Call Me Crazy (Bellamy Creek, #3)

by Melanie Harlow

“What?” she said, growing self-conscious under my stare. She touched her hair. “Why are you looking at me like that?” “I’m wondering what your parents fed you that stunted your growth.” Her crimson lips pursed and she sat up taller. “I am average height, thank you very much.” “Average for what, a chipmunk?”

“Thank you. So can we be friends now?” “I suppose we can try,” I said, “although I still don’t understand why you were so stuck-up back then, always too good to talk to me.” “I wasn’t stuck-up, Enzo, I was shy!” she exclaimed, like I should have known.

“I’m talking about the fact that you need a wife to get what you want. I’m willing to be that wife—temporarily, and under the strictest of conditions—if you’ll agree to give me what I want.” I shook my head. “Oh, no. No fucking way. I see what you’re doing here. I’m not paying you to fake being my wife.” Bianca rolled her eyes. “Give me a break, Enzo. I don’t want your money. Nor do I need it.” “Then I don’t understand,” I said, feeling—once again—completely baffled by a woman. “What could you possibly want that I could give you?” The smile that crept over those hellfire lips should have been a warning. “A baby.”

“I know, but . . .” Cole shook his head. “Marrying Bianca? That’s fucking nuts. You can’t stand her.” “It’s only temporary. And besides, she’s growing on me—slightly,” I clarified, taking a sip from my beer.

“This is just so weird. You guys do nothing but bicker and poke at each other when you’re in the same room.” “We’re working on that,” I said, although it wasn’t really true. “And she apologized for the thing she said about my dick being small.” “Well, I guess that’s all that matters,” Cole said, laughing.

I love Enzo hahaha

“I can manage that. Actually,” he went on, a grin tugging at his mouth. “I might enjoy this.” “Why?” “Because,” he said, laughing now. “I know you. And her. She’s going to drive you crazy.” Grimacing, I lifted my beer to my lips for a long drink. I had a feeling he was right.

“Come on, I need to call you something cute.” He pulled open the restaurant door and grinned. “I’ve got it.” “What?” “I’ll call you mia polpetta.” My heart fluttered. “Italian! That’s good, I like it. What does it mean?” I asked as I led the way toward the room at the back we’d booked to accommodate our large group. Behind me, Enzo put his hand on the small of my back and began to laugh. “My little meatball. Now smile, polpetta, we’re on.” I managed to give him an icy glare over my shoulder before turning my gaze forward again and plastering on my best I’m-the-luckiest-girl-in-the-world expression. I’d murder him later.

“Get out,” I told her, aggrieved that the best orgasm I’d had in months had been while fantasizing about her. “Get out and stay out, you redheaded siren.”

“I told my mother no aunts and uncles, no cousins. She claimed they were never going to speak to her again.” Her eyes were wide as she reached for her wine glass. “What did you say?” “I said, ‘You’re welcome.’” She burst out laughing, and it made me feel way too good.

“Thanks for dinner,” I said, trying to conceal my shock at the fact that she wanted to get close to me without an audience. “Any time.” She released me and stepped back. “I like cooking for people who love to eat. My ex was always on a health kick—didn’t eat carbs, didn’t eat dairy, didn’t eat sugar.” I made a face. “What’s the point of living?” She laughed. “Right?” “Well, goodnight.” “Night.”

“So are you saying you’d turn him away if he knocked on your door tonight?” “He’s not going to knock on my door.” But at the thought of it, my entire body warmed. “But if he did,” she pushed. “What would you do?” “Hmmm. Is he wearing clothes?” “Let’s say he’s shirtless.” “Damn. Is his hair doing that thing in the front?” “Definitely. And he smells good. Like, really good.” “Ugh, that’s so annoying.” I sighed. “Ideally, I like to think I’d be strong enough to be the first female in his life to resist him.” Turning around, I faced her. “Realistically, though, I’d probably think about it for two seconds, then jump his bones.” She cackled with glee. “I knew it.”

“Fine.” I scowled at her. “I enjoy making you feel good.” That smile appeared again. “Why? Do you like me?” “Goddammit, Bianca,” I seethed. “You’re such a pain in the ass! I want you, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I knocked on your door tonight because I was lying in bed alone and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Now you can tell me to fuck off if you want to, but quit playing games! Do you want me or not?” Instead of answering, she grabbed my head and crushed her lips to mine. “Yes, I want you,” she whispered. “But I like playing games.”

“Hey. What are you doing over there?” “I don’t know. I’m giving you some space.” “Well, I don’t want it. Come here.” She rolled over toward me, and I gathered her into my arms. “I just want you to know, and I mean this with one hundred percent sincerity, I’m not sick of you yet.” Her laughter made the ache in my side disappear. “I’m not sick of you yet either.” “Okay. Good.” I kissed her once more and went to sleep.

