by Xavier Neal
Perhaps, they don’t want their wounds possibly being seen.
Perhaps, they don’t want to be caught speaking to one another and have the assumption another attack is in progress.
Or, perhaps, they don’t want to be served a pre- set-aside plate of human flesh instead of the crab cakes.
Regardless of their reasoning, I do not miss them, and I believe full heartedly their absence provides a sense of relief to my wife.
After all, who would want to stare at the face – let alone faces – that almost prevented your wedding day from being possible?
The faces that prevented your father from being able to walk you down the aisle, forcing your in-law to carry a memento instead.
Echo politely nods, once more, on a murmured goodbye, “Congrats, again, Mr. and Mrs. Bennett.”
“Thank you,” we speak in tandem.
His exit is instantly acknowledged by an arrival that, immediately, makes me uneasy. “Congrats, indeed.” Shay Santiago tussles her highlighted hair around on a sexy smirk. “Mr. and Mrs. Bennett.”
Chantal’s disgust drips from her tone, “And, you are?”
“Shay,” I swiftly introduce, receiving my wife’s stare. “Shay Santiago.”
A multitude of emotions whirl around her glare as she forces herself to turn and smile. “Thank you, Shay.”
“Yes, thank you for the felicitations and for joining us on this very special evening.”
“It wouldn’t have been possible without me,” she sassily states in such a fashion that I have to place a hand on Chantal’s thigh to keep her calm. This is not the time nor the person for her to lose her tongue to. “Sorry I missed the ceremony. I hear it was lovely.”
“It was,” Mia Bella defensively bites.
“I’ll make sure to have little mouse explain it to me on the ride home.”
“Who the f-”
“On the ride home?” I cut off my wife’s outburst. “Cosa intendi? What do you mean on the ride home?”
Shay’s brown stare shifts to my cousin, who’s reluctant to meet my eyes.
“Miko?”
When he finally does, his crystal stare is fighting for the light in it to stay alive. “Ognuno ha un prezzo.”
Everyone has a price.
“This was the cost for Dr. Greggory,” he announces to the two of us.
“Beni pays her!” Chantal squeaks so loudly, I have to gently encourage her to lower her volume with a subtle hand motion.
“Sì, but acquiring her required assistance. That assistance aveva un costo.”
My jaw plummets to the table in tandem with my wife’s.
“I did what was needed for family,” Miko, lovingly, proclaims. “Senza esitazione.”
Without hesitation.
“Your things?” Shay slyly questions, sending his attention to her. “Packed in the new luggage?”
“Sì.”
When did he do that?
How did he do that without me noticing?
How is this, truly, where our time together ends?
I thought I had more time!
How the fuck don’t I have more time?!
“I’m not ready for you to go,” Mia Bella proclaims, voice cracking in sadness. “Not yet.”
Not ever would be more accurate.
He swallows his less pleasant emotions and winks. “I’ll be around, Chantal.”
Rather than fight what I know is the inevitable, I direct my question to Shay, “You love a good story, si?”
She doesn’t shy away from taking the bait. “I do…”
“How terrible would the ending to mine be if it did not include one last smoke with my best man – on my wedding day – before he was whisked away for a new adventure of sex and danger of his very own?”
“That would be quite an…almost tragic ending to a long-told tale.” She lets a faint smirk tickle her lips. “I’m sure I can sit and share a drink with the new Mrs. Bennett while the more appealing conclusion is written instead.”
“I can’t drink,” Chantal viciously snips.
“Mia Bella.”
My hissed warning receives a glower so cold even the fire behind us can’t keep me warm. “Non la voglio vicino a me.”
“I can sit at the other end of the table,” Shay informs on a crooked grin. “I don’t have to, technically, be anywhere near you.”
Embarrassment doesn’t coat my wife’s cheeks, although it should. “You speak Italian.”
“I indulge myself in many romance languages.”
“Interesting for someone so heartless.”
“Mia Bella!”
Shay holds up a hand to insist I hold my tongue. “It’s fine, Benicio. I appreciate a woman with spunk.”
“I’d appreciate it if you left my wedding.”
“I will,” she reassures prior to cutting us a glance, “as soon as they have their goodbye smoke, giving their classic tale a more fitting ending than the one where I reenact a certain wedding from a very popular HBO series.”
Tears threaten to collect in my wife’s gaze, out of sadness as opposed to fear, causing me to call Mamma over to sit with her.
While leaving her alone with Shay isn’t ideal, I know she’d never physically harm my wife. She may verbally spar with her – most likely for her pure amusement – or allude to such, but that’s where it would all end. Shay enjoys the fun of the game, the thrill of the tango, the flexing of the power yet rarely toys with anything she intends on actually killing.
She isn’t the biggest fan of playing with her food so to speak.
Playing is for fun.
Eating is for survival.
Outside, on the nearest patio, which also allows me to lend a watchful eye to our table, I silently lean against the wall and wait for Miko to retrieve the celebration cigars he mentioned having earlier.
I light mine first.
Offer over the lighter next.
