’t call Steph yesterday?”

“Oh, that.”  She withdrew a clean knife from the drawer and went back to her cutting board, not particularly having wanted him to find out about that call.  It was fine that he had, of course, but...  “I take it your trip to Hamilton went well, then?”

“Very well, but were you going to tell me that you invited her to the party?”

The last of the tomatoes were dumped on top of the lettuce and carrots, and she pulled a cucumber near, cutting both ends off neatly before guiding the blade to begin removing the peel.  “If she came, I would have.  Otherwise, probably not.”

“I don’t like secrets, Sheridan.”

She paused in her peeling, letting her eyes connect with his.  “And I don’t like seeing you wander by a generic, Stephanie-free bedroom like a lost puppy.  If you knew she’d been specifically invited and didn’t show up, it would’ve been worse.”

Engaging in a silent stand-off with her for a long moment, he finally dipped his chin in acknowledgement.  “Maybe.  Did you talk about anything else.”

Sheridan began dicing her now-peeled cucumber.  “I just suggested that maybe you’d already paid enough penance for your transgression.  She laughed and said she’d think about it.  Then she congratulated me on the baby and welcomed me to the family.  She seems to be a good kid.”

“Yeah, she is,” he concurred in a proud papa tone.  “And still idealistic enough to believe she can save the world.”

“I hope our baby has that kind of conviction.”  The quiet words were murmured without conscious thought as she scraped the last of the salad contents from the cutting board to the bowl.  When she turned to take the remnants to the garbage disposal, it was to find Jon grinning at her. 

Reaching for her, he rubbed a hand over the front of her Forty-Niners sweatshirt, where their baby was hiding.  “With you for a mama, our baby will have enough conviction to save this world plus another one.  Guaranteed.”

Sheridan blinked up into his face before rising onto her tiptoes and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.  “You’re trying so hard to make me love it.  Thank you.”

“I’m not trying to ‘make’ you do anything other than see that you already love him.”

She smiled affectionately, patting his cheek and choosing to ignore most of what he’d just said, because he didn’t understand.  Her hopes were the same for their child as they were Desiree and Matt’s – as anyone’s.  She wasn’t a bad person, she just...  didn’t feel anything.  “Still think it’s a boy, huh?”

Returning the smile with a shrug he clarified, “Him or her, I don’t care just so long as we’re not referring to the baby as ‘it’.”

“Mm.  Do you want dinner or did you eat already?”

He arched an expressive eyebrow in her direction, telling her in no uncertain terms that he knew she was changing the subject.  Rather than call her on it, though, he chose to follow along. 

“I want dinner.  What are we having?”

“Nothing fancy.  Rosemary chicken, rice pilaf and a salad.  Oh!”  She snapped her head up with a wide smile, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth momentarily with excitement.  “That reminds me.  Do we have any plans for Valentine’s Day?”

The expression on his face was almost comical.  Sheepish eyes darted to the far wall of the kitchen, his feet shuffled uncomfortably and his mouth opened and closed twice before he cleared his throat and said, “Not yet.  I was trying to come up with something for you, but the truth is I suck at Valentine’s Day and usually ignore it.  And hating Valentine’s Day is not grounds for a divorce, just so you know.”

A delighted laugh bubbled out of her throat as she handed him the salad bowl.  “Put that on the table in the breakfast nook, please.  And I had a sneaking suspicion that you might be anti-Cupid before I married you.  That’s why I accepted a dinner invitation for us.”

“Oh yeah?  From who?”  The bowl was placed in the center of the table and he started fumbling through the cabinets looking for plates as she pulled the chicken from the oven. 

“Suzy and Karl and Riley and Mitch.”

Fighting dinner crowds on Valentine’s wasn’t something Jon was particularly looking forward to, but she seemed to be excited about it.  It was one of the few times, lately, that he’d seen her relaxed and happy.  If dinner with her sister and friend made her happy, then he would do it.

“Sounds good.  Where we going?”

“Mezzaluna.”  She transferred the chicken to their plates and asked him to get silverware and napkins while she fixed him a glass of wine and herself some apple juice. 

“Mezzaluna.  I don’t think I know that place?”  His features drew into a thoughtful frown as he slid into his chair.  “Or do I?”

