Sonata

by Kenya Wright

  We must’ve made love for an hour in the shower.

  Afterwards, I’d guided her out and dried that beautiful body.

  We’d been ready to have dinner downstairs, when her water broke.

  And then chaos ensued.

  There was magic to the act of birth, but there was also terror. A birthing woman was nothing to toy with. I’d earned a new respect for Eden. There were many things that I could do that others couldn’t, but giving birth. . .

  How can she do this?

  I’d been tortured and cut. Shot and had ribs cracked. And still, as I watched Eden, my heart went weak in fear and awe.

  Jesus Christ she’s a beast. She’s a fucking soldier.

  The delivery had been a lot.

  Nothing easy.

  Eden had wanted to do it natural and have the baby in a large birthing pool.

  I let her.

  What did I know? I’d never had a baby.

  My aunts had spent months trying to convince us not to do it. They all told her to go straight to the hospital and ask for as many drugs as possible.

  But Eden had found a lot of literature on natural birth. She’d learned that the mother healed faster with natural birth, and that it was good for the baby.

  What did we know?

  And so, I had a large birthing pool designed by a local artist. He’d come up with a garden concept—complete with jewels and crystals. Roses and sparkling warm water that vibrated through jets to sooth Eden.

  It was built in the back of the castle. Our child would be birthed at home. Forever we would hold that memory. Eden and I were super excited. Meanwhile, our aunts shook their heads and laughed.

  What did Eden and I know?

  We were new and in love. Happy and excited for the future of a family—our family.

  Eden had two midwives, along with her servants.

  And then her water broke tonight.

  Terrified, I woke everyone up like a mad man. Anybody that was anybody in my life, arrived at the castle that evening. Of course, only the midwives and Eden’s personal staff stayed by the pool during the birth.

  Everyone else sat inside the castle. Many paced, especially my aunts. The guys gambled. Their women cooked and watched films in the movie theater I’d built on the east wing. On the west wing, my younger cousins and kids played in my new man cave—equipped with all the high-tech video games.

  Our guests enjoyed the night, while I witnessed Eden’s transformation into a captivating goddess.

  There under the moonlight, I sat in the birthing pool with her, helping her through the pain of labor. I’d had dozens and dozens of roses surrounding us.

  None of it mattered when her water broke.

  The labor went on for a long time. And the beauty of the moon, and flowers had left. And the pain of labor had come. And her body stretched and tore in the most impossible places, to make space for a child to come through.

  We sat in that birthing pool together. I was at her back, serving as her foundation. If I had to hold her up, I did. If she needed to lean against me, I remained stiff and there. When she needed—my arms, my warmth, my hands to wipe her face—I gave it to her.

  She worked so hard to have our child, and it was unbelievable to watch.

  I knew you would be a little princess. I knew it deep inside me.

  I’d seen many things in my life, but the birth of my daughter, Marcella would remain one of the biggest moments.

  Marcella and Eden. My loves. My lives.

  I’d grown that night.

  Eden had grown too.

  Through the whole labor, her cries sliced the moonlight. For all those hours, she couldn’t eat or drink. They kept giving her ice chips so she wouldn’t get dehydrated.

  Dear God! This takes hours. It’s nothing like the movies. How have women had more than one kid?!

  By the sixth hour, Eden cursed me out, for letting her come up with the idea of a natural birth in the first place. Those wet curls stuck to the side of her face as she screamed at me.

  Taking off her gown, she yelled for an epidural, or any other medication.

  I held her and unclothed myself too. Skin to skin somehow it made her feel better. Her cursing quieted through the pain, but never ended.

  There we sat in the birthing pool. Within the moonlight and pain. My love trembled against me and I hoped to absorb some of it for her—to help her in some way.

  Dr. Martin arrived later. Eden was done with the midwives, although I told them to stay. Unfortunately, he explained it was too late for her to get an epidural.

  The baby was too close.

  Eden cried a little and then pushed on. The midwives told me that it was normal for her to regret a water birth during the process, and she cursed them out too. But once the true moment began. . .once her body had done expanding, tearing, and stretching to make room, everyone got to work.

  Dear God. She’s so strong and beautiful.

  Eden shrieked, and whispered apologies to the midwives as they helped. Both held a knowing look. I’d bet they’d been cursed out by birthing mothers many times before.