My first deep suck is meant to offer soothing to the ache in my chest. To no surprise, it only seems to amplify it. Expand it. Conquer every crevice until I’m anxiously inhaling harder in hopes solace can truly be found somewhere in the tasty tobacco.
Miko faces the opposite direction away from his momentarily delayed fate. His arms rest along the edge of the stone structure, lit cigar dangling between his fingertips. “Stai imbronciato.”
The words.
The tone.
The conversation.
The familiarity of it all has me struggling harder to maintain my composure. “No.”
He angles his face for our stares to lock.
“I’m not…sulking.”
“You look like you’re sulking.”
“I do not possess the capability to sulk. Therefore, I cannot be seen sulking.”
I expect for him to continue the conversation the same direction he did months earlier when we had no inkling that our lives were about to irreversibly change. “Good.” He gives me a slow nod proceeded by his own shot at an optimistic expression. “Because this isn’t the end, you know. It’s just another beginning…sì?”
There’s no hesitation to agree, “Sì.”
Miko flashes me another crooked grin, returns the cigar to his lips, and resumes staring off at the view neither of us are certain of when he’ll see again.
This may not be the end, but it is an end.
I simply hope that, despite this so-called new beginning, he knows we’ll always be family.
That I’ll always be there for him when he needs me, and perhaps, even when he doesn’t.
No matter what the future holds nothing will ever change that nor will I ever see him as anything other than one of the biggest blessings I’ve ever had.
Epilogue
About five-and-a-half years later…
I lean against the door to our bedroom and let my gaze admire the way my wife’s sundress is hugging the curves of her busily moving figure.
Over the past few years, this has become one of my favorite views.
&
nbsp; Is it because I love the way her body has filled out in an enticing fashion since giving birth to our two children?
That is definitely a factor.
Children change you in many ways, particularly, when you choose to be present in their lives. Mia Bella is, undoubtedly, more active, given that she travels less for work, but I like to believe I am engaged as well. I, too, sit through torturous child birthday parties, and t-ball games where no one hits the ball, our son – Bennato Adam Bennett – or as we affectionately call him Little B – included. My father never did those things. Hell, such “barbaric” sports weren’t for playing, only merely for watching. Miko was the one allowed to indulge in being dirty and chasing soccer balls while I learned the difference in forks. I want my children to have a balance of both, which, occasionally, means trying not to dry heave over ballpark nacho cheese on a Saturday and tying his tiny tie for etiquette class on Sunday. For me, the physical changes have been adding more appropriate active wear I can be seen wearing in public, while for Chantal, it’s the way her figure has taken on a new form. Her chest is slightly heavier, something that happened after our daughter, Bria Augusta Bennett, was born, and her ass – something that I have always admired – now plumper, filling out her pencil skirts in the most painful, cock teasing fashions.
My wife touches the scribbled vacation check list beside our open suitcase prior to leaning over across the bed to retrieve the pre packed toiletry bag.
The other reason this is one of my favorite views?
Because it happens every year for our June family trip to Italy.
It’s the moment where the tradition of watching Calcio Storico continues, now with my son and Miko’s, joining us and our fathers. Sherrod and Cerise – who are still unwed – join us every year as well, but it wasn’t until last summer he really understood the rules or embraced barbaric entertainment.
Their daughter, who is Bria’s age is also one of her best friends. Miko’s youngest is her other. The adorable trio are all headed for the two’s stage, and I am dreading the days that pass to its arrival.
Little B was a biter.
Born with a hold that would give The Jaws of Life a run for their money.
Bria is a hair puller.
It’s where she automatically goes when the world isn’t going her way or has upset her beyond lip pouting, and I fear her ever changing toddler life is only going to worsen the habit.
All of the books say this is normal behavior. All of the articles I search for between meetings and send to Mia Bella say the same, Mamma is of no comfort, claiming I was a peaceful, quiet child even at their age, yet Aunt Felia, whose own grandchildren have similar behaviors insists to be grateful because Miko was far worse at this stage.
Chantal’s body stretches further to grab something else, and my neck instantly cranes to follow.
Mio Dio, I want her now as much as I did when we first met.
Like she was then, she’s still the head of our accounting department, only now The Accountant answers to her instead of the other way around. She possesses the power to overrule, override, and overwork the one person who used to be above her besides me. It’s rare the two don’t agree, yet when it occurs, my wife wins. Her word is to be taken as law. Despite the new position, Chantal prefers the hands-on approach to numbers she’s always had and loves working from the branch here in Bennvilla. Cerise has moved up in the company – rightfully so – to a position in public relations, which is what her degree is in. She, primarily, answers to Julianna – who recently got wed – yet at times has to answer to her best friend, instead.
She also has to call Mrs. Bennett in the office.
Because she is Mrs. Bennett.
Her word is equally as valuable as mine when it comes to the corporate enterprises.
They are to respect her to the same degree they respect me.
Admittedly, she’s easier to like and has a way of persuading versus proclaiming that those who work for us appreciate, but there should be no mistake made – she can and is willing to be cutthroat when needed.
It was her refusal to be undersold during contract negotiations that lead to closing a lucrative beach resort deal.
Her ruthlessness can be spotted just the same in our illegal dwellings.