She grinned as she slid into the seat across from him at the small in-kitchen dining table, looking for all the world like a mischievous little girl with a secret.  “You might not know the place, but you’ve had something from there.”

“You gonna tell me what that is?”

If it was possible, her grin grew bigger.  “Tiramisu, baby.”

“No.”  He shook his head definitively, not at all pleased with the plan.  Not that he really cared where they ate, but...  “You are not taking me out in public, in a group and having a food-induced orgasm across the table when I can’t do a fucking thing about it.  That’s not even right.”

Her eyes twinkled with glee and she giggled like the little girl he’d just compared her to in his mind.  “I’ll make it up to you when we get home.”

“Well thank you for thinking I can wait to get home, but that ain’t happenin’.  We’re in the ‘burbs now, baby.  I think I’ll need to call my good friends at the Four Seasons and you may as well plan on taking a doggy bag to the hotel with us.”

He watched her cut her chicken and eat the dainty bite with an elegance that defied her messy topknot and sweatshirt.  The contrast would never cease to fascinate him. 

“You’re crazy if you think I can do take-away after eating there!  I already feel fat eating chicken and salad.  After pasta and a decadent dessert, there’s no way I’ll have room for more decadence.”

“Oh, ho, ho,” he chortled, shaking his fork at her.  “I beg to differ.  There will be decadence.  Maybe it won’t be tiramisu, but by God, you will pay for letting a dessert leave cream in your panties.”

“Jon!”  Pink stained her cheeks at the bawdy declaration.

“Sheridan!” he mocked with a lopsided leer.  “I can be as politically correct as anybody, but when we’re home alone I don’t wanna be, so congratulations.  You get to live with the often-coveted ‘true’ personality of Jon Bon Jovi.”

“Fine.  Say whatever you want, but promise you won’t talk about me creaming my panties to anybody else?”

“Say you’ll bring a doggy bag to the Four Seasons.”

He was nothing if not a master negotiator.  He committed to nothing without getting what he wanted first. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope.  And... wasn’t there something about you wanting to taste it on my lips?” he recalled with an inquisitive tip to his head.  “You can’t very well do that in the middle of a fancy Italian restaurant with your sister and your best friend.”

She carefully put down both her knife and fork, folding her forearms on the table’s surface.  “Can we go into the city early so I can go shopping?”

Maybe he could take negotiation lessons from his wife.   She had artfully turned this into a game of answering questions with questions.  Was she even aware of it?

Jon withheld a smirk. 

He didn’t mind playing along – just in case.

“What are you shopping for?”

“Have you seen me tonight?” she asked, pulling at the front of her sweatshirt.  He’d thought it a little strange to find her wearing a faded sweatshirt since she normally always wore an ‘outfit’ kind of thing, even at home. 

“Is there something wrong with the way you look?”

She huffed with annoyance.  “Do you want to be married to a hag?”

Okay, that wasn’t fair.  He had to be very careful as to how he answered that question.  She was pregnant and clearly not happy about something to do with her appearance.  The wrong response could get him in all kinds of matrimonial trouble.

“You think you look like a hag?”

She pinned him with a look that would’ve made the devil quake in his hooves if she hadn’t softened it with the hint of a smile.  “I think if you ask me one more question, I’m going to turn from a hag into a wicked witch.”

Point, set and match.  I win!

The mentality of a competitive teenage boy always dwelled just below the surface of his maturity.  Fortunately, his old side had enough control over his young side to put him in a headlock and dare him to speak.

“You couldn’t look like a hag if you tried,” he appeased her, spearing a tomato from his salad and popping it in his mouth.  He meant that.  “So what’s the deal with the sweatshirt?”

Pulling at the garment that obviously offended her, she snorted in disgust.  “It’s about the only thing that hides this growth at my middle section.” 

More of her de-personalization of their child.  The damn stubborn woman was determined that she was a human petri dish or something equally non-human.  It was starting to exasperate him.

“It’s a baby.  Come on, say it with me...  ba-by.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.  “Shut up.  I know it’s a baby, but I’m not ready to look pregnant yet – especially on Valentine’s Day.  I want something to wear that doesn’t emphasize the fact that I’m rapidly losing my waistline.”

