Just Breathe Trilogy Box Set (121 page)

After dinner, Joe and I get up and take a stroll around the building, wanting to stretch our legs from sitting for a while and to get away from the two hundred plus people in attendance. We take turns using a restroom away from the main entrance, wanting to give ourselves some privacy.

When we return to the main lobby area, there are a number of people standing around the silent auction tables, including the
she-devil
. Joe and I entertain ourselves with a random conversation to avoid certain people, but
she
deliberately rushes to get into our line of sight and blocks us from entering the ballroom when we’re approaching the massive doorway.

“Excuse us, Abigail,” Joe requests politely.

“Of course,” she agrees. “But, I was just wondering why you guys haven’t entered the silent auction?”

Did she just seriously ask that question?

“There is a reason why it’s
silent
, Abigail,” Joe instructs sternly.

“I know,” she confirms. “But, you’ve always bid in the past. Did
she
sway you not to? This is all for a good cause.”

Joe just looks at her, not willing to give her the satisfaction of a conversation.

“What about you?” she presses, looking to me before Joe gets the chance to lead us away.

“What about me?” I check.

“Why haven’t you bid anything?” she asks calmly with a hint of fire behind her eyes.

“I don’t see how any of that is your business,” I reply.

“Why not?” Abigail says, raising her voice. “Can you not afford it?”

“Back off, Abigail,” Joe directs.

“It’s okay,
honey
,” I soothe, purposefully accenting my last word to irritate Abigail.

I swear I see Abigail’s eye twitch.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” a man inquires, moving to the left of Abigail.

“Joe and his . . .
friend
. . . didn’t bid on anything, daddy,” Abigail complains.

“Is that true, Joseph?” Abigail’s father searches.

“Not that it’s either of your business, but no. We didn’t,” Joe verifies.

“Why not, my boy? It’s for a good cause. Do one of you have something against helping people with Parkinson’s Disease?” he pushes.

“Not at all,” I reply calmly but sternly. “I have a problem supporting an industry that is about making money and not really helping the people it claims to support.”

“Why would you say such a thing?” Abigail whines. “That’s not true.”

“By law, any non-profit organization is only required to
donate
ten percent of their total collected funds to actually be put toward assisting the so-called disease or the people whom the money is collected for,” I explain.

“Some of the money needs to go to paying the people who are running the organization,” Abigail challenges.

“You mean the remaining ninety percent? It’s the very epitome of a sham. A nonprofit that needs ninety percent of its funding to pay for people’s salaries rather than actually assisting with preventative care let alone actually finding a cure for the disease,” I continue.

“How do you think they’re supposed to operate if they don’t spend some of the money?” Abigail pushes.

“Easy,” I challenge. “It’s called budgeting. In any industry, to turn only a ten percent profit while your overhead is ninety percent is ridiculous except in a few industries such as trucking.”

“Well, those people in the organizations are working really hard to find a cure. At least they care and are trying . . . you aren’t even willing to donate any money,” she throws back.

I hear Joe chuckle as I try to curb my own laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Abigail whines.

“Trust me,” I begin. “There will never be a cure. Not when the medical industry makes trillions of dollars a year. They’re making money off of the very people who are sick and need the assistance, making the sick think that popping a pill in their mouth for the rest of their life is
necessary
or
normal
. There’s a cure . . . there are even preventative measures for illnesses, but the general population won’t hear about them, or if they do, they’ll be told that these so-called natural cures are dangerous when really it’s the drugs that are being pushed on them that are making them sicker.”

Abigail stares at me blankly, clearly unsure of what to say.

“Joseph,” Abigail’s father calls heatedly.

“Yes, Mr. Ward?” Joe replies calmly.

“I strongly recommend that you teach your . . . friend here, manners. This is not how we act in our society.”

“I most certainly will not,” Joe defends. “Emma has my full support to be herself and speak her mind.”

“Excuse me?” Mr. Ward snaps in shock.

“You heard me,” Joe insists. “I know how you choose to live your life and direct your family, but do not think for one moment that that is how my family operates. We may do business together, but I will not alter my behavior, or ask the woman I love and the mother of my child to alter her’s just to appease you. If Emma and I are going to donate anything, it will be with that which we feel most comfortable to do and to the people who need it rather than give money to those who count it, line their pockets and then decide what will become of its bare minimum requirements to the people who need it.”

“How dare you speak to me or my daughter like this, Joseph,” Mr. Ward states. “I think she’s a poor influence on you and your father will hear from me about it.”

Joe smirks and looks to me, “Are you ready to go home, beautiful?”

With a wide smile, I reply, “Of course, handsome.”

