The New Rule: (The Casual Rule 2) (38 page)

All my Love, Kitty.

Ben tilts his head and chuckles softly. “Damn.”

“She knew. She knew we’d end up together. She told me I was your once in a lifetime love.” I smile, peeking over at the well-read book on the bed.

“She was right about that,” he says, running his finger down my neck and across my collarbone. He reaches over to take the danish out of my hand when we both realize I finished it. I shrug apologetically. He rolls his eyes.

“She wants me to read this to our children. You do want children, don’t you? I assumed you did… with the way you were with Emma, but we never really talked about it,” I ask.

“I didn’t before I met you, but I love your big family. I want that for us. Our own family. A little bit of me and a little more of you.”

“You do?” I grin.

“I’d like some time just you and me, but somewhere down the road, yes. It’ll be fun. I’ll teach our son about coins.”

“Our son? So you’ve really given this some thought. Have you come up with a name for him?”

“I’d like to keep with tradition and honor my grandfather.”

“Leonard?” I squirm uncomfortably in the bed.

I’m going to hear the pitter-patter of a little coin collector’s feet named Leonard?

“I know you don’t like that name.”

“That’s not true,” I lie; my nose is probably growing with each word spoken.

“Julia, I saw you cringe every time my grandmother called me by it.”
Dammit, he doesn’t miss a thing.
“We can call him by his middle name. Any suggestions?”

“I’d love to name him after my dad.”

“Leonard Frank?”

“Frank isn’t his real name.”

“He goes by his middle name like I do? I didn’t know that. What’s his first name?”

“Oh, he doesn’t have a middle name. His real name is Joseph.”

Ben frowns. “Joseph? Why does everyone call him Frank?”

“When he was growing up, his family was full of Josephs. Grandfather, uncles, cousins… it was a House of Joes. Half the neighborhood was named either Joseph or Anthony. It got confusing when someone called out the name. Everyone answered and nothing got done. So I guess my grandparents picked a name out of the air.”

“And picking a random name, that has no association with the person, isn’t confusing?”

I shrug. “It worked.”

“Leonard Joseph… we’ll call him Joe. I like that.”

“Me too. What if he’s a she?” I ask.

“I’d like to name her after my grandmother.”

“Kitty? No disrespect—but if we name our daughter ‘Kitty’, we’ve condemned her to a life on the stripper pole.”

“Kitty is her nickname. Her birth name is Katherine. I thought you knew.”

“Katherine? That’s pretty. Middle name ‘Rose’ after my mom?”

“Katherine Rose Martin. Yes, I like that.”

I look at Ben and smile wide.

“What are you smiling about?” he asks, smiling back.

“Us. Look at us. We’re getting married. We’re talking about kids.”

“I thought we could move to the Central Park apartment. It’s bigger than this place. It has three bedrooms. We own it; we might as well use it.”

“You own it, I’m just mooching.”

He frowns. “
We
own it. What’s mine is yours.”

I nod, my stomach drops and I look down at my Box o’ Wedding.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I lie, biting my thumbnail.

“If you don’t want to live there, we’ll live someplace else. We can stay here… anywhere you want.”

“No, it’s not that. That apartment is beautiful.”

“So what’s bothering you?” he asks, frowning.

Here’s a touchy subject we’ve never discussed. Money.

“I guess you’ll want a prenup?” I ask.

“Why do you think that?”

“Ben, I know we don’t talk about it, but you obviously have a lot more in the bank than I do. I live paycheck to paycheck. You have your own money, inheritances, and an apartment overlooking Central Park.”

“You forgot investments. I have an extremely impressive financial portfolio,” he says, amused. “I still am a licensed broker. I’ve told you, I’m excellent at it. Don’t forget the coin collection. There are quite a few rare coins. They’re worth a small fortune.”

“Are you teasing me?”

“Yes… I’m sorry. Look, Julia, I don’t care about who has what coming into our marriage. I meant what I said. What’s mine is yours. I want to share everything with you. It’s ours. I don’t want a prenup. I want to get married and grow old together. And have a lot of sex with you in between the two.”

I take his hand and kiss the back of it.

“Maybe
I
want a prenup. Keep your grubby hands off my hundreds.” I smirk, raising a brow.

