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“I know. I—I can’t help it—” The words were cut off by a strangled sob that shook her shoulders.
“Damn.”
He crossed the room in three strides. He put his hands on her arms and turned her toward him. He felt her reluctance to take the comfort he was offering, then her eyes swam with tears and she covered her face with her hands. She seemed to crumple against him.
Her sweet, soft body snuggling in his arms felt better than he had ever imagined, and he’d imagined it a lot. She was like a sister to him, he reminded himself. He had no right to be aware of her breasts pressed against his chest and the heat that burned through him. He should push her away. How long could he stand having her in his arms without doing more?
He gritted his teeth. As long as it took, he decided. She needed someone now. Fate had put him there. He would just hold her. That’s all.
But he couldn’t stop himself from rubbing his hand up and down her back in a comforting motion. He was unable to resist pressing her cheek more firmly to his chest. It felt natural and right for his arms to tug her closer, tuck her softness more securely to his hard length. He took a shuddering breath, then released it. She just needed a shoulder. It was the least he could do. She was his best friend’s sister. But he tightened his arms just a fraction. For himself.
When her crying subsided to an occasional wet hiccup, he said, “They’ll forgive you.”
“I know.”
“They love you.”
“No doubt about it. And I love them.”
“They would want to help you through this, Rosie.”
“Of course they would. But The Look will always be there—in their eyes. I’d do anything—anything—to spare them this disgrace and embarrassment.”
“Anything?”
“Short of murder and mayhem,” she said, nodding miserably. “But there’s no solution to this problem.” She sniffled. “I need a husband. But husbands don’t grow on trees.”
“No,” he agreed. “Not the last time I checked.”
She pulled back a little and looked up at him, a wavery little smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “They don’t fall off turnip trucks, either.”
“Yeah, I try never to do that. It’s not the fall that gets you, it’s the bounce.”
The sound she made was part sob, part giggle, but it was all victory, one that made him feel as if he’d won a marathon.
As he pulled her back into his embrace, her words sank in.
I need a husband.
Then she could face her family and friends without shame. He took half the blame for her situation. He owed her. He owed the family. There was a way to help them all. But it was a huge risk. He could lose the best friend he’d ever had, the only family he’d ever known.
But Rosie was a part of that family. Shouldn’t he help her? She was Nick’s sister. If Nick were in his shoes, wouldn’t he do the honorable thing, the gentlemanly thing? Steve hadn’t hung around the Marchettis all these years for nothing. He’d learned a thing or two. Rule number one: when one of them was in trouble, they were all in trouble.
He wasn’t a member of the family, not by blood. More than once he had wished there was a way to change that. But in this situation, blood lines worked in his favor. He could do something for Rosie that none of the rest of them could. He had a way to get her out of this jam.
“I could be a husband,” he said.
She glanced up at him and her eyes widened. Then she smiled, and her face lit up, and he understood about the glow of a pregnant woman. She looked so beautiful, for a split second his breath caught.
“That’s funny, Steve.”
He frowned. “What is?”
“The idea of you as a husband. Not as funny as the image of you taking a bounce off a turnip truck. But still pretty hysterical. Have you been into that bottle of wine that room service brought up?”
He looked offended. “Why?”
“You’re the world’s most confirmed bachelor. After Nick, of course. But still, I can’t picture you getting married. You’re not very good husband material.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah.” She frowned. “I’ll forget you brought it up.”
“For Pete’s sake, Rosie. I’m trying to bail you out here.”
She frowned. “You’ve already done enough for me today. Butt out, Steve. Don’t do me any more favors.”
“Hear me out. You need a husband. I’m available. I’m applying for the job.”
“I don’t believe it. You’re actually proposing?”
He released a long breath and nodded. “Yeah, it’s an official proposal. I’m asking you to marry me, Rosie.”
Chapter Three
Rosie knew her jaw fell and her mouth opened. But for the life of her, she couldn’t make any words come out. There hadn’t been many times in her twenty-six years when she was speechless. Off the top of her head, she could remember two. The day the pregnancy test told her she was going to be a mother. And the time she had gone to Steve’s apartment unannounced. She’d been eighteen and certain she’d seen a look in his eyes that had convinced her he was attracted to her. He’d answered the door shirtless, followed by a beautiful blonde wearing nothing but said shirt.
