Time's Up! (A Romantic Standalone), page 1
Table of Contents
Time’s Up!
Dedication
Time's Up!
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Luke
Chapter Six
Luke
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Luke
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Luke
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Luke
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Luke
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Luke
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Luke
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
More Books by Vicki
About the Author
Time’s Up!
Time's Up!
by
Vicki Green
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Vicki Green Copyright 2016/2017©
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form with authorization of the Author Vicki Green©
Editor: Kathy Krick @K2 Editing:
https://www.facebook.com/K2Editing
Cover Design by Dana Leah – Designs By Dana:
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Formatting:
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Featured cover model Caylan Hughes (on cover):
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Photography of Caylan by Golden Czermak - FuriousFoTog:
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*Due to strong language and sexual content, this book is not intended for readers under the age of 18+.
Dedication
For all the hopeless romantics
For the people who believe in second chances
This story is for you
Time's Up!
You’ve run out of time
What happens when your wealthy, pretentious Italian parents create a contract for you when you turned twenty-one and now a few years later you realize you only have nine months left to fulfill it.
The terms:
Must be married and pregnant by the age of twenty-five.
The catch:
It has to be true love.
All stipulated in the contract.
The problem:
Rica has no boyfriend.
She’s not easy.
She’ll be twenty-five in nine months.
What’s NOT in the contract:
Her parents forgot to mention he must be Italian.
Well, at least there’s a little hope. Very little hope.
**This story is intended for 18+ readers.
Prologue
What would you do if you were the only daughter of a wealthy Italian family whose parents wanted grandchildren by the time you turn twenty-five? To the point that they wanted you to sign a legal contract with stipulations? Would you sign it?
I mean, sure, I like kids. And sure, I’d like to have some – one day. It would be nice to find the right man, fall in love – you know – like normal people do. But my life is anything but normal.
Okay, let’s sweeten the pot. The money you would receive, if you fulfill the contract, would be more than you’d probably ever see in your lifetime. Now would you sign it?
So, the money I stand to gain is enough money that the child I’d carry wouldn’t want or need for anything. And there’s so much good I could do with that kind of money. Things I wouldn’t be able to afford without it.
Here’s the catch. As per the contract, I have to be married and pregnant, and it has to be true love.
Okay, that might be a problem.
I’m not saying I’m a prude or haven’t had a couple of boyfriends but true love? In nine months? Yes, that’s the catch. I’ll be twenty-five in only nine months. The one small, teeny tiny detail they forgot to put in the contract – there’s no mention of the guy having to be Italian. Snickers. And I know for a fact they want only true Italian blood in our family. That’s my only saving grace. I hope.
Can’t be done, you say?
Watch me.
Chapter One
Rica
There’s never a dull moment in the life of a young woman who was born into a very large, very wealthy Italian family. Does this depict all Italian families? Hell no! It’s equally interesting – to put it mildly – when you have four brothers, strict parents, and when said parents own the highly acclaimed Italian restaurant in town and a multi-million dollar accountant firm. Most of their customers are wealthy, either inherited or self-made, movie stars or band members and there’s always the sports stars of the world that drops in. There could be one or two Politian’s in there too.
I was born Ricadonna Michelina Ona Rossi. My parents, Noleta and Paolo Rossi, had four sons, Alessandro (Alex), twins Valentino (Val) and Donato (Don), and then Basilio (Bas). I was their last hope to have a daughter. Lucky me! Hear the sarcasm?
Actually, I can’t complain – too much. I’ve been luckier than some. That’s the thing about me, I’m totally opposite of my family. I love supporting charities that raise money for the homeless and the less fortunate. My parents hate that. In college, I obtained a bachelor degree in social work and psychology. My parents thought it was a waste of their precious money. Please, don’t get me wrong. I’m thankful for what I have. I just choose to spread it around to those who need it more than I do. My parents hate that too. The nice thing, I help host charity functions to raise even more money for them. Adorned in lovely evening gowns – which I can’t stand, being more of the yoga pants and a t-shirt or tank top type – I get the chance to speak to a lot of people on their behalf, which I love. The only thing that’s acceptable about all this, in my parent’s eyes, is that they can donate to them and it’s a tax write-off. Sigh.
Don’t get me wrong, my parents are good people. They’ve worked hard to get where they are today. When I was young, we had nothing. They took their knowledge and turned it into something. They didn’t receive their money from family or play the stock markets or even win the lottery. They got it from honest means. Some people have a misconception that just because it’s a big, wealthy Italian family that they have something to do with the Mafia.