Abigail’s expression is hilarious — you can see the gears trying to work to comprehend everything that has been said and not said in our conversation. Her father stands wide-eyed at us. This must be the first time Joe has ever stood up to him and doesn’t know what to make of Joe’s behavior.

Not giving Abigail or her father a chance to reply, Joe and I walk into the ballroom and say our farewell to his family and a few others. Joe briefly mentions the reason to his father, but to everyone else, we inform that I’m not feeling very well and that Joe insists on getting me back to rest.

As we make our way down the steps to where Hunter and several of our other bodyguards wait for us, I lean into Joe and announce, “I am so turned on right now . . . I had the strong urge to do you right there in the lobby.”

Joe laughs.

“You think I’m kidding,” I assume as the car door closes behind us. “Hunter?”

“Yes, Emma?”

“Please put up the privacy window,” I request.

“Yes, miss.”

Right as the window hits the halfway point, I’m hoisting my dress up and straddle Joe. “Another first for me,” I share.

“But . . . doesn’t the go-kart incident count?”

“That wasn’t sex,” I inform. “That was just having you rub me off. So, no . . . it doesn’t count.”

“Mmmmm,” Joe hums into my mouth as we kiss. “Another first for us then.”

Two days later, speculations about me being pregnant are in the news — I would most likely surmise that it’s Abigail’s way to get even and her way to weasel in-between Joe’s and my relationship. Little does Abigail know that I don’t feel threatened by her or her attempts in away — rather I harbor a small bit of empathy for her. The media and Abigail can say whatever they want, I honestly don’t care at this point since I’m so happy. Each time we’re seen in public, paparazzi are close by, trying to snag photos of Joe, me and my belly — it’s quite comical with what they say and how they’re alluding to the pregnancy with a bulge in my outfit. I wouldn’t doubt that they’ll use Photoshop soon before I even have a bump.

“When did you want to start taking care of things with your parent’s home?” Joe asks.

“While we’re here,” I remind.

Before we came to New York for Easter, I told Joe that since using Dr. Cahallan’s techniques, I’ve been feeling good about wanting to begin taking care of my parents’ home. I made sure to mention my desire to Mr. and Mrs. Nelson when we saw them a few days ago.

“Mrs. Nelson is still looking for the lawyer’s card,” I inform. “She said if she couldn’t find it that she would get the information from the people who clean it this week.”

“Okay,” Joe replies. “You sure you’re up for it? You know . . . with the pregnancy and all?”

“I’ll be fine,” I soothe. “I’ve got the tapping stuff in my purse for when I do go and . . . I’ve got you.”

Joe pulls me closer to him when he passes by in his walk-in closet. “You’ve got me for life,” he reminds. “You can’t get rid of me now, beautiful . . . not with this little Covelli in here.” His hands caress my belly.

“I know . . . and, you mean little Peterson,” I joke, sliding my hand over his.

Joe gives me a glare. “Covelli . . . regardless if you marry me. He . . . she . . . will be a Covelli.”

“Maybe,” I tease.

“Definitely,” he confirms with resolve and a kiss. “What are the plans for today?”

“I don’t know,” I reply. “You’re mom wanted me to come over this morning, and then we’re having lunch with the girls.”

Joe groans.

“What’s wrong?” I say. “Don’t like having to share me?”

“No,” he confirms, pressing me against the storage unit that is in the middle of his closet as he kisses me.

“You’ve got a meeting. You won’t even be around for a few hours. Besides, you’re going to have to get used to that,” I tease. “This little guy . . . or little girl . . . is going to be very demanding of my attention.”

“I know,” Joe sighs.

“These,” I say, lifting my breasts. “You’ll have to share too.”

Joe pouts. “Only for a little while,” he states. “Then, they’re all mine again.”

“What if we have more than one?” I say.

“So, you want more than one now?” he laughs.

“I didn’t say that,” I challenge.

“I don’t mind sharing if you’re open to the idea of more,” Joe says persuasively.

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it,” I challenge.

“Maybe I
should
ask you to marry me,” Joe says suddenly. “Sooner than later.”

“What?” I gasp in surprise at his casualness.

“If you’re considering more,” Joe returns, kissing me. “Then, that must me you
do
want to marry me.”

I don’t reply.

“We should get going,” Joe says, changing the subject after looking at his watch. “Dad and I need to get to the meeting . . . and the sooner the meeting happens, the sooner I get back to you.”

“Sounds good, handsome,” I answer.

“Handsome?” Joe repeats. “That’s the second time you’ve called me handsome. I think I really like that one.”

“Oh, you do, Mr. Covelli?” I muse.

“God, even when you say my name like that, it’s sexy,” Joe comments, pressing his erection into me more.

“Tick tock,” I reply.

Joe kisses me. “Say it again,” he requests.

“Tick . . . .”

“No,” he says, cutting me off. “The other thing.”