A low-level nothing was cockily threatening the Pierson’s drug operation, and when they whined hard enough for assistance, she gave the order to have every one of the competition’s buildings, safehouses, and homes burned simultaneously while they were locked inside. I was preoccupied dealing with a Syndicate request, so it was up to her to handle the situation. No one objected to her making such a call, either. It saved the Piersons from further headaches and me from running myself too thin. The family heads know that I rule yet have learned to obey her orders in my absence.
Fortunately, the Piersons are the only family of the five to have had any notable issues in the past few years.
The Ackers and The DuPontes still put on the perfect performances they always have, while Lamarches and Kinnamans have slightly struggled.
Ember recently got engaged, something her father feared would never happen with the scar she has to sport but unable to give the grave details without repercussions. She’s not a bright woman but smart enough to learn from her mistakes.
There are consequences when you go against me.
Even if it’s just verbally.
As for the Lamarches, their son has an ugly habit of acquiring nasty attention – you can only be caught so many times with a dead escort before rumors of serial killer begin to float through the air – and their daughter’s death, which they tell everyone happened by a rare coyote attack while at a family cabin, still has people offering condolences at precedented times, never truly allowing the sting of their loss to completely subside. I imagine there is a faint taste for vengeance that lingers on their tongues, but they know better than to ever act upon it. Their daughter was brilliant but unwise to the true repercussions of such actions. They’ve been around longer and are aware you do not bite the hand that holds the cleaver.
No matter how bitter you are.
Chantal draws a line through something, hums to herself, and taps the pen to her nude lips in obvious contemplation.
She, occasionally, makes the same face when deciding whether or not to take the children with her to visit her dad on Sundays.
They’re aware their grandfather died before they were born, but the way the story is told, he was a hero who died protecting his little girl, the same we would die to protect them. It’s told in a fanciful way yet truthful. When we go to Luther’s mausoleum all together, we always take flowers. They like putting them where his casket is held, decorating them, and acting as though he’s listening to everything they can barely ramble.
Who knows?
He just might be.
We also place flowers on my father’s grave, though, when it comes to him, we don’t tell them stories of a magical heroic man. We explain that people are born, they live, and then they die just like this grandfather did. We insist on being respectful by honoring their memory with something kind like flowers. It’s enough information for them at this age. The day will, undoubtedly, come when I have to tell them harsher tales, but for now, this is enough.
Without looking over her shoulder, my wife sighs, “Are you going to just stand there and stare all afternoon or come finish helping me pack?”
I lightly chortle, step into the room, and shut the door behind me, making sure to lock it. “Nessuno dei due.”
Neither.
An annoyed grunt is expelled. “Then, why are you up here?”
Rather than express the reason in words, I silently prowl across the space.
Chantal continues making notes on her pad until her body is roughly bent forward at the waist. The gasp that the action captures stirs my cock even more. “Aperto.”
Her legs slightly part as though no longer controlled by her objecting mind. “I need to-”
“Come,
” I growl the answer at the same time I flip the edge of her dress upward. “You’ll be more relaxed for the long plane ride, Mia Bella.”
She may want to argue; however, forfeits the urge the instant she feels my lower frame hovering near the backside of her pussy. Thankfully, she’s not wearing any panties, which allows me to languorously drag my tongue along her lips’ length, like it has nowhere else to be.
Like we have nowhere else to be.
There’s no stopping the long, happy moan that escapes, yet its volume has me grumbling, “Nascondi il suono.” Hide the sound. “Non vogliamo svegliare i bambini.” We don’t want to wake up the children.
They were difficult enough to get down for a nap knowing time with their cousins was coming.
It doesn’t help that Geena, their nanny, is already enjoying her own vacation.
Walter and Chantal tried to warn me against giving her today off before we left as opposed to just an extra day when we got back, but I swore I knew best.
I will never admit to those two mother hens I was wrong.
I will simply continue to suffer the ramifications of my stupid decision with a smile.
Besides, how was I supposed to know it was lunch and then nap without a physical activity in between? Shouldn’t playing wear a child out, not wind them up?
My wife’s face finds its way into the folded clothing of our luggage while my tongue dives deep into her pussy. I grip her ass roughly. Plunge slowly. Wind my tongue back and forth to lap up the juices beginning to leak at a more persistent rate. Muffled moans manage to entice my movements into increasing their speed. Their severity. What starts as a tasty appetizer of fun moments to come on our pending vacation morphs into a full-fledged, on my deathbed, last meal. I bury my eager muscle to the brink, leaving my nose to be smashed against her backside. It whips and my face whirls around in her wetness. Creaminess savagely smears itself across my face like warpaint. Having it smother my senses spurs me to growl and thrust my tongue harder. Chantal whimpers and impatiently rocks into the feasting. My fingers clamp down harder into her cheeks with the determination to leave bruises she will be silently whining through whenever she sits down for the rest of the day. Powerful trembles tear through her body, bucking it backwards. Blocking my ability to breathe. Her savagery sparks mine to return the gesture in spades. On an abrupt action, I stand, swiftly work myself out of my suit pants, and replace my tongue’s thrusting with my cock.