Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
I was excited. I wasn’t ready to be a father, but then again, no one is ever truly ready for the job of being a parent. Nonetheless, I was over the moon and began planning a future together. The baby would be named Davey, after my dad, and he was going to have a nursery in my home. His mother, Marcella, was also going to move in, and we were going to play happy family.
But disaster struck. A man contacted me out of the blue claiming to be Marcella’s babydaddy. I couldn’t believe it. Marcella and I were dating, so where the fuck did this loser come from? Besides, Marc was practically living at my house by then, and we were together almost 24/7. When the fuck would she have time to cheat?
But it turns out that Marcella had a prison boyfriend. Yes, it’s ludicrous, but true. Her ex was sent to Solana State Prison years before we met, and they kept in touch. In fact, Marcella never broke up with the asshole formally, and would see him on occasion via California’s conjugal visit program. What the fuck? I could hardly believe it, but I demanded a paternity test, and sure enough, the unborn baby belonged to another man.
Since then, I’ve had a couple of close calls. There are always women claiming to be pregnant, even when I use two forms of protection and stick to their assholes. They claim that the seed “slipped in” somehow, and “the baby was unplanned, but a blessing” and now, I owe child support.
But I’m no Elon Musk. I’m not planning to populate the universe, and I don’t want to support some bitch who’s trying to use my own flesh and blood against me. As a result, I had a vasectomy done in my late twenties, and the procedure is permanent. I’ll never be a dad, and there’s no way that Angela’s pregnant with my child. There’s no way any of those women were ever pregnant with my spawn.
Of course, the curvy girl has no idea that she’s been had. In fact, I don’t tell any of the ladies I sleep with that I’ve had a vasectomy because it’s my private business. It’s also the trump card that I pull out of my back pocket whenever these situations arise ... and Angela’s going to suffer when the time is right.
12
Angela
Rome is beautiful, and I hum while watering the potted plants on a little stoop outside Dominic’s townhouse. The blossoms are plentiful and lush in a variety of reds and oranges, and a bicyclist dings his bell as he speeds by, undeterred by the city’s bumpy cobbled streets. I smile because it’s peaceful and charming here.
After all, Dom lives in a historic area of the city where the roads are narrow because they were created prior to the invention of cars. But I adore the old-world charm of the neighborhood, and the gelato shops on every corner are irresistible. Not to mention the pasta! I swear, there’s so much excellent pasta here that I could eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, as well as the occasional snack and even dessert.
But the best part of Rome is the Tiber River. I love sauntering along its winding banks at sunset, knowing that legions of Roman citizens have walked these same paths, not knowing what comes next. What will tomorrow bring? War? Famine? Poverty? Or a Roman bacchanal to end all others? Only time will tell.
After all, I’m also in a state of unknowing. I’m not sure how long my set-up is going to last, or what comes next after this beautiful European jaunt. I know I should be happy because I’m basically on an all-expenses paid vacation to Rome, but it’s strange to be pregnant and alone. I’m in my third trimester now, and near bursting. My belly is the size of a beach ball, and it’s tight around the middle. Sometimes, even the skin of my stomach hurts because it’s stretching to accommodate the babies within.
Yes, I’m having twins. The doctor confirmed it at my last appointment, and while I was elated, I was also sad because the boys aren’t wanted by their father. We haven’t heard a peep from Dominic since being flown to Rome, and my heart aches whenever I think of the billionaire.
Dominic Masters is just a man, the voice in my head says in a frigid tone. You were never dating. You were his employee, so don’t forget that.
It’s true. My bi-weekly paychecks continued while I was in New York, and in fact, I’m still getting paid now. Whenever I log into my bank account, I can see a string of hefty deposits from Regeneron AI. Then, I close the browser, my heart thumping with a mixture of pain, regret, and ... I don’t know. Wishing things could be different? Thinking about alternate universes where I made different decisions?