“Mr. Covelli,” I repeat in my own sexy voice.

Joe’s body physically shivers for a second. “God, the littlest things you say or do turns me on, beautiful.”

“Really?” I check, sliding my fingers up his leg.

“Really,” he confirms. “You could read a whole business report with that voice and I’d probably cum in my pants.”

“Really?” I muse, trying hard not to laugh. “I’d like to see that.”

“Tonight?” Joe investigates.

“It’s a date,” I confirm.

“And here I used to have to fight to get you to go on a date with me,” Joe teases.

“Ha ha,” I reply.

Twenty minutes later, Joe, Sadie, Anna and I are exiting the elevator to his parents’ house onto the main floor. Anna leaves us after hanging my jacket in the closet, making her way toward the kitchen to see what assistance the other maids may need. Joe, Sadie and I head into the sitting room to wait for his parents.

Before we sit down, Mrs. Covelli appears from around the corner, beaming with happiness. “Good morning,” she greets cheerfully, hugging and kissing us both.

“Good morning,” Joe and I return in unison.

“How are you feeling?” Mrs. Covelli asks me.

“Good, thank you,” I reply.

Mrs. Covelli’s hands gently pat my belly. “And, the baby?”

“Good,” Joe chuckles. “Nothing’s changed since two days ago, mother.”

“Well, can you blame me?” she replies. “I have another grand-baby on the way. I’m so excited and happy for the both of you.”

“Ah, there you are,” Mr. Covelli comments as he enters the room.

“Father,” Joe greets.

“John,” I say. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You as well, my dear,” Mr. Covelli replies, hugging me. “How are you two and my grand-baby?”

“Good,” I laugh.

“Wonderful,” John answers. “I hate to dash off, but Joseph and I really must leave for our meeting. There are a few things we need to discuss with the team prior.”

“That’s fine, darling,” Mrs. Covelli accepts. “The two of us have lots to do and talk about before our lunch with the girls.”

“Watch out for this one, Emma,” Mr. Covelli comments with a grin. “Before the end of the day, she and the girls will have you registered for everything you’ll need and more for the baby . . . and that’s just for while you and Joe are visiting here on the East Coast.”

“What?” I question half joking and excited by the idea.

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Covelli defends. “Before they leave to go back to California, yes . . . but, not before the end of the day. There’s too much to do for it all to be done in a day.”

“Alright, my love,” Mr. Covelli says with a hint of disbelief and playfulness in his tone.

“You boys go,” Mrs. Covelli shoos. “I’ve got the family photos and Joe’s baby pictures to show Emma.”

“What?” Joe asks nervously.

I can’t help but laugh.

“Oh, hush,” Mrs. Covelli directs. “She needs to know how cute our grand-baby is going to be . . . just like his daddy, no doubt.”

“Mother,” Joe pleas.

“Don’t,” she commands. “It will be done. Now, say your goodbyes and be on your way.”

“Your mother did it with John, Daniel and David,” Mr. Covelli whispers to Joe, but loud enough to be heard by me and Mrs. Covelli. “It’s best not to fight her on this. You won’t win. Trust me.”

“That’s right,” Mrs. Covelli confirms with a confident expression.

Joe leaves hesitantly with his father as Mrs. Covelli leads me over to the living room. Anna brings us a tray of tea and fruit after we get settled at the couch.

“Is this all of them?” Mrs. Covelli inquires, glancing down at the photo albums.

I count six of them.

“No, Mrs. Covelli,” Mary replies. “There are ten more that I couldn’t carry on the first trip. I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you, Mary,” Mrs. Covelli says as Mary is already halfway to the door.

Sixteen — there are sixteen photo books? Holy crap.

“Well,” Mrs. Covelli says. “Let’s get started, shall we? The girls will be coming around one for lunch, so we should be able to get through maybe half of these.”

I take a deep breath and nod.

After a whole hour, Mrs. Covelli and I have just started the second book — they’re thicker than most photo albums. I understand why she believes that we won’t see them all — especially since she has a story to tell me for practically each photo. Each picture of Joe is adorable — I swear they get cuter by page. The first book we looked at was Joe’s first year and each album after that is different with a mixture of photos of all the Covelli men. As we get to the middle of the second book, Joe’s age has only gone from newborn, in the first book, to the age of two in the current one we’re enjoying. By the time we start the next album, I excuse myself to use the restroom after having three cups of tea. When I return, Mrs. Covelli picks back up right where she left off with her stories.

By eleven thirty, Anna has brought us some more snacks and we’re just about to crack open the fifth book. Mrs. Covelli proceeds right back into her storytelling and Anna takes Sadie out for a walk. By the time Anna and Sadie return, Mrs. Covelli and I have only reached the middle of the book and Joe has texted twice, checking in to make sure his mother hasn’t scared me off yet.

