Bargaining for King's Baby / The Wealthy Frenchman's Proposition. Maureen Child

Teresa argued. “But you know him well enough to barter your daughter’s future with him?”

      And the argument was off and running. Gina only half listened. In her family, yelling was as much a part of life as the constant hugs and laughter. Italians, her mother liked to say, lived life to the fullest. Of course, Gina’s father liked to say that his wife lived life to the loudest, but basically, it was the same thing.

      She and her brothers had grown up with laughter, shouts, hugs, more shouts and the knowledge that they were all loved unconditionally.

      Today, though…she could have cheerfully strangled the father she loved so much. Gina’s gaze shifted around the room, picking out the framed family photos sprinkled across every flat surface. There were dozens of her brothers and their families. There were old, sepia prints of grandparents and great-grandparents, too. There were photos of children in Italy, cousins she’d never met. And there were pictures of Gina. With her first horse. As the winning pitcher on her high school softball team. Getting ready for her prom. Her graduation. And in all of the pictures of Gina, she was alone. There was no husband. No kids.

      Just good ol’ Aunt Gina.

      Old maid.

      The Torino clan was big on family. And she was no exception to that rule.

      Gina had always wanted a family of her own. Had always expected that she would be a mother, once the time was right. But in the last couple of years, as she’d watched her brothers’ families grow while she remained alone and single, she’d begun to accept that maybe her life wouldn’t turn out the way she’d always hoped.

      And on that depressing thought, she stopped walking crazily around the room, closed down her racing brain and focused her gaze on the slant of sunlight beaming in through the wide front windows and the dust motes dancing in the still air. The scent of her mother’s sauce spilled from the kitchen and wrapped itself around Gina like a warm hug.

      Sal scowled at his wife, shot his daughter a cautious look and said, “Besides, all of this is wasted effort. You’re angry for nothing, Gina. Adam turned me down.”

      “He did?”

      “Of course he did,” Teresa said, reaching out to give her husband another smack.

      “Hey!” Sal complained.

      “Adam King is not a man to be trifled with this way,” Teresa said, lifting one hand to wag a warning finger. “There is a darkness there….”

      Sal rolled his eyes and even Gina had to stifle a snort. Any man who didn’t like pasta wasn’t to be trusted in Teresa Torino’s world.

      “There’s nothing wrong with Adam,” Sal argued. “He’s a good businessman. He’s steady. He’s wealthy so we don’t need to worry about a man marrying Gina for her money—”

      “Oh,” Gina snapped, feeling the insult jab its way home, “thanks very much for that!”

      “And,” Sal continued before either his wife or his daughter could interrupt again, “he needs a wife.”

      “He had a wife,” Teresa pointed out.

      “She’s dead,” Sal argued.

      “So you sign me up as a pinch hitter?” Gina demanded.

      “It’s not good to be alone,” her father said.

      “God.” Gina slumped onto the arm of the closest sofa and stared at her father. “Did you and Mom rehearse that little ditty? Maybe we should put it to music!”

      “There’s no reason to be smart,” Teresa said.

      “No reason?” Gina slid her gaze to her mother in astonishment. Typical. A minute ago, Teresa had been furious with her husband. But the moment she felt he was the underdog, she jumped onto his side of the debate.

      “Mom, I know Papa meant well, but this is…is…” She stopped and shook her head. “I don’t even have a word for what this is. Beyond the usual. You know…humiliating. Embarrassing. Demeaning.”

      Teresa blew out a breath. “So dramatic.”

      Gina just goggled at her. How did a person argue with parents like this? And why was she still living on this ranch?

      Oh, she wanted to scream. How mortifying was this? She was so pitiful, so unwanted that her father had to try to buy her a husband?

      Her head was pounding and her chest felt tight. Vaguely she heard her mother’s whispered mutterings as she continued her tirade. But Gina couldn’t even think about her parents at the moment.

      What must Adam have thought? Oh, God, she didn’t want to know. Way better to just push that little question right out of her mind. How would she ever face him again? How would she be able to keep that dinner date with him tomorrow night?

      And with that thought, everything inside her stopped.

      He’d turned her father down.

      He wasn’t willing to marry her for the land he wanted so badly. So why, then, had he stepped outside and asked her to dinner? Was this a pity date? Poor little Gina will never get married, why not toss her a bowl of soup and a nice night out?

      No.

      Adam wasn’t the doing-good-deeds kind of guy. She didn’t agree with her mother about the darkness in him, but he also wasn’t the kind of guy who went out of his way for people.

      So what did all of this mean?

      Her headache erupted into migraine territory.

      “So what?” Sal asked. “How long am I going to be in trouble?”

      Gina glared at her father.

      “Long time, I guess,” he muttered.

      “You want me to call and talk to Adam? Explain?” Teresa asked.

      “Good God, no!” Gina hopped up off the arm of the couch. “What am I? In third grade?”

      “Only to help,” her mother soothed. “To tell him that your papa is crazy.”

      “I’m not crazy,” Sal argued.

      “Matter of debate,” Gina said wryly and her father had the grace to flush.

      “I meant no harm,” Sal told her.

      Gina’s heart melted a little. No matter how furious he made her, she’d loved him too long to stay mad forever. “I know that, Papa. But please stay out of my love life.”

      “Yes, yes,” he said.

      When her parents started arguing again, Gina left them to it. She was just too tired to hold up her end of the battle. Walking across the ranch yard, she went straight to her own small house and stepped inside. It was quiet. Empty. She didn’t even have a pet. Since she spent so much time with her horses, it seemed silly to have another animal around.

      She stopped just inside the living room. Her gaze swept quickly around the familiar space but it was as if she were seeing it with new eyes.

      Here, too, just like up at the main house, there were framed photos. Pictures of her nieces and nephews. Laughing kids with gap-toothed smiles. Snapshots of days spent at amusement parks, on the Gypsy horses, eating at her kitchen table. There were drawings taped to the wall, too, each signed by the young artist.

      And there were toys. Some scattered across her coffee table, others in a chest she kept under her front window. Baby dolls and fire trucks. Game Boys and coloring books.

      In a blink, Gina knew that this was the pattern of her life. As it was. As it would always be. She would forever be the favorite aunt. The children she loved would never be her own. And she would no doubt end up an old woman, alone, with a houseful of cats.

      Tears stung the backs of her eyes as she imagined it, the years spilling out in front of her so