On the one-to-ten shock meter, the proposal from Steve hovered close to twenty. She was completely and utterly stunned. Was he really and truly on the level?
“Say something,” Steve prompted.
She took a deep breath and released it. “At the risk of offending the cliché police, all I can think of is—this is so sudden.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of that going around.”
“You silver-tongued devil. You could turn a girl’s head with flattery like that.”
“Quit joking, Ro.”
“Why? You are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. And it’s a good one.” She pointed at him and laughed with an edge of hysteria to the sound that even she heard. Those dam hormones were acting up again. “I almost believe you.”
“Believe it.”
“How can I? This is me. And you’re you.”
“And your point is?”
“One of two things. Either you’re trying to cheer me up because you feel bad about what you did.”
“That’s only half true. I will never feel bad about getting Wayne the Weasel out of your life.”
She winced at the derogatory nickname.
“What’s my second choice?” he asked.
“Payback. This is your ‘gotcha’ moment. This is revenge. This is Lucy holding the football for Charlie Brown. As soon as I run to kick the ball, you’ll pull it away and let me fall on my backside, or in this case, my face, point and say ‘gotcha!’”
He stood, walked over to the phone and picked it up. “Concierge, please.”
Puzzled, Rosie walked over to him, standing at his elbow while he waited with the receiver to his ear. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to find out about getting a justice of the peace.”
“Now?”
Challenging blue eyes, intense and hard as steel, locked with her own. “Right here, right now.”
Rosie pressed the button to disconnect him. “You’ve made your point.”
“So why did you stop me?”
“Like I said before, this is so sudden.” She looked up at him and her stomach got that fluttery feeling she always got with Steve. “I don’t remember responding to your proposal, in the affirmative or any other way.”
“Okay. Now that I have your attention. Will you marry me?”
“No.”
His eyebrows shot up. “That’s it? Just no?”
“Thank you, no?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
She did know. He was being very sweet. He deserved an explanation. Unfortunately she didn’t have one. Partly because this was happening way too fast.
“I’m not sure what part of no you don’t understand. It’s a one-syllable negative response. Fairly easy to comprehend.”
He folded his arms across his chest and fixed her with a narrow-eyed stare. “I get it. This is my payback for not saying no to your mother, isn’t it?”
“That would be childish. I can’t believe you think I’m that immature.”
“There’s no way to predict how a woman will respond under the best of circumstances. But after a fiasco like today—”
She sighed. “It’s very sweet of you to offer to do this for me. I appreciate it a lot.”
“But you don’t believe I’m sincere?”
She wasn’t sure what she believed. A state of shock wasn’t the best place to make a decision about putting oneself in a state of matrimony. “This is something I have to handle by myself.”
“It’s about your independence, right?” He looked out the windows for a moment. “You’ve proven that you’re a grown-up. No one questions that. Part of being your own person is knowing when to ask for help, how to know when you can’t do it alone. This is one of those times. You need a husband. I can be one.”
“True. By definition you can be a husband. But have you really thought this through? Let’s forget for a moment what I want or need. This is completely not fair to you.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m a big boy. I know my own mind.”
“Okay, big boy. What are we talking here? Lifetime commitment? Open-ended arrangement? Specific time frame? What?”
He paced to the sofa and stopped to look out the windows as he rubbed the back of his neck. “How about this?” he said, turning back. “We stay together until the baby is born. Then we figure out where we go from there.”
“Renegotiate in six months?” She thought about that. It felt so cold and wrong to consider marriage in the same breath as negotiation, which, as far as she was concerned, was a euphemism for splitsville. The Big D. Divorce. Maybe she was too much of a romantic, but she couldn’t help it. She’d cut her teeth on fairy tales, and that was hard to shake.
“I’m sorry, Steve. I just can’t do this. Not to you.”
“You’re not doing anything to me. It was my idea, remember? This is about you. This is a practical solution to your problem.”
“Practical? Be still my heart.”
