Coming Home (Morelli Family 6)

Meg brings over a mimosa and offers it to Willow. Meg looks adorable in a black and white one-piece striped bathing suit, her baby bump popping. Willow is about our age, so she fits right in.

“Oh, none for me, thanks.”

Meg glances at Willow’s flat abdomen.

Willow puts an answering hand across her tummy and nods. “We just found out.”

“Seriously?” Francesca demands, throwing her hands up in the air. “Am I the only woman here who isn’t knocked up?”

“If my mom ever shows up, hopefully she’ll join the not-knocked-up club. This will be super weird otherwise.”

“Like Father of the Bride,” Meg says cheerfully. “We should watch that after we finish at the pool. We’ll take over the media room.” Pointing at me, she says, “Pick a wedding-centric rom-com to follow it up with. Bride Wars? That 27 Dresses movie? You do like James Marsden.”

“Don’t say that too loudly, Mateo will send someone to have a talk with him,” Francesca says, smirking.

I grin, taking a sip of my pink lemonade. “Bride Wars. It’s kind of us, if I had a hot brother to give you.”

“And if you were allowed to have a career,” she says, winking.

“Shh,” I say, shooing her. “Go away.”

“I could totally see you as a nice little school teacher set to marry an intolerant jerkface. Obviously I’m the boss bitch lawyer who gets the good guy.”

“I got an awesome guy, thank you very much.”

“My guy’s like, ‘I’ll be the wind beneath your wings,’ and your guy’s like, ‘bitch, stop having feelings, that’s so annoying.’”

“Mateo would never call me a bitch,” I inform her, raising my eyebrows.

“He would also never let you leave him for my imaginary hot brother. Maybe we can’t relate to rom-coms after all.”

I nod my agreement. “Anne Hathaway probably didn’t have a death necklace.”

“Well, if you ever want out, I figured out the way, it just takes a while. We’ll find him a new model and slowly ease you out once he’s all wrapped up in her.”

“I will stab anyone in the face who even tries it,” I inform her.

“That was my initial plan, but he overruled me,” she says lightly.

“You could never stab me in the face; you love me.”

“No, not the face. I would’ve grabbed a big fistful of hair and plunged the knife right into your chest like a warrior. I would’ve got myself murdered though, so it wasn’t a good idea.”

Willow is staring at us, wide-eyed, trying to figure out if we’re joking or not.

“Anyway.” Meg hands Francesca the mimosa she brought over. “This is your bridal shower and we shouldn’t scare the noob,” she adds, nodding to Willow.

“So, wait…” Willow looks at Meg’s belly, then over at me, a frown of contemplation on her face.

Elise reaches over and pats Willow’s arm, shaking her head. “Don’t try to understand.”

“But—”

“You’ll regret it,” Elise warns her.

“I’m having Mateo’s baby. She’s marrying him,” Meg summarizes.

Willow blinks, glancing between us again. “And you’re friends?”

“Good friends. I am a lover of all women, even the one who is marrying my ex-fiancé. She did me a favor, really. I got the better long-term deal. My babies are adorable and set for life. My baby daddy is Mateo Morelli, so no slimy asshole’s gonna think I’m some poor single mom he can dick around. Mateo gave me my own business, so I can start amassing a fortune of my own. I get all the Morelli mob wife perks and none of the stress that comes with the mob husband. In a couple years, I’ll be shopping for my own trophy spouse.” Indicating me, she says, “She only gets to be a trophy spouse.”

I look out at the sparkling pool in the back yard of the mansion I live in with the sexiest man alive. “Works for me.”

Meg nods, smiling brightly. “We all win.”

Willow still looks a bit skeptical. Elise nods knowingly and leans in to murmur, “I told you they were nuts.”

Finally, Willow shrugs. “Well, whatever works, I suppose. If you and your trophy spouse need any art work, come see me.”

We lounge and chat for a little bit longer before Meg waves toward the arch that leads from the driveway to the side yard where the pool is located. “Hi! You must be Mia’s mom.”

Picking up my lemonade, I sit up and push my legs over the side of my lounger. This is the first time my mom has ever been at the mansion. Mateo isn’t all about visitors, and he’s not all about my mom; consequently, she has never been invited here.

She looks out of place here, like a ten-dollar dress at a high-end boutique. I grimace faintly at the thought. Mateo’s snobbery has rubbed off on me. I wonder if he thought that about me when we first met. I probably wouldn’t want to know what he thought of me when he first met me. I may be his masterpiece now, but I began this journey an out-of-place, cheap lump of clay.