I raise a brow. “Yes, I am, because I’m not calling your father to explain why you need stitches one day into our marriage. Now, turn around.”
“No.”
I smirk. “My daughter is asleep less than ten feet away from us, Antonia. Trust me when I say nothing is going to happen other than me helping you get out of this dress without cutting yourself to shreds.”
“I hate you,” she says before doing as she’s told.
“I know.” It doesn’t take long to get the buttons undone, and as soon as the fabric is loose enough for her to slip out, Antonia is marching back into my bedroom.
“Carlo?”
I spin around. Jazzy is standing right behind me. “I love you. And Antonia shouldn’t say she hates you. It’s not nice.”
“I love you too, sweetheart, the most in all the world. But Antonia is allowed to feel that way. I deserve it. I did something that wasn’tvery niceto her once.”
“But you’re the nicest person I know,” Jazzy says. “What did you do?”
“It’s complicated. How about pancakes?” I quickly change the subject.
“With bananas?”
“Anything you want.” I take hold of my daughter’s hand and lead her into the kitchen.
Once I’ve added all the ingredients to the bowl, I hand it to Jazzy to stir. Then I pick up my phone and call my attorney, because I need to get this will thing together before Antoniadoesactually kill me.
“Carlo, I hear congratulations are in order,” Matteo Valentino, my attorney and I guess my friend, answers.
“Thanks. I need my will updated,” I tell him.
“You know there are estate attorneys for that sort of thing,” he says.
“Don’t be an ass. Can you do it or not?” I grunt.
“Fine, but I’m charging you double. What do you need? Maybe send an email, or we can meet if you want to fly out to New York.”
“Yeah, I can’t do that. It’s easy anyway. I want everything left to my daughter, Jasmine. And I want it stipulated that if anything were to happen to me, Louie and his wife would gain custody of her or whatever it’s called. I want to make sure she’s looked after.”
“Daughter? As in flesh and blood? When did that happen? You just got married yesterday?” Matteo responds with a barrage of questions.
“She showed up a few weeks ago. Six years old, smart, beautiful. But with my DNA, you shouldn’t expect anything less.” I wink at Jazzy, who is staring at me.
“Right, you sure she’s yours?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Okay, send me her full legal name, date of birth, and so on… and I’ll sort it out. You sure you don’t want to leave anything to your new wife?”
“She doesn’t need my money,” I tell him.
“Probably not,” he says. “But it’s the right thing to do.”
“Let me get back to you.” I cut the call and put the phone down. I glance over to Jazzy and take the bowl from her hands. “How’s it looking?”
“Good. What’s a will?” she asks me.
“You don’t miss anything, do you?” I laugh. “It’s a document that states what happens with all my money and shit if I die.”
“But you said you’re not going to die!” she screams.
