Page 40 of Captive Heart: Armani
“No. But…you can brush him if you want,” I say hesitantly, still wildly suspicious.
“Perfect. I’ll do that while you get ready to go.”
He spins on his heel and I practically have to chase after him as he jogs upstairs.
“Wait, are you serious? You really want to go look at paint colors?” I ask once we’re in our room.
“Of course. I thought we’d redo the guest room next to ours. Maybe knock out part of the wall in the sitting room in here and add an adjoining door to the nursery. What do you think?”
“I think…” I think I’m floored. Practically speechless. This is not the Armani Bellanti I know. “I mean, are you sure? Isn’t it a little soon?”
What I don’t add is that Armani made it very clear that he intends to divorce me in a few months, so I don’t see the point in setting up a nursery here at Casa Bellanti when the baby will be living with me at my new apartment, wherever that ends up being.
“Too soon? Come on, Candi, what kind of question is that? We have a baby on the way and they’re going to need a room. Might as well get a head start on it,” Armani says.
My heart flutters.We have a baby on the way.I think it’s the first time he’s brought up the pregnancy on his own.
“Then…I guess I think that sounds amazing,” I say, still hardly believing my ears.
“Good. Just show me where the cat brush is and I’ll be ready when you are.”
After a brief search for Mr. Sprinkles, I leave Armani with the brush and then dig through the closet for something cute but not too fussy. As I hurry to switch out my sweatpants and T-shirt for dark jeans and a heather green cashmere sweater with short sleeves, I try to come up with explanations for Armani’s bizarre behavior this morning. What is he playing at? And why?
Is it possible he’s having second thoughts about the divorce? Did the ultrasound have a delayed effect on him, maybe triggering some hidden paternal instincts? Or did his brothers gang up on him and give him a good talking-to about what marriage and family are supposed to mean? But no…Marco and I get along well enough, but Dante has been wary of me ever since he first found out I was a Bruno spy. He wouldn’t go to bat for me. Maybe Frankie or Karina intervened on my behalf? That seems more likely, but I doubt Armani would let himself be so easily swayed by his sisters-in-law. So then what the hell is going on?
I slip into a pair of leather sandals and then walk back out to the sitting room, only to do a double take at the scene before me. On the couch, Mr. Sprinkles is curled up on Armani’s lap, purring like a little outboard motor as Armani slowly trails the brush from the cat’s head all the way down to the tip of his tail. Over and over again, all the while telling Mr. Sprinkles that he’s being a very good boy. All I can do is stand there with my jaw on the floor.
Did my husband slip and hit his head in the shower? In what world is Armani cradling my emotionally needy white fluffball on his lap—while wearing a Tom Ford suit, no less—and whispering sweet nothings to him at the same time he’s brushing him?
He’s being so tender and sweet with my cat that I can’t look away. Because, yes. I’m melting. Will he be this gentle and attentive with our baby? I imagine him cradling a swaddled infant in his arms, cooing softly, pacing back and forth like he always does—except this time, instead of pacing from anger or stress, Armani will be pacing to soothe our baby.
“Ready to go?” he asks, snapping me out of my daydream.
I nod.
He smiles—another shocker—and sets the brush down. Then he gathers Mr. Sprinkles against his chest, rises from the couch, and crosses the room to set the cat gently on the cat tree as if he’s done it a hundred times. My chest is aching with warmth.
But as we make our way downstairs, I remind myself that Armani is very good at toying with my feelings. He’s a master manipulator. So whatever this is that’s gotten into him, genuine or not, I have to be on my guard. I have to remember who the real Armani is, and not just see the one I so desperately want to see.
Once we get into Armani’s SUV, he starts the car and then looks over at me. My heart races at the hunger in his gaze. Leaning closer, he kisses me softly, searchingly, until I’m breathless…leaving me extremely turned on, and extremely confused.
“Thought we’d try Paint Works on Jefferson,” he says as we pull out of the driveway. “They have the widest range of options and a full line of Benjamin Moore. Frankie said that’s where they got their swatches for the nursery.”
I shake my head. Who is this man?
My voice is a wisp as I say, “Sounds perfect.”
Reaching into his jacket pocket, he digs out a folded piece of notebook paper and passes it over, prompting a curious side-eye from me.
“What is it?” I ask, almost afraid to find out.
“Look it over and let me know if you like any of them.”
Holding my breath, I unfold the paper. My stomach fills with butterflies. Closing my eyes, I give myself a second. This was the last thing I ever expected him to do.
“You…Armani. You wrote down a list of baby names?”
His grin is full of pride.