Get real people and quit watching so much TV!
Anyway, I remember when I was younger how it was difficult for them to get food on the table, how our holidays and birthdays didn’t warrant for much or how I had the same old clothes for several years. I think that’s why I want to give back so much. I’ve been there, remember how it feels. Now some people just want to be lazy and not look for a job, or help themselves. They want it all just handed to them. Normally, you can spot them a mile away. I’ve gotten pretty good at that.
On my twenty-first birthday, I was informed I had until I was twenty-five to be married and pregnant and I would receive a very large sum of money. I was shocked but not so much when they had me sign a contract. The ideas went wild through my head thinking about what I could do with the money. Move my very small office out of the run-down building in the not so great part of town it’s in now into a newer building. I could have it built to my specifications. I could donate more money to the charities I love and help more people that can’t afford my services, even though I barely make any money as it is now. I could actually give them help for free! Like a free clinic of sorts. The possibilities are endless!
My brothers will carry on our family name, by blood. As a girl, a young woman, I can’t do that, unless my husband-to-be wants to change their last name to mine. But my parents said it’s not the same thing, so instead, they want to be grandparents. My brothers? They can take their time. Me? Not so much. All my brothers either work at our restaurant or our accounting firm. With me having my own business as a social worker and psychologist and helping to host charity functions on the weekends, it leaves me with no time for anything else. Even dating. Oh, my parents have tried to set me up. Endlessly. Trust me. Cringe.
Every guy was Italian √
Every guy was a twit √
Every guy tried to swoon me √
Every guy was a twit. Did I say that already? It bears repeating.
Adrian was a real looker. I mean, I could have totally gone for him – until he opened his mouth. Every story he told was about his mama. He even teared up at one point. What’s worse, he still lived with dear ol’ Mama. He’s twenty-seven.
Marino? Just say NO.
Renzo, I
Fabrizio. Ah, yes. Do you remember Fabio? Yeah, looked just like him and even acted like him too. I made it as far as dinner, acting like he was the most gorgeous of movie stars, but, afterwards once we sat down in the movie theatre, he attacked. I screamed. People shushed us. They shushed us! I was mortified and fought him until I pulled his long hair – hard – and he left me in the theatre, telling everyone that no one ever touches his hair. I just sat there in shock.
Now, Benedetto, or Ben, almost made me want a second date, right up until the end of our first date. He walked me to my door, like a perfect gentleman. He asked permission to kiss me and I told him yes. He was even a good kisser. This was promising! Until my neighbor’s door opened and the yelling began. It wouldn’t have been too bad except my neighbor, Antonio, or Tony as he likes to be called, who had become a very close friend and is very gay, started yelling at Ben about going out on him. With me, of all people. Then, of course, Tony looked at me with apologetic eyes and mouthed he was sorry then proceeded to yell at Ben again. I backed into my apartment, while words of slut, bastard, and floozy filled the hallway.
So, as you can see, not one of them succeeded. Where do they come up with these guys?
“You should marry a nice Italian boy, Ricadonna.” My mother would shake her head as she pinched my cheeks.
“We must keep our bloodline clean with Italian blood.” My father would huff, his bushy brows lowered and in all seriousness.
What they haven’t realized yet is nowhere in the contract does it state the man who I fall in love with must be Italian. Win!
Since I’m now twenty-four and running out of time, I did what every woman would do in this situation. I joined an online dating service. Lord help me. Between the messages showing me their junk and others that sounded so nerdy I almost bit off a fingernail trying to decipher what they were saying, I finally found one that sounds like he might be, maybe could be – sane. I guess we’ll see. He’s picking me up at eight.
“Why don’t you just marry me, dolcezza?” Sweetie. “I’ll knock you up, make you happy, and cheat on the side.” Tony’s voice filters into my bathroom from my bedroom.
I let out a sigh and stop putting on my mascara, actually considering this. I mean, would that be so bad? I love Tony, as a friend. He is very good looking. We would make great looking babies together. I shake my head, rattling those thoughts right on outta there.
“I mean it, dolcezza. I would make you a good husband and father for your little one. I’d even swing that way, just for you.”
My eyes shift over to the doorway, almost poking my eye with the mascara wand. “You mean you’d swing that way for the money.”
He nods while smiling. “Well, that too.”
Putting the finishing touches on my lashes, I push the wand into the tube, a bit forcibly, and throw it in the drawer. Pressing my glossed lips together, I shake my head back, letting my long dark hair fall around me. As I turn and walk toward him, he backs into my bedroom. “No. It wouldn’t look real enough. I’d be afraid that every time I kissed you, I’d cringe as if kissing one of my brothers.” I shiver. The thought makes me want to barf.