He guessed that was something he could understand.  It reminded him of his fear of becoming the fat Elvis.  If she wanted something to make her feel less rotund – even though the bump was barely noticeable – then, by all means, she should have it.  Her feeling sexy was the key to him getting lucky tomorrow night. 

“Then go shopping.”

He had some shopping of his own to do, anyway. 

94 - Revelations

New York City traffic was chaotic early on a Monday morning.  Pedestrians, taxis, and all other forms of vehicles clogged the streets as the world prepared to dive into another work week.  In the ebb and flow of pedestrian movement, one face was no different than the next.  The occasional bright scarf, tie or hat might lend an air of distinction here and there, but it was predominantly a faceless sea of people that made their way from here to there.

Beth Miller was no different. 

Unless you knew her, Beth was as virtually indistinguishable as any of the other women flooding from the City Hall subway station and onto Broadway.  With average height, average build, commonplace brown hair and brown eyes, she could have been any one of a million Jane Does bustling about.  A plain black pea coat, dark slacks and utilitarian boots rendered her as unremarkable as the cluster of women huddled at the corner, waiting for the light to change.

When the crossing sign flashed ‘Walk’, Beth side-stepped a taxi and tied the scarf a little tighter around her neck.  The frigidity of the early January morning chilled her to the bone when a cross breeze found its way between the buildings and under the collar of her coat.  She general enjoyed the six-block walk from the subway station to the office building where she worked, but, in this kind of weather, it was one of her least favorite parts of the commute from Flatbush Avenue. 

Stepping up the pace, she spotted the Starbucks that was a good mid-way point to grab a cup of coffee and knock the chill off.  When she had her white chocolate soy mocha in hand, warming her through the thin gloves that were the only ones she could find this morning, Beth navigated  the slight crowds along Reade Street.

She didn’t slow her brisk pace until reaching the building’s front entrance.   There, she carefully perched the still-steaming mocha on top of the mailbox, unzipped the oversized bag she used as a purse and withdrew a stack of stamped envelopes.

When the door slammed shut with a heavy metal clang after accepting her deposit, an overbearing weight lifted from her shoulders.  Never had it felt so good to send out that many checks, but this go-around was different.  She could actually see the light at the end of the tunnel now.  It wouldn’t be much longer before the ominous black cloud hanging over her head would finally be swept away.  She would be able to breathe again.

When the familiar jolt of shame struck, she merely closed her eyes, sending a silent thanks – and apology – to the unwitting angel who had made it possible.

❧❧❧

“Mornin’ Jeri.  What’s up?” 

Jon was perched on the edge of the couch in his new family room, laptop open on the coffee table, which appropriately enough held a cup of coffee.  The second half of his second cup, at least.  It was ten o’clock on a Monday morning.  Without the caffeinated kick start, his assistant wouldn’t get much more than a growl.  As it was, he was feeling semi-sociable.

“A couple of things.  One, it looks like the press has Sheridan’s due date.  But don’t blow your stack right away.  That could be an educated guess on anyone’s part.  We can’t be sure it’s information that has ‘gotten out’.”

That was one sure-fire way to ruin his sociability. 

He pushed out a disgruntled huff, trying to keep perspective.  Anybody could’ve overheard anybody talking about the baby and the due date.  There wasn’t necessarily an invasion of privacy in that.  He guessed.

“What else you got to ruin my day with?”

She snickered deviously.  “I would say that I never call to ruin your day, but, considering the real reason for my call, I’d be a liar.  Are you aware of the date?”

His eyes fixed out the computer screen, seeking out the information he wanted.  “The twelfth.  Why?  Do I have something on my calendar today?”

“Not today, but Wednesday.  And it’s the same thing that’s on every couple in the world’s calendar – Valentine’s Day.  I know you tend to ignore it, but you have a new wife whom I’m guessing doesn’t know that you tend to ignore it.  Just giving you a friendly reminder to either tell her you eschew romantic commercial holidays or pony up with some diamonds.”

Ahhh fuck.

Jeri was right.  He tended to ignore the ‘most romantic day of the year’, because it made him feel like an unfeeling clod.  Some greedy mofo had come up with this crap just to make husbands and boyfriends shell out a ridiculous amount of money for flowers that would die, candy that their female counterparts would die before actually eating, or jewelry that got thrown in a box because she didn’t really like it. 

