Saving Home. Marie Ferrarella

Cristina or the soon to be married Stephanie, realized how she felt.

      At least she hoped they didn’t, Andy thought listlessly as she slowly walked around the inn.

      Her insides ached and felt so hauntingly empty.

      Empty despite the fact that the level of her activity had gone up several notches recently, the way it always did at this time of year. Empty despite the fact that both Alex and Cris were due to give birth very, very soon.

      Or maybe the feeling of desolation was there because of all that.

      Both of her oldest sisters were married, and although Alex and Cris—and Wyatt and Shane, their respective husbands—all lived at the inn, each couple was involved in the creation of their own little family unit. Satellite units of the family they’d been born to.

      The only family she knew, Andy thought as she slowly moved across the grass that Silvio, their gardener, kept so lush.

      Andy supposed that she wouldn’t have felt so desolate if Stevi was still unattached. Back before Mike had come into Stevi’s life, it had been two against two, so to speak. She and Stevi on the one side while Alex and Cris were on the other.

      But now Stevi was on the other side of the fence with Mike, her pending husband. And she was left to feel like a kid with her nose pressed up against the candy store window, allowed to see, but not to join in.

      Oh, for her part she was crazy about all three of the men in her sisters’ lives. She’d grown up with Alex’s husband, Wyatt. They all had. During all those wild, wonderful summers when they were kids, Wyatt had been like the big brother they never had.

      But like them or not, having Wyatt, Shane and Mike here underscored that she was very much alone.

      Of course, she’d dated a few guys herself, especially during the three and a half years she’d just spent in college—eclectically sampling several different majors and trying to find herself—but there had just never been anyone with that special something that told her this was the one. This was the guy she wanted to face forever with. A weekend, or a month, or even the summer, maybe. But forever? No, no way.

      Maybe she’d been too picky. Andy turned around again, this time heading toward the back entrance. She’d promised Alex she’d take over the front desk and it was almost time to spell her very pregnant sister.

      The dark rain clouds seemed to grow even darker with each step she took. It didn’t help her mood.

      If she lowered her standards, Andy thought, still trying to wrestle this feeling of hopelessness to the ground, she’d be settling. And she didn’t want to settle. At least not when it came to choosing a partner for life.

      Andy frowned.

      She absolutely hated feeling like this.

      “What’s up, Andy?” Alex asked, as she watched her making her way toward the reception desk. “You look like you’ve just lost your best friend.”

      “I have,” Andy replied before she could censor herself. When was she going to learn to think things through before she spoke?

      “Oh, I’m sorry,” Alex told her, instantly sympathetic.

      If nothing else, Andy thought, marriage and this pending pregnancy had turned her sometimes waspish, dictatorial, type-A sister into a kinder, more thoughtful version of herself.

      “Who was it?” Alex coaxed. “Did I know her?”

      “Me,” Andy replied, looking away. She didn’t want to make eye contact.

      “Excuse me?”

      “Me,” Andy repeated. Resigned, she glanced up at Alex who was a shade taller than she was. “I just don’t feel like myself anymore. It’s like someone conducted a scorched earth policy inside me.”

      The old Alex instantly returned with a vengeance. Andy watched as her tall, temporarily un-slender sister snorted and shook her head.

      “You want to talk about not feeling like yourself?” Alex challenged. “I feel like the Spanish Armada every time I try to negotiate going from here to there—never mind just standing up.” She waved her hand. Since there were no guests in the reception area, Alex continued, working up a head of steam. “And my ankles, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen my ankles? I have to take Wyatt’s word for it that they’re swollen because I certainly can’t see them. All I know is that walking anywhere these days is a challenge.”

      Alex’s blue eyes narrowed as she shot her sister an accusation. “I look at you with your skinny little body and it’s everything I can do not to drag you down to the pier and toss you into the ocean.”

      Andy forced a smile to her lips. She was deeply regretting having said a word to her sister.

      But again, that still didn’t change anything about the way she felt, Andy thought in mounting despair.

      She wasn’t exactly sure what possessed her, but Andy needed to make Alex understand. What she was experiencing had nothing to do with any sort of envy, but it was daunting and bordering on debilitating.

      “Okay, I’m very sorry that you’re going through all this, Alex, and everything you just complained about is probably true—”

      “Probably?”

      The single word was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

      “Probably?” Alex repeated, a flash of anger just beneath the surface.

      Andy ignored all the very visible warning signs from her sister and pushed on. “But at the end of your temporary misshapen time as the Goodyear blimp’s stand-in,” she told Alex, “you’re going to have a really amazing, mind-blowing prize for all your trouble. You’re going to be holding a baby in your arms.”

      She couldn’t contain the hopeless sigh that escaped her lips.

      “Me, I’m going to go on feeling inadequate and adrift.”

      “Adrift?” Alex repeated incredulously, mocking Andy’s choice of words. “Well, point your nose back toward home port, Melancholy Girl, because you’re supposed to be taking over this front desk so I can eat and put my feet up before they get way too heavy for me to lift.”

      As Alex slid off the extra-padded, wide stool she’d been perched on, she caught a glimpse of Cris heading for the kitchen.

      Perfect timing, Alex thought.

      Cris had been the inn’s resident chef for several years now, but as her own pregnancy had progressed, she had slowly—and reluctantly—been relinquishing some of her duties to Jorge, her chief assistant. Not to mention they’d hired a couple of part-timers who were currently working alongside of her.

      Still, Richard Roman’s second born was determined to continue working in at least a supervisory capacity for each and every meal prepared. Breakfast and dinner were included in the overall price of a room at the inn, lunch was not. But Cris still insisted on opening the kitchen in case any of the inn’s guests felt like dining in.

      As far as Cris was concerned, the inn took the place of home for guests. In this she and their father were of like mind.

      Catching Cris’s eye, Alex beckoned her over. She watched with a touch of envy as Cris seemed to maneuver with what appeared to be far less effort than she’d had to expend to cover the same ground.

      This baby had her completely out of shape, Alex thought, frustrated.

      When would this ordeal finally end so that she could have her life—not to mention her body—back? At this point, she was starting to feel as if she’d always been pregnant and there was no other way to be—no matter how much she wished there was.

      “Hey, Cris,” Alex began before the latter reached her. “You’ve been through this before, right?”

      Where was this going?