Her Fill-In Fiancé. Stacy Connelly
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just don’t get it.” Her cousin sucked in a quick breath, then hesitated as if debating what she wanted to say next. “You’re not hoping that he’ll, I don’t know, have some crazy explanation and that you guys can pick up where you left off—”
“No! Of course not. Nothing he could say would make a bit of difference,” she insisted. She hit the button on her keychain remote, the beep of the alarm sounding the exclamation point on her statement.
“Okay. Good.” Theresa gave a sigh of relief. “Because that’s pretty much what I told him when he called.”
“He called?” Sophia demanded, hating the way her heartbeat quickened at the thought. “When?” She slid into the driver’s seat, her legs suddenly weak.
After he left St. Louis, Jake had left a few messages. Sophia ignored the calls and they quickly stopped, convincing her she’d done the right thing in refusing to hear out his vague promise of an explanation.
“Yesterday … and maybe a couple of times before that.”
“What do you mean, a couple of times?” Sophia asked suspiciously.
“You said you didn’t want to talk to him.”
“So you didn’t bother telling me he called?”
“Would you have called him back?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know. But you didn’t have the right to make that decision for me, Theresa.”
“I was trying to look out for you. If you didn’t want to talk to him—”
“Not the point,” Sophia argued. “And by the way, you’re really starting to sound like my brothers.”
“That’s not fair.”
Probably not, but this close to home, she was already on the defensive. Despite her poor choices in the present and the past, she needed to prove that she could take care of herself … and the baby she carried.
Taking a breath, she said, “I’m sorry. But if he calls again, let me know, okay? Even if I have no intention of returning his call,” she added quickly, then wondered which of them she was trying to convince.
She had no reason to call Jake back. Everything about their relationship had been a lie. So why did she still miss him so much? Why did she still long to hear the sound of his voice?
Because she was an even bigger fool than she wanted to admit, that was why! Big enough of a fool that she’d daydreamed about how her trip home would be easier with Jake by her side. How his thoughtfulness and charm would impress her mother…. How his wry sense of humor would win over her father…. How his confidence and strength could withstand whatever her sometimes obnoxious, oftentimes macho brothers might throw at him….
“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a big family,” he’d told her after listening to one of her childhood memories.
“I’d be happy to share mine,” she’d answered, her words not entirely a joke because she’d fooled herself into believing there’d been a yearning hidden in his eyes that might make the impossible possible.
Her cheeks burned with the memory, but anger served its purpose, withering the unwanted seeds of hope that blossomed inside her simply because he’d called a few times.
“All right. I’ll let you know if he calls again,” her cousin said, grudgingly enough to tell Sophia her feelings were still hurt. “I have to work tonight, but leave me a message when you get to Clearville.”
As she dropped her phone back in her purse, Sophia admitted she really shouldn’t have jumped on Theresa for keeping secrets. Not when she had so many of her own.
And certainly not when she wasn’t planning to come clean on all of them. Oh, she’d tell her family about losing her job in Chicago. And of course, she would tell them about the pregnancy. But about Jake—the truth about Jake Cameron was one secret Sophia planned on keeping.
Yes, he was a liar and a total jerk. But that didn’t really matter.
All that mattered was that her aunt had met Jake. She thought he was a nice guy. So who did it hurt if her family believed they were still dating? If her family thought, maybe, they were even falling in love? Was it really so bad of her to want to have one bright spot to point to? A single light at the end of the tunnel?
No one needed to know she’d already been run over by the train.
After the long, drawn-out days of traveling—Theresa had been right to accuse her of dragging her feet—Sophia should have been eager to have the trip behind her. She should have been grateful to escape her tiny cramped car; she should have longed for a half-hour soak in a tub instead of a five-minute shower with limited heat and water pressure; she should have been looking forward to spending the night in a comfortable, familiar bed.
She would find all of that at her parents’ house, and yet she dreaded seeing her family, fielding all their questions and admitting to a truth that made her feel so, so stupid.
It would have been bad enough if she were the only one affected, but she wasn’t. The child she carried would have to live with it as well, and the questions she dreaded her family asking would be nothing compared to those her child might ask six or seven years down the road.
So maybe she could use this trip as something of a test drive, a practice run long before she had to tell her child.
Pulling up to her parents’ sprawling white-sided farmhouse with its green shutters and wraparound front porch, Sophia cut the engine and took a deep breath. The house showed signs of a facelift. Nothing dramatic, but Sophia could see the paint was new, the old wrought iron railing had been replaced by a white wooden picket fence, and the stairs leading to the porch no longer sagged in the middle. Terra cotta flower pots filled with petunias, snapdragons and vinca lined the steps in welcome, and the huge, green lawn stretched out on either side of the house before giving way to uncultivated wilderness.
She could think of dozens of descriptions, but only one word came to mind.
Home.
“Here we go, baby.”
She patted her tummy, then grabbed her purse and climbed from the car, leaving her suitcases behind in the trunk. Big, burly brothers were good for a few things, after all. And Sophia didn’t doubt her brothers would be at the house. Sunday night dinners were legendary in the Pirelli household. Her mother always made enough food to feed an army. And over the years, between her brothers’ friends, girlfriends and later, at least in Nick’s case, family, an army of guests had frequently shown up, often out of the blue.
And Vanessa Pirelli always greeted her guests—expected or not—with a smile and a homemade meal.
“Spaghetti,” Sophia whispered as she walked toward the front door. “Please be having spaghetti.”
Not only because she’d missed her mother’s spaghetti, unable to imitate the handed-down family recipe no matter how many times she tried, but because the meal was her brothers’ favorite. Her mother often joked that a bomb could go off, and none of them would drop a fork.
Sophia hoped her mother was right, and she could drop a couple of her bombs without her brothers going ballistic. Sam, any chance you’ll save some meatballs for the rest of us … and oh, by the way, I was fired from my job. Drew, pass the milk, will you? I’m supposed to get more calcium, being pregnant and all.
And her parents … she could already imagine the disappointment in their eyes.
Her insides churning, her steps had slowed to a shuffle as she crossed the porch. The hoped-for aroma of simmering tomato sauce and garlic bread didn’t immediately tease her senses as she opened the front door and stepped inside. Sophia sniffed, but she couldn’t smell anything cooking at all. Nor did she hear the usual sounds of a Pirelli dinner, the clink of glasses, the scrape of silverware against