It frustrated the hell out of him.  In fact, he usually made it a point to schedule a show on Valentine’s Day so he had a legitimate reason to dismiss it from his personal life.   Once it was a business obligation, he ceased to feel negligent about nurturing his relationship.

Sheridan was a practical woman.  She would get it, wouldn’t she? 

For Chrissakes, that random August day in Jamaica has more meaning to our ‘relationship status’ than February fourteenth.

But, being a man, he might be missing the bigger picture here.  She was already aggravated that he didn’t want her shopping for the nursery yet.  Her lips had been screwed into that matronly, disapproving frown when she agreed to wait until after the housewarming party. 

Yeah, it wouldn’t hurt to get a second – female – opinion.

“Dare I ask if you have a suggestion?”

“I do.  Are you sure you want to hear it?”  Her amused laughter was annoying as hell. 

“Do I typically ask for shit I don’t want?”

“Excellent point, boss.  So, here’s my take…  Sheridan’s an incredibly sweet woman, but she borders on the verge of being Vulcan.  It’s like she’s almost emotionless.  I mean, I’ve never met a woman who was so analytical and task-oriented when it came to a baby.”

No fuckin’ kidding.

She wasn’t that way with things that didn’t relate to the baby.  She smiled, loved and cared just like anybody else would.  But this kid was doing a number on her.  Although Jeri wasn’t going to hear that from him, he felt compelled to defend his wife.

“She’s not emotionless,” was his simple rebuttal, without elaboration.  “Get on with it.”

“I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt to invoke a little emotion before she completely disconnects.  Blow off Valentine’s next year, but she could use something from you this time.  In my opinion.”

“And you’ll find that something for me?” 

Jeri hesitated.  “You’re my employer and I’ll perform any reasonable request you have, but I think it would mean more if it was something personal.  From you.”

Personal?  Like…  lingerie or sex toys?  He could understand why his assistant wouldn’t want to shop for those things, but did a vibrator send some kind of secret, heartfelt message that he was unaware of? 

Jesus.  I HATE buying presents.

But he would, because Jeri was probably right.  Sheridan could use a little extra affection.  He’d been doing his best to rub his hand over her bump whenever he thought about it, trying to show some affection for the baby so that she would pick up on it, but he was a guy.  He was really a guy.  Who had four kids already.  It was hard to make himself get excited, and maybe that was coming through to her.

Jon sighed.  It looked like he was going shopping today.

But while he was out, he was going to make a side trip to Hamilton College.  Stephanie’s colorless, impersonal bedroom was driving him nuts.  Taunting him with the fact that his daughter was still snubbing him with one-letter or one-word text message replies and not answering his phone calls. 

She’d had over a month to make her point, and he’d accepted it as maybe being his rightful due.  The expiration date on that point was rapidly approaching though.  There was only so much shit he was going to take from anybody, even his darling daughter.  Now it was time for him to make his. 

❧❧❧

“Steph!”

Stephanie Bongiovi rolled her eyes, easily recognizing that voice, even at a distance.  Stopping on the sidewalk, she shifted her messenger-style book bag against her body and turned slowly.  By the time she’d pivoted the one-hundred and eighty degrees necessary to turn in his direction, her father was only steps away.

The trouble with going to such a small school meant that it wasn’t hard to track down one of the students, but she supposed it didn’t matter.  She had known he would come eventually.  The only surprise was that he hadn’t been here sooner.  If he hadn’t been so busy with his new wife and uprooting his home, he probably would’ve been. 

Her lips thinned and she pushed her glasses up on her nose.  “What are you doing here, Daddy?”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his breath visible in the cold air when he huffed.  “You know damn well why I’m here.  Is there someplace close to have a cup of coffee with your old man?”

It would be something of a relief to get this over with now instead of waiting until next weekend because, in all honesty, she was tired of being mad at him.  Hours had stretched to weeks in which it had quickly become habit to avoid the man who thought he always knew best.  Oftentimes he did, but there were other times when he was just wrong.  Blatantly wrong, and she had enough of his personality instilled in her to call his hand on it.