He laughs. “I’ll sign it.”

I smile and caress his cheek. “I’m so glad I found you, Ben Martin.”

“So am I,” he says, smiling back at me.

“Who would have thought a dare in Central Park would bring us here?”

“I’m glad you took that dare.”

“I’m glad you redeemed your arrogant ass-ness.” I smirk, lifting a brow.

“I had to get you to fall in love with me to stop you from picking up strangers in Central Park.”

“I was
not
trying to pick you up,” I insist.

“That’s what you claim.”

“That’s what I know. I take it back… you’re still an arrogant ass.”

“Maybe, but you love this arrogant ass.”

“I do.”

Bonus Chapter

Rewind: Chapters 23 & 24.

Behind the scenes.

“Okay, Martin. It’s Showtime,” I tell the eyes staring back at me in my rearview mirror.

I get out of my SUV and look intently at the house in front of me. Fuck. This is more nerve-wracking than I thought it would be; like I’m making a first impression on someone I’ve already met.

Taking a deep breath, I press the doorbell. Less than three seconds later the door swings open to a friendly face.

“Ben!” Rose exclaims, opening the screen door wide. “Come in, come in.”

I laugh to myself at Rose’s enthusiasm. She knew I was coming. I called yesterday. There’s no doubt I have Rose on my side. I’m going to keep that information in my pocket in case I need backup.

“Hello, Rose. It’s good to see you.” I walk in and kiss her cheek.

“What’s this little peck? Come here.” She wraps her arms around me until I’m at her mercy in the mother-of-all bear hugs.

Once she lets go, she stares at me with a grin a mile wide. There’s no pretending why I’m here. I’m sure the second after I called and told her I wanted to speak with Frank, she was already planning the wedding menu.

That’s if Julia says yes. After all the shit I put her through, I’m not so sure she will. I may be pushing my luck. She looked happy when I gave her a key to my apartment this morning. I only did that to throw her off. She thinks that’s my way of proving my commitment. She has no idea how committed I am.

“Did you eat?” Rose asks.

“Yes, before I left the city,” I tell her.

“Okay, I’ll make you something,” she says, ignoring what I just told her. “Frank is in the backyard waiting for you. You men have a nice ‘talk’,” she practically sings while exaggerating a sly wink.

If Frank is a quarter as enthusiastic as Rose is, this should be a breeze.

I walk through the kitchen and catch a glimpse of Frank through the sliding glass doors. He’s sitting in an Adirondack chair and smoking a cigar. I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly, amused at myself over my nervousness.

Sliding the glass door open; I join him on the patio.

“Frank, good to see you again,” I say, extending my hand out to him.

“Ben.” He shakes my hand with a firm grip, never standing, and waves his hand toward the Adirondack chair across from him, gesturing for me to sit. “Cigar?” he asks.

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

He leans back in his chair, exhaling a puff of smoke. The wind carries the smoke over to me. I’m as good as smoking a cigar without the effort. I’m not about to piss off the old man and ask him to puff in a different direction, so I suck it up.

Literally.

We’re both momentarily distracted by the sound of the kitchen window sliding open.

“Don’t mind me. Just getting a little fresh air,” Rose lies.

Clearly, Rose plans on eavesdropping. No wondering where Julia got her nosey nature. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

There’s an uncomfortable pause. He’s doing this on purpose to knock me off balance. Impressive, Frank.

“You find yourself in a bit of a predicament. Don’t you, son?” he asks, leaning forward while puffing on his cigar.

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir?” He raises a brow. “So formal. I was ‘Frank’ a minute ago. A little nervous about something?”

I let out an anxious chuckle. “You can say that.”

“You want to tell me something, but you’re conflicted.”

“Yes.” I nod in agreement.

“My daughter is a very independent young woman. She may think your question to me is old fashioned or maybe sexist. She’s not property. Etcetera, etcetera.” He waves the hand holding the cigar dismissively.

“Yes.” I’m relieved he gets it.

“So you’re not asking my permission for anything.”

“No. Julia’s answer is the only one that matters.”

“But we both know deep down she’s traditional and would appreciate we had this conversation… and that you showed her father some respect.”

“I’m trying to cover all the bases,” I say, wringing my hands together.

“My opinion is important to you, too.”

