The Italian's proposal

Chapter 4

Melody stood still watching the man in front of her, she had no idea that such specimens existed in real life. She was used to seeing them in vanity magazines, those magazines that only showcase rich and beautiful men, sheets and sheets of pure masculinity, wealth, and luxury. Men hand in hand with women who wore clothes more expensive than a car.

“Hello? Can you speak?” the man made her react with his heightened level of sarcasm. “Can I have my coffee now, or are you going to stare at me for ten more minutes? If it’s the latter, let me know so I can sit down.”

The man was irritating.

Was nothing in life perfect? Melody blinked a couple of times and watched as the man smiled.

With perfect, white teeth, typical of someone who exuded so much power and money.

“Your coffee will come out when I’m done with the others,” Melody turned back to the machine and waited for the small shot of coffee.

She had to call Doyle back to get a technician, otherwise they were going to lose customers.

The coffee shop had a lot of regular customers, the kind you could tell just by looking at them, they were repeat customers, old men visiting old Doyle’s business.

“Are you always this annoying?”

“Whenever a man because he has money wants to walk past those already on shift.”

The customers still at the bar looked from one to the other, as if it were a fight.

Although Melody was awfully close to going over the giant’s head with a demolisher.

She smiled at her own wild thought.

“Great. Now she’s laughing to herself,” the man spoke again, and Melody couldn’t ignore him.

It was automatic with her; she always had an answer for everything. That’s why she’d had so much trouble with her parents. She’d been a talkative teenager.

“I laugh at your pushiness.” It wasn’t true, but at least she could still incentivize the man to get upset.

The Mr. Money, for some reason irritated her son immensely, and if the saying that who you hate in pregnancy, like him your child will turn out, would that be true, for Melody would love for her son to have those beautiful eyes.

She delivered the last of the coffees and packed up the order of butter rolls and muffins and dispatched two of the customers at the counter.

“I did not come with arrogance. You, young lady halfway through puberty, you’ve put me in this mood,” he squinted, and Melody watched as tiny wrinkles set in the corners of his eyes.

Melody’s life was based on going back and forth from work to home, if anything going to the supermarket or pharmacy for a pill for her puking, which had never worked out for her, and yet she kept shopping for them in hopes to stop expelling everything that touched her stomach, there were times when food didn’t even make it to her stomach, it just came back up from her throat.

So, when that Mr. Money walked into the cafeteria, Melody had unconsciously decided to have some fun at his expense and in the process, refresh her eyesight.

“I’m not a young girl halfway through puberty,” she refuted, pouring his coffee.

The chauffeur or bodyguard, or ass licker, whatever, was still standing behind the rich guy watching the door, as if a war were going to break out at any moment, it would be funny to see a pregnant Melody hitting the rich guy with a butter bun.

“That’s what it looks like. Can I have my coffee now? If you keep looking at it like that, it’s highly likely to explode on you.”

“I’ve been dealing with this stuff for a while. I’m not going to let you...”

Just as she finished the sentence, as she handed him the coffee, Melody felt a cramp in her belly, and automatically dropped the coffee to grab where it hurt.

splashing everything around her including the immaculately

my shirt! I have a meeting in less than half

the moment, all she could do was think that she was going to die from the pain, that she could lose her baby, that she was hurt

the hospital?” Melody listened as the driver spoke to the man, worried, and upset. She could determine those timbres

to the cream-colored phone hanging on the wall, it wouldn’t dial calls outside the coffee

to answer, while the man cursed

her son, she was getting nervous, she could feel the cold sweat coming down her forehead

she let out the air when she heard Doyle’s

it’s me,” she stammered.

wrong? Too

find anything her brain could generate in a hurry,

lurch. I need you down there...” As Doyle talked

pain, no more than a menstrual pain normally hurts, but, still, she wasn’t going to neglect herself and stand there, not knowing if her son

couldn’t because she had been locked out of her family’s home. The only one she kept in contact with was her older sister, the only one who since she had left, had called her

him already annoyed by the man’s chatter. “Listen to me! I need a cab, call a cab company... or I don’t know... I have to go; I have to go to

harder than she could have imagined, and tears immediately welled up in her eyes.

on her shoulder and looked back, still

“I’ll take you.”

was the Italian.

“No,” she said.

Who’s with you? Hold on, I’ll

Melody placed the

they were the prettiest eyes that had ever looked at her. It

the coffee-soaked shirt and blushed, she had ruined his suit, his impeccable suit. She was sure it must be worth a fortune; one she didn’t have the money to pay for. “Oh, gosh! I ruined your shirt! I’m really sorry!” this time, she

matter,” he said taking the weight off what happened. “You

you on that. You already

cancel it right

gone from being

he just wanted to throw her out

work without me.” The driver/assistant made the requested call and nodded when all was affirmative

not going with you to the hospital. I don’t know you at all. I don’t know who you are. I appreciate the offer and the trouble, I can even take your shirt to the cleaners, although I’m

always talk non-stop?” he asks interrupting her

I have a red ball

a red

herself, indeed she had her white blouse stained with coffee droplets, which

“Great.”

of coffee are nothing compared to my shirt. Don’t

Melody put her hand to her cheek which was starting to get wet.

a few drops of coffee on her blouse. She didn’t know what was worse, crying over it thanks to the pregnancy hormones that

meeting for you. The

sir,” Melody couldn’t remember what the hell the driver/assistant had called him when he

rang and Doyle

his gaze fell on the Italian, Melody watched as his expression

exclaimed offended.

mind. You can tell her to let me

am pregnant,” Melody emphasized every word. The man had spoken as if

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