A hint that her anger had hung on long enough came last week, when her mother had said, “You know, Steph, people you love make mistakes, because they’re just people.  They can’t undo the mistakes, but if they’re sorry, you love them in spite of those mistakes.”

Stephanie knew that was true, but she also wanted her father to consider her as an adult.

“Yeah,” she conceded with an air of reluctance, lifting her left hand and gesturing across the road.  “The diner is over this way.”

When they had their respective cups of coffee and were seated at one of the small booths in the fifties-style diner, her father looked at her.  He used the same look he’d always used when discussing ‘important’ matters with her – forehead wrinkled with a frown of concentration as he sought out her eyes to make sure she was really listening. 

“This has gone on long enough, Stephie.  Don’t you think it’s time to let me off the hook?”

“Don’t you think it’s time you started treating me like an adult?”

“Okay, first of all, adults don’t do the silent treatment bullshit you’ve been pulling.”  The words had the potential to be argumentative, but the quiet, easy tone kept things conversational.  “And secondly, I treated you like an adult.  I didn’t tell anybody – including my parents – that I was going to marry your mother.  I didn’t tell anybody when I decided to marry Sheridan.  Marriage is a very personal commitment that doesn’t need public approval.”

“I’m your daughter, not the public.”

“So you don’t like Sheridan.”

Stephanie pulled a face.  She had no problem with Sheridan.  From everything she knew of her, she was a nice woman, and Jesse hadn’t had any problems with her in the times that he’d stayed with Dad.

“Sheridan is fine.  This isn’t about her.”

He frowned more deeply, slowly spinning his coffee cup in a circle on the red tabletop.  “Your only issue is that I didn’t consult you first?  Well, I’m sorry, but you were the first one I called afterward.”

That made her sound petty and childish. 

“Dad, don’t oversimplify things.”

“Some things are just that simple, baby.  You said it yourself.  You’re my daughter.  I respect the hell out of the young woman you’ve become, but I’m the father here.  I’m not going to ever lean on your for advice.  That just ain’t happenin’.”

“Because you think of me as a child.”

“No,” he denied firmly, shaking his head.  “Because that’s not my job.  My job is to help you find your way through this crazy screwed up world.  If you get the idea I can’t find my own way, then that completely negates my purpose in your life.  If I can help it, you’ll never see me weak or uncertain.”

“That’s sweet, but I don’t need you to be Superman, Dad.  I’m a grown up now.”

He looked at her with eyes that she had inherited, taking a deep breath.  There was a little sadness lingering around their edges.

“But I need to be Superman, Steph.  Just let me.”

So much for never seeing him weak or uncertain.

She took a slow drink of her coffee and folded her arms on the edge of the table, deciding it was time to move on.  He could respect the hell out of her all he wanted, but he was always going to see her as his little girl. 

Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. 

“How’s the new house?”

Eyebrows that were a mixture of blond and gray shifted up toward his messy hairline, hesitant to believe she was going to accept that easily. 

“It’s good,” he said slowly, letting his shoulders rest on the back of the seat.  “Your room looks like bland, boring, shit though.  When are you gonna do something about that?”

“Next weekend, when I come home for the housewarming party.”

His comfortable slouch went stiff again with curiosity and he leaned toward her over the table.  “I was going to tell you about that, but obviously you already know.  Jesse?”

“Sheridan.  She called me yesterday.”

The brief call had surprised Stephanie and it was another positive mark on her new step-mother’s scorecard.  Sheridan had wanted nothing more than to make sure she knew about the party and that her room was ready to be decorated whenever she wanted to do it.  The new Mrs. Bongiovi had also asked Stephanie to cut her dad some slack, vouching for the fact that he was upset over what had happened and missed his daughter.

“She did?”

“Yeah.”  She lifted her shoulder in a nonchalant shrug.  “Not sure why, but I think she might love you or something.”

His teeth flashed in a brief grin before saying, “I think I might love you or something, kiddo.”

She placed her hand in the one he offered, palm up over the table.  It was the same one that had held hers so many times over the years.  Work may not have allowed him to be with his children all the time, but when he was with them, he loved them with all he had.  He wasn’t a perfect father, but he was hers.

“I’m glad to hear that, old man.  The deposit for my spring break trip is due this week.”