“Gee, thanks.”
I smile as I pick up my purse, leaning into him and kiss his cheek. “Don’t be upset. You’re still my best friend.” I walk through my apartment, picking up my sweater and throwing it over my arm as I head to the door.
“Does that mean I can still come to the fundraiser this weekend?”
He stands beside me as I open the door for him. I seriously don’t want to have a conversation with my date about why a guy is in my apartment as soon as said date gets here, even though the guy in question is gay. “Of course you get to come. I’d be mad at you if you didn’t.” He smiles and I watch him leave my place and walk the few steps to his door. He turns and winks at me as he opens his door and goes inside.
Closing my door, I lean back against it, letting out a breath. I’m so not ready for this.
I startle when a knock sounds on my door a couple of minutes later, feeling the vibration against my back. “Okay. Let’s get this over with,” I whisper as I turn around. When I open the door, my smile is wide, trying not to hold in my gasp as I look at my date. Right now, I want to take out my phone and pull up his profile on the dating site again because I swear this is not what he looked like on there.
“Are you ready?”
Should I fake sick? That would be pretty obvious. He’s only taking me to dinner. A free meal can’t hurt. He bends his arm so I put my arm through his, cringing against his nylon suit jacket. Who wears nylon nowadays? Well, besides that guy on The Big Bang Theory. OMG! That’s who he reminds me of! Sheldon!
I have to say, he’s been a perfect gentleman. He opened the car door for me and seat belted me in. He helped me from the car at the restaurant, pulled out the chair for me at the table and placed my napkin in my lap once I sat. Then, all through dinner, I had to cover my yawn with my hand and ate in double time while he talked all things molecules and bacteria switching to role playing and anime video games. Back and forth. I couldn’t keep up. He used very big words, and so many times I wanted to pull out my phone, find a dictionary online, and look them up. Who talks like that? Needless to say, by the time he dropped me off at my front door, I almost nodded off trying to get the key in the lock. Seriously, he’d be perfect if I ever need a sleep aid. Once I opened the door, I backed my way inside, thanking him for a nice time and he leaned forward to kiss me. I did one of those, air kisses while tilting my head out of the way of his very large puckering lips. When I close the door, I lean against it, putting my arm across my face.
“Shit! How in the hell am I gonna find a guy to fall in love with this way?”
After climbing in bed, I tossed and turned all night, thinking all things Sheldon and bacteria while playing video games.
The next morning, I yawned all through my shower, getting dressed, and putting on my makeup. I’m gonna need an all-day IV of coffee today. By the time I stop at the coffee shop, carry out a tray of coffees, and pull up to the curb across the street from my office building and park, I’m yawning even more. My car sputters and spews with its own obscenities. I really think it’s on its last leg – or tire. Something else I need to get with the money I’ll receive. Reliable transportation.
“What’s up, boss? Late night?” Dominie winks when I walk in the door and right into my office. I make it to my messy desk and sit down, I notice she had followed me inside.
I yawn while I pick up a coffee and take a sip. “Dom. Late night. Horrible night. I don’t want to talk about it.” I take another drink, lean back in my chair, and yawn again. “Like, ever.”
She places her hands on the back of the chair in front of my desk and laughs. “Okay. You don’t have to spill but you’d better down all those coffees if you’re gonna play softball for the charity later.” What? Oh shit! I totally forgot about that! “You forgot.”
“No – O! I didn’t. I’ll never make it. You go without me.” I yawn.
She starts to walk out but stops in the doorway, her hand resting on the frame. “Good try! You’re hosting it and head of one of the teams.”
I’m so fucked!
The day is so long, even after drinking all four coffees. At least I’m not yawning as bad. But man, I’ve had to go to the bathroom a lot. I make it home and throw my clothes everywhere on my bed. I put on a pair of black yoga pants and a tank top, pull my long hair up into a high ponytail, douse my armpits with deodorant, grab my lucky bat and cap, and run back out the door. Yes, I used to play softball in high school and I wasn’t too bad, if I say so myself. By the time I get to the field, close to my office, I see there’s already quite a few people there. I called Tami, the head of the charity, and she told me she’d rounded up quite a few people to play so we should have enough for two teams. She’s advertised a lot for this, and I can tell by the number of people in the stands as well as more cars pulling into the lot when I do. Well, there’s one thing I won’t do is back down from raising money for charity.
