“How?” he asked, feeling like he was about to pass out.
She snorted. “The usual way. Sperm meets egg and then—”
He held up his hand. “I don’t need a biology lesson. When did you find out?”
“Doctor confirmed it a few days ago.”
“And you waited to tell me!” he roared.
Other patrons of the restaurant turned their heads to stare. Mama Marino dashed out of the kitchen, looking around for the source of the noise. When she realized it was Igor, her shoulders sank and her spine relaxed.
“Can we not do this—here?” Maryruth pleaded.
“What’s happening?” Mama Marino asked.
Maryruth glared at her. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“It concerns me,” Mama Marino snapped back. “If it concerns his well-being. What did you do to him?”
“Me?” Maryruth stood and went nose to nose with Mama Marino. “Your precious Igor knocked me up. That’s what happened!”
Someone cleared a throat. The three of them realized the restaurant was completely silent, and then Ori’s booming laugh came from the doorway of the kitchen. “Limoncello for everyone! On the house!”
Conversation began again.
Igor had never seen Mama Marino speechless. The woman recovered and then hauled Maryruth against her to whisper something in her ear. Maryruth nodded and closed her eyes, leaning into the woman’s motherly embrace.
Shame flooded him. The woman of his dreams, his wife, had just told him she was pregnant with their child, and he’d yelled at her. Yelled at her in public for keeping it to herself.
“You two,” Mama Marino said. “In the kitchen. Now.”
Maryruth went first, followed by Igor. Mama Marino brought up the end. “Open another few bottles of Limoncello!” she called to Ori.
“Okay, Mama,” he replied with a grin, and then went back to pouring out shot glasses of the sweet, yellow liqueur.
When they got to the kitchen, Mama Marino barked in Italian. The kitchen emptied. “Talk,” she said to Igor and Maryruth. “No yelling. Not good for the bambino.”
The woman left.
Maryruth faced him. “I didn’t tell you right away because I needed to be sure and I took a moment, you know? Where it was just about me and processing—”
“Stop. I’m a mudak. This is not on you.” He didn’t make a move to touch her. “Mama Marino said you were keeping something from me.”
“How did she know?” Maryruth asked in amazement.
“She didn’t know what you were keeping to yourself, only that there was something you weren’t sharing with me.”
“So we should blame Mama for all of this?”
“Maybe. Doesn’t excuse my reaction. Or that I yelled at you.”
She stared at him with wide eyes. “Why did you? Yell, I mean?”
“Shock, surprise.” He paused. “Fear.”
“Fear? About me?”
He shook his head. “You’ve met my father.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Oh. Oh, I see.”
“What if—”
“No.”
“But—”
“No.” She was the one who moved to him, pressing her body close to his. “It will never be like that. You’re not like that. Not like him.”
He crushed her to him and closed his eyes. “When did this happen?”
“Honestly? I think it happened the first night we were together.”
“At The Arena?”
She nodded against him.
“That was a hot night,” he stated.
She laughed. “Yeah. It was.”
“How do you feel about it?”
Leaning back, she stared up at him, all the love she had for him shining out through her blue eyes. “Happy.”
He smiled softly. “Happy?”
“Elated. Joyful.” Her smile slipped. “You? Are you thinking that I did this on purpose?”
“No.” His hands moved from around her to cradle her cheeks. “No. For whatever reason. This happened. We happened.”
“But are you happy about it, Igor?”
The shock was fading. He examined the feeling welling within him. “No, Maryruth. I’m not happy.”
Her face fell. “Oh.”
“I’m grateful. So fucking grateful.”
Maryruth smiled and sighed. “Oh.”
Igor’s lips covered hers for a brief moment. “Will you give me a moment—I have to speak to Ori. It can’t wait.”
She nodded.
“It will be fast. Then we’ll go home. And celebrate. The way we’re supposed to.”
She sighed again. “Celebrate.”
Igor rolled over, stroking a hand down Maryruth’s bare back. “Are you awake?”
She mumbled.
“Maryruth,” he urged.
“What?”
“Wake up, I want to talk to you.”
“About what?” She didn’t move from her position on her stomach, but she did flip her head to face him.
“I think we should move out of the city.”
“Okay, can’t this wait until morning? I need my sleep.”
He laughed. “Please?”
She sighed and flopped onto her back. “Okay. I’m awake. Talk.”
“I think moving out of the city is a good idea.”
“I don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Nothing has changed, Igor.”
“Everything has changed.”
“I like the city. I like this apartment. I like the idea of planting a rooftop garden. I don’t want everything to change just because we’re having a baby.”
“But everything is changing. Has changed. Will continue to change.”
“Igor—”
“What about me?” he demanded. “I want to protect you and our—” He couldn’t even say it, not yet. He was still in shock. “But I also need this for me. Things are about to change with the business. Become more dangerous. So I’m asking, Maryruth. For me.”
She sighed. “All right, Igor. All right.”
“Thank you, pchelka.” He searched for her lips and found them. They lingered for a moment before pulling back. He rolled onto his back, and she scooted her way across the bed and curled into him. His hand sank into her hair, and he began to stroke her scalp. She made a noise very much like a purr.
“Can I ask you something?” he whispered.
“Uh-hmm.”
“Why aren’t you more in shock? About the baby?”
She was quiet while her fingers trailed swirls across his thigh. “My childhood was stifling. For any kid, but especially for a kid like me. I wanted to learn, and travel, and experience life. But I just couldn’t. Not in that house. Not with them.”
Maryruth stopped talking, but Igor knew she wasn’t done. So he waited.
“There was only a five percent chance,” she said so softly he wasn’t sure he heard her.
“Five percent chance for what?” he asked.
“That I’d even be able to get pregnant. I have endometriosis, Igor. I didn’t tell you I was pregnant right away because I needed the doctor to ensure it wasn’t ectopic. I wanted to know for sure before I—well, before I got my hopes up.”
“You wanted my baby?” he asked, feeling something begin to stir behind his eyes.
“Yes. I wanted your baby. Our baby. And a chance—to do it differently with ours.”
“Ah, pchelka.” He buried his head in her hair and let the tears fall, tears that hadn’t fallen since the death of his mother. Maryruth had cracked open his heart, filled the darkness with her light, made him whole where he’d been broken.
She held him to her, stroking him like a child, and he knew he could do this.
He could be a better father than the one he’d been given.