“You know what I mean, Ro.”
Yeah, unfortunately she did. She’d always imagined blowing him away with her triple whammy: beauty, brains and body. But over the years she’d seen the women who attracted him and, invariably, they were her complete opposite. Tall, leggy blondes. The night she’d gone to his apartment Rosie had finally gotten the message. She would never be tall enough, or pretty enough, or skinny enough to steal Steve’s heart. And she didn’t even want to get into the hair thing. She didn’t have the time, money, or inclination to make hers straight and golden.
She was what she was. She was okay with being short, curvy and brunette. She’d come to terms with her type. But she would rather face The Look from her parents than marry Steve because it was practical.
Rosie shook her head. “It’s out of the question.”
“You’re still worried about me?”
“Not entirely.”
“Did it occur to you that you would be doing me a favor?”
Her heart gave a little leap. Maybe she had jumped to conclusions. Maybe he did care for her. Maybe this wasn’t merely a sensible solution. He could have feelings for her. Stranger things happened.
“How would this be a favor for you?” she asked cautiously.
“Your parents.”
Rosie felt like a punctured balloon. Deflated. Her tiny bubble of hope collapsed. “What about them?”
“If you have a husband when you tell them about the baby, it will save them anxiety. I’m in their debt, Rosie. If it wasn’t for Flo and Tom, it’s anyone’s guess what my life would be like today.”
“So this is like that thing where you save someone’s life and they own you forever.”
“Sort of. But I don’t feel like I’m their lackey,” he said with a fleeting grin. “This is definitely payback. I owe them more than I can ever repay.”
“If you knew my parents the way you think you do, you would know that they’d never ask you to sacrifice yourself on their behalf.”
Her voice trembled on the last word and Rosie caught her lip between her teeth. She had experienced some low moments where Steve Schafer was concerned, but this had to be the world’s-record, low-down, bottom-of-the-lake, slimy low. She would probably live to regret this, but a girl had her pride. She wanted to receive a proposal that in some way reflected his tender feelings about her. Steve was asking her to marry him for her parents’ sake. It was too humiliating.
“I know you’re sincere. Truly I do. I care about my parents, too. But they’re tough. They’ll get through this like every other crisis they’ve weathered. Together. My answer has to be no.”
“For God’s sake, Rosie, be reasonable.”
“I think I’m being exceptionally reasonable under the circumstances. Let me ask you something.”
“Shoot,” he said.
“What about love?”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“It has everything to do with everything, especially marriage. It should be the reason two people tie the knot, jump the broom, get hitched.”
“I don’t believe this.” He turned away and paced in front of the windows, the same place she’d worn a path earlier.
Suddenly Rosie was exhausted. “Go home, Steve. I’m fine. Your work here is finished.”
He stopped and looked at her. “I already told you, I’m not leaving without you.”
“And I told you that I’m not going home yet.” She practically collapsed onto the love seat as if to say, “And you can’t make me.” That’s mature, she thought.
He sat on the couch at a right angle to her, his knees barely touching hers. Leaning forward earnestly, he rested his elbows on his thighs. It was such a profoundly masculine pose that she felt a tiny catch in her chest, a slight escalation in her breathing.
“It’s the right thing to do,” he said.
“By ‘it,’ I assume you mean marriage?” she asked.
When he nodded, she acknowledged that he must be serious. Would it be easier to believe if he were down on one knee? Then it hit her why she was so adamant about not marrying him. She knew better than to believe for even a second that his motives had anything to do with tender feelings for her. From the time she was a little girl following him and Nick everywhere, she’d believed he walked on water. He had always included her when her brother would have ditched her.
As a vulnerable teenager she’d believed in “happy ever after.” She had imagined Steve Schafer asking her to marry him. He would go down on one knee, take her hand and look longingly into her eyes and “pop the question” because he loved her to distraction. The proposal fantasy had never once consisted of “Yo, babe, let’s get hitched so I can make an honest woman of you.”
Oh, she knew he hadn’t said that. But that’s the way it felt. From the moment he had brought up the subject of marriage, it had been a complete and profound violation of her girlhood dream.
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