It was incredibly generous, and it also took a huge burden off Lucy’s shoulders in terms of her baby budget. But every time her mother handed over an offering, Lucy remembered the nights her mother had stayed up late ironing business shirts for fifty cents apiece. And the weekends she’d spent sewing wedding and bridesmaid dresses, and confirmation dresses for the girls in the neighborhood. And all the times Lucy had watched her mother carefully count her change into the rainy-day jar. Her mother was retired now, living off a small pension and her savings, and Lucy knew that every gift to her came at her mother’s expense.
Her mother had sacrificed so much to give her and Rosie a good home, and now she was sacrificing again to support Lucy’s unplanned pregnancy.
Lucy shoved her chair back so sharply it screeched across the timber floor.
She had to convince the people at the bank that she was a good risk. Somehow she had to push the business into the next phase, and she had to look after herself and her baby without leaning on her mother. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t the kind of daughter Lucy wanted to be. She remembered how proud she’d felt when she and Rosie had presented their mother with the lush, expensive Italian wool coat. Sophia’s eyes had lit up then filled with tears when she’d understood that the beautiful garment was hers, a token of her daughters’ esteem and affection.
That was the kind of daughter Lucy wanted to be—the kind of daughter who gave instead of took, the kind of daughter who could give her mother the retirement she deserved after all her hard years of work.
Lucy ran a hand through her hair and let her breath hiss out between her teeth, wishing she could release her tension as easily. She had her business papers in order and her best suit was hanging at the ready—even though she had to use a couple of safety pins and leave the zipper down to get the skirt on. As long as she didn’t take her jacket off, no one would ever know.
“They’ll listen,” Lucy said out loud, trying to convince herself. “They’ll see my vision. They have to.”
“First sign of madness, you know,” Rosie said from behind her, and Lucy started.
“For Pete’s sake!” she said, one hand pressed to her chest. “Have you been taking lessons from Ma or something?”
“I knocked,” Rosie said, gesturing toward the door that connected the flat to the kitchen of the main house. “You were too busy talking to yourself to hear me.”
Lucy punched her sister on the arm. “That’s for scaring the living daylights out of me.”
Rosie rubbed her arm. “If you weren’t knocked up, you’d be in so much trouble right now,” she said. “But even a lawyer has to draw the line at taking on a pregnant woman.”
“Very noble of you.”
“I’m good like that. You coming in to watch Desperate Housewives with us?” she asked.
Lucy shot a look toward her laptop. She had her accounts in order, but her nerves demanded she go over them one last time, just to be sure.
“I think I’ve got too much work to do,” she said.
Rosie’s face immediately creased with concern. “Everything okay? You’re all good for the bank?”
“Sure. No problems,” Lucy said, careful to keep her voice casual.
“I can still cancel my afternoon appointment and come with you,” Rosie said.
While a part of Lucy wanted her support more than anything, she knew she had to do this alone. The whole point of getting the loan and growing the business was to become more independent and self-sufficient. Lucy didn’t want to be a charity case for the rest of her life. She owed her baby a better start than that.
“It’s all good. Really. I’ve already ironed my shirt and everything,” she said.
Rosie looked like she wanted to argue some more, so Lucy said the first thing that popped into her head.
“Hey, guess who’s back in town? Dominic Bianco. Saw him at the market this morning.”
As she’d hoped, her sister stopped frowning and got a salacious, speculative look in her eye. Rosie had always had a thing for Dom Bianco.
“How long was he away? And is he as hot as ever?” Rosie asked.
“Six months. And he looks the same as always,” Lucy said.
“Ow. Must have been some divorce that he needed six months time-out to recover,” Rosie said with a wince. “Nice to know he hasn’t lost his looks, though. Tell me, does he still wear those tight little jeans?”
“At this point I feel honor-bound to remind you that you’re a married woman.”
“I can still admire from a distance. And Dominic Bianco is worth admiring. Those cheekbones. And those black eyes of his. And that body.” Rosie fanned herself theatrically.
“Careful or I’m going to have to hose you down.”
“How can you look at that man and not have sweaty, carnal thoughts?”
“Um, because I’m four months pregnant,” Lucy said, “and about to become a walking whale?”
“Irrelevant.”
“Maybe he’s not my type.”
“You have twenty-twenty vision and a pulse, and you’re pregnant so it proves you’re heterosexual. He’s your type. Next,” Rosie said, wiggling her fingers in a gimme-more gesture.
Lucy frowned. She’d never seriously given the matter much thought before. In fact, she’d never really paid much attention to Dominic, truth be told. He’d been married until recently, and she’d been living with Marcus, and Rosie had always had a thing for him—he’d been out of bounds for a bunch of reasons, really. And Lucy wasn’t the kind of person who got off on lusting after the forbidden.
“I don’t know. Maybe I never let myself notice,” she said finally.
“Ha!” Rosie said triumphantly. “I knew it!”
“You want to share what you know? ‘Cause I’m still in the dark here.”
“You have the hots for him. Only someone who really has the hots for someone would completely block out the other person’s attractiveness like that. And The Bianco definitely qualifies as attractive. The man is a god. Sex on legs. H-O-T.”
“Okay, I got it.” Lucy shook her head at both her sister’s convoluted logic and her use of her teen code name for Dom. “Is this the kind of argument you try on in court, by the way? Do judges buy this crap?”
“It’s the only explanation,” Rosie said, crossing her arms smugly over her chest.
“Really? How about this—you’ve been hot for Dom for so many years that you’re trying to live vicariously through me?”
Rosie cocked her head. “Hmmm. That’s not bad.”
They both laughed.
“You’re a dirty birdy,” Lucy said, reaching out and tugging on her sister’s shoulder-length hair.
“Thank you. I do try.” Rosie turned toward the door. “Sure you’re not up for ice cream and Housewives?”
Lucy bit her lip, tempted now that she’d let go of some of her anxiety. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t already gone over and over her application. “What flavor have you got?”
“New York cheesecake and macadamia toffee,” Rosie