I peeked at him over one shoulder—he was staring at me and clutching his chest with one hand. In the other, he held a bouquet of white roses. “Am I dead?” he asked, his eyes wide. “Is this heaven? Because this is exactly what I imagine it looks like and sounds like and smells like.”

“Meh?” His eyebrows peaked as he tossed the shirts to the kitchen floor. “Last night you said my body looked like it was sculpted by Michelangelo. But tonight it’s meh?”

“Can I put in a request for more nights where I come home to meatball subs and you wearing only an apron?” “Are you going to be on time?” I teased. “Never. Because I fucking love it when you’re mad at me. I’m beginning to understand why my parents fought all the time. I think it was foreplay. No wonder they had six kids.” Laughing, I wriggled beneath him. “I’d settle for one. Can I get up now? I think my arms are dead.”

“Hey,” I called when he was nearly out the door. “Was this a better ending than waking up from your dream?” He looked confused for a moment, and then he laughed. “Babe,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not even close.” As he went down the hallway toward the stairs, I could still hear him talking. “Not. Even. Close.”

He was in the kitchen looking at his phone, but he glanced up when I came in. Right away he noticed something was wrong. “What?” he asked, his dark eyes concerned. “It didn’t work,” I said, my throat constricting. “I’m not pregnant.” Immediately he set his phone aside and wrapped me in his arms. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” “I’m okay.” His warm, solid chest was a comfort. “This month was a long shot anyway.” “I’m going to refrain from making jokes about my awesome long shot.” I laughed in spite of the desperate urge to cry.

Plus I like sleeping next to you.” “You do?” She looked surprised. “Yes. Sleeping Bianca is my favorite. She smells just as good as Awake Bianca, but she never rolls her eyes and she doesn’t give me any lip.” “Sleeping Enzo is nice too. All of the muscles, none of the attitude. Although, he does snore, so it’s a bit of a tradeoff.”

I nodded, because I didn’t trust myself not to say something weird and ridiculous. Something like, I think I might be in love with you.

There was nothing fake about it—I just wanted to be with him. “Enzo,” I whispered as he moved inside me. “Say something real.” “What?” He slowed his rhythm but didn’t stop. “Say something real,” I begged. At first he didn’t say anything, he just looked down at me, and I was terrified. But then. “I never stop thinking about you,” he said, his voice low and serious. “Keep going,” I whispered, the walls around my heart beginning to crumble. “No one has ever made me feel the way you do. Sometimes I can’t even breathe.” “Yes,” I said, pulling him deeper, matching his rhythm. I knew exactly what he meant. “Yes, yes, yes.” “I want to give you everything.” He stopped moving for just a moment, his lips hovering over mine. “Everything.”

And that was the moment I knew—I was madly, deeply, desperately in love with him.

What I hadn’t realized was that I could love him exactly as he was, flaws and all. That the very things I used to dislike in him would one day make me smile. And how all the things I’d come to learn about him, how passionate and funny and sweet he could be—and what an incredible father he’d make—would turn my walls to dust.

“From falling deeper in love with you than I already am. From getting so attached to you that I’d never be able to walk away. From the crushing heartbreak of having to endure you leaving me.”

He looked stunned and stricken, almost like I’d punched him. “Because you would have left, Enzo. Sooner or later, you would have left.” I made a fist and pressed it to my stomach. “I can’t give you what you want.” His eyes closed briefly, his shoulders drooping.

“All my life, I didn’t think it would matter who I married. I wanted kids for the sake of carrying on tradition and the experience of fatherhood, but it wasn’t until I fell in love with you that I understood what that really means. I don’t just want to have children so I can be a dad—I want to have children with you. I want to raise a family with you. And when it’s just us again in that big old Center Avenue house, I want to sit on the porch in a rocking chair and argue with you.” He smiled as he took the ring from the box and showed me the inscription: Per cent'anni . . . Enzo.

“You’re the most beautiful, the most caring, and the most exasperating woman I’ve ever known. You can infuriate me like no one else—but you make me happier than anyone else ever could. And the love I feel for you is the truest, realest thing I’ve ever known.”

A sob escaped me, and a tear slid down my cheek. “I love you too.” “I want a love story like your great-grandparents—one that will outlast our time on earth, one that our great-grandkids will still be talking about a hundred years from now.” I nodded as more tears slipped from my eyes. “I want that too.”

In the middle of what would be—I hoped—a child’s bedroom, I turned to face him. “We’re really going to live here?” “Of course we are.” His arms came around me. “And have a family?” “Of course we are. If biology isn’t on our side, we’ll adopt. I don’t care how we get our family, I just want to have one with you.” Slipping my arms around his waist, I rested my head on his chest and closed my eyes. “We’re going to be happy here, Mrs. Moretti,” he said, rocking me side to side. “We’re going to fill this house with a bunch of noisy, messy kids who are going to drive us crazy, but we’re going to be happy. I can feel it.” I held him tight, breathing deeply. “I feel it too.”