“Yes. I know having you on board would be important to her.”

He leans back in his chair, taking another puff of his cigar with a wicked smile.

“I have a few questions,” he says, a hint of humor in his voice.

“I thought you might.” I straighten up and square my shoulders, readying myself for the interrogation to begin. I’ve been going over this conversation in my head for a week. I wrote notes to answers on what my intentions were to his daughter and every other father of the bride question I could think of.

I take a quick glance to my side and see Rose staring out the kitchen window. She catches me looking at her, gives me a thumbs up, and disappears out of view.

“Let’s say in the future you were to have children with my daughter. Hypothetically, of course. What baseball team would they root for?” he asks.

Interesting question. I thought he was about to ask what religion we’d raise our kids. Certainly not what I expected. I roll with it. He knows I’m a Yankees fan. But I know he’s a diehard Mets fan. Frank just threw me a softball question. I’ll take it.

“Mets. Orange and Blue all the way.” If I answered with any other team, he’d crush the lit end of that cigar on my forehead.

He nods, taking another quick puff. I watch the ash hanging off his cigar and wonder what’s coming up next. He’s fucking with me and I have no choice but to take it. Now I know where Julia gets it.

“Football team?”

Shit. We’ve never talked football. Think, Martin, think. He’s a loyal New York sports fan. It has to be the Jets or Giants. At the arcade last Memorial Day, Julia mentioned he had thousands of those crappy foam Jets footballs I saw in a crane game.

“Jets,” I answer confidently.

He nods then leans forward narrowing his eyes.

“Sauce…” he pauses then smirks. “Or gravy?”

The old bastard is enjoying the hell out of this. This has been a long argued debate among Italians. Think. Think.

Memorial Day weekend, Rose offered to make Sunday dinner. Sauce! She called it sauce.

I lean back, rubbing my index finger under my lip. “Sauce,” I say with a satisfied smirk.

He nods, taking a few quick puffs.

My cell pings. I slide the phone out of my pocket and see a message from Julia.

“I’m sorry, I have to answer this. It’s Julia. I don’t want her to get suspicious.”

“By all means,” he says, nodding. No doubt he’s glad he has a little extra time to devise more ways to torture me.

*Hey handsome. What are you up to?*

*In meeting with tough negotiator.*

Tough negotiator is a nice way of saying your father is a ball buster.

*Use the Martin charm. Trust me… it works on men and women.*

I laugh to myself. I’ve come to realize there’s nothing that’s going to charm Frank Conti.

*Don’t think it’ll work on this guy. Emilio’s for dinner?*

*Perfect. See you later.*

I stare at the text for a quick moment. If everything goes according to plan, in a few hours she’ll be my fiancée. It’s mind-blowing. But everything about it feels right.

I slip my cell back into my pocket. “Sorry about that.”

“Not a problem,” he says casually. “Elvis or Sinatra?”

So much for softballs… now he’s playing hardball. How the fuck should I know if he likes Sinatra or Elvis? The obvious choice is Sinatra, but this could be a trick question. I have to hand it to him; Frank Conti is a sadistic S.O.B. My balls have been in a vice-grip ever since twenty questions began.

I look up to the sky briefly and think back to every conversation I’ve had with every member of the Conti family. There has to be a point of reference. Think. Fucking think.

Then it comes to me. Julia once referred to three pictures, grouped together in her parents’ bedroom. She called it the Holy Trinity:

The Pope, JFK, and Sinatra.

A satisfied smile curls from my lips. I sit up straight, shoulders squared, confident in my answer. “Sinatra.”

“You pay attention. I like that. Do I intimidate you?”

“Right now… yes,” I say with a half-laugh.

He nods, satisfied with my answer. His demeanor suddenly changes and his expression softens. He places the cigar down in a small tin ashtray sitting on the concrete patio next to his chair.

“Why do you want to marry my daughter?” he asks softly.

The tone of his voice moves me. He’s stopped ball busting. This is a man who needs to hear an honest answer. And that’s exactly what I’m going to give him.

 “She brings out the best in me. I don’t know how I got so lucky… but through some miracle, she chose me. I want to make her happy for the rest of my life.” I look down, a lump forming in my throat, then back up to him. “Frank… I love her.”