“Mrs. Covelli,” Mary calls as she enters the room.

“Yes, what is it, Mary?” she replies.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt you, ladies,” Mary begins, “but, there has been a discrepancy with the fabric you purchased for the curtains in your office. Should I bring them to you or . . . ?”

“No, no. Thank you, Mary,” Mrs. Covelli replies. “I’ll be right there.”

“Yes, Mrs. Covelli,” Mary returns and then exits the room.

“I’ll hopefully just be a few moments, dear,” Mrs. Covelli says. “Keep looking and I’ll pick right back up when I get back.”

“Sounds wonderful, Elaine,” I answer.

Taking my hand in her’s, Mrs. Covelli looks at me lovingly, like she’s trying to figure out what to say and how to say it. “I know that the relationship between you and Joe is new . . . well, kind of new.” She smiles softly to herself. “Regardless of when it all happened . . . I want you to know that this child is a blessing, not only for the two of you, but also for this family. I’m proud of both of you and how you are handling this.”

“Thank you,” I graciously accept, fighting the oncoming tears.

“With that said,” she continues. “I want you to know that you and your baby will always have a place in this family.”

Shit, here come the tears — now I understand why Maggie gets so emotional.

“And, whether you marry him or not . . . which we all hope you do . . .” she winks at me, “. . . I hope that one day you can see us as your family,” she adds. “You are our family . . . we are tied by that beautiful baby growing inside you. You are a part of this family just as much as my other daughters-in-law.”

“Thank you,” I choke.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Covelli returns, holding me. “Not to be pushy, but I wouldn’t mind if you marry Joe sooner than later.”

I nervously giggle as a part of me hopes that Joe will ask.

“And, I’d wouldn’t mind if you’re able to call me mom . . . not right away . . . but, maybe sometime in the future.” She pats the top of my hand.

I can’t help but smile my appreciation.

We each take a moment to compose ourselves, using tissues that Anna has offered to dab our eyes dry. Mrs. Covelli leaves me in the living room a few seconds later and Anna is quick to make sure I don’t need anything else before she continues helping the staff.

“I’m good, thank you, Anna.”

Anna smiles and nods before exiting the room.

I take another sip of the tea to calm my nerves before turning the next page of the photo album. My fingers trace over each photo of Joe, finding myself memorized by how blue his eyes were even when he was young — they have the same sparkle in them today.

After a few more pages are flipped, my eyes become glued to one particular picture — one of Joe and a little girl who must be one of his cousins. An odd feeling, like that of déjà vu, suddenly hits me, taking the wind right out of my lungs. I force my eyes closed, holding them tight for several seconds before opening them again. The familiarity of the photo remains as warm, happy feelings rise inside me as well as confusion.

It isn’t until I’m descending the steps to the subway a few blocks south of the Covelli home that I realize that my subconscious is on a mission, directing my body to something unknown. As if I haven’t left the East Coast and have been doing it for years, I pay the fare and hop on the next train. I sit, staring at the floor as my mind wanders to childhood memories.

Flickering images flood my thoughts in pieces that could only be from a dream, like a movie skipping through a few different scenes that don’t make any sense. The familiar sound of a young boy’s voice echoes in my head as he calls my name, laughing as he runs away from me. My vision is fuzzy as the sunlight dances before me. The boy’s face is blurry, but I can see a smile on his face as he giggles, reaching back for me to follow him. In the next moment, we’re bobbing along like buoys in water before we’re climbing aboard a boat. Other people are there too, but I can’t make out their faces either. Love, happiness and ease swirl inside me as if I’ve known them all my life.

Next, were on a beach playing in the sand as my mother sits close by, reading a book. Then, one of the older boys is spinning me around in the air with my feet dangling as he holds me under my arms. We’re laughing as my head spins each time the other boy passes into view, who’s being spun at the same time.

“Excuse me, miss?” a gentleman calls.

“Hmm?” I answer.

“You might want to put a leash on her,” he informs. “I don’t mind, but if the cops see her without a leash, they’ll ticket you.”

“What?” I look down and find Sadie sitting, facing me. “Oh, thank you.”

Once Sadie’s leash is on, my mind drifts back again to memories. More images reveal themselves and I’m surprised that I’m remembering them at this moment. Visions of the night sky and lights flickering all round us pop into view and we’re suddenly on a Ferris wheel, laughing. Then, we’re playing in the sand, covering up another boy at the beach from neck to toe. Flashes of us riding our bikes through business streets and quiet alleyways as we seek our next adventure. Night falls upon us again and there’s music, mostly rhythm, thumping as we watch dancers twirl fire around their bodies before tossing it into the sky, catching it.