  The whole night, I hated the torture, Eden was going through, but I kept my mouth closed and did what the midwives told me. I soothed her. I worked with helping her keep the rhythm of her breathing. I held her up in position, when Marcella’s head crowned at the opening of Eden’s vagina.

  Jesus Christ. I guess there is a God.

  When the final moments came, I held her legs open and to the side. So exhausted, she couldn’t even keep them up anymore. I whispered to her, to push. I told her that it would be okay. That it was almost done. That our baby was coming, and she was going to be just as beautiful as her. I told her when Eden finished, I’d get her anything, buy her anything, kill anyone.

  The statements had made the midwives uncomfortable.

  I didn’t care.

  It was the truth.

  In the birthing pool, the sun had just risen, and Marcella popped out of Eden, fluttering through the water and swimming a little into my hands. Blood and gunk covered her soft skin. The umbilical cord was still attached to Eden and her.

  Everyone cheered, or maybe it was just me screaming in glee.

  Marcella cried, and I believed more in God, than ever before. I gathered more faith. More hope in the magic of the universe. There was something out there. It had to be. Although I hadn’t decided what, there was something moving beyond the realities that I couldn’t see.

  Because only something, so powerful, could make a beauty like, Marcella.

  Wet black curls framed Marcella’s pudgy face. Her head was a little misshapen, skin blotchy, and her eyelids swollen, from her face and head being mushed and pushed through the birthing canal.

  It appeared Marcella had had a rough night too.

  My two soldiers.

  The midwives told me to wait to cut the umbilical cord, as Eden passed out against my chest, smiling one second and snoring in the next.

  Beautiful.

  In the birthing pool, bloody water swirled around us and I held Eden and Marcella in my arms. And the sun rose above us.

  I smiled.

  All those times Eden, and I had watched the sunrise, never did I think one day, it would rise with her and a newborn child in my arms. Beams bathed us.

  The midwives and staff scurried around the pool, quietly cleaning up and bringing out towels and robes.

  “Welcome, princess.” I gazed down at Marcella. “You don’t know this yet, but one day you’re going to rule the world.”

  Epilogue

  Milk and Cookie

  Jean-Pierre

  Six months later.

  We sat out on the balcony within the moonlight.

  Marcella and me.

  It was our nightly tradition since she’d begun teething. Those sharp, little teeth had been piercing and slicing through her innocent gums. If I could, I would’ve tortured them. But the teeth were a part of Marcella, and the natural process of life.
/>
  I was slowly learning that sometimes I wouldn’t be able to protect Marcella from everything.

  Being a father is not as easy as I thought. You’re not even a big girl yet, and I’m losing control of your day.

  She’d already been crawling and getting into everything. Her mommy’s diamond necklaces were her favorite toys. She giggled when they sparkled in the sunlight.

  Eden bought her other toys, but still, Marcella only would play with the jewelry. And so, I had to be the reasonable parent and buy my princess her own diamonds.

  Every princess needs a crown.

  Tonight, I dangled a long two caret necklace in front of her. The diamond spun and twisted. Marcella tried to grab it. Laughing, I would pull it away and she’d shriek in glee.

  These moments were our secret for now. Not much got over my queen, but at least Eden never disciplined us too badly.

  At this stage, Eden wanted Marcella to learn how to sleep in her huge crib. But, Marcella preferred daddy’s arms. Other times, Marcella settled for the comfort of our bed. There, she liked to cuddle between us, and play with the strings on her mommy’s back, which always woke Eden up and stopped the fun.

  You’re such a naughty girl.

  Marcella caught the necklace. I let it go and she giggled as she shook the necklace in her hands.

  “Shhh,” I whispered. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

  It was well past her bedtime, and she was not in her crib, but I’d been in the streets today with killers. Tonight, I needed to see my sweet daughter’s beautiful face. And after, once Marcella fell asleep, I would sneak her back to her crib and continue another secret tradition.

  God, Eden. I hope you’re getting your rest. I want you so bad tonight.

  Aunt Delphine came out on the balcony and nagged in a hushed whisper, “What are you doing? You’re going to get us all cursed out by Eden.”

  “Marcella wanted to see her father. She asked her men for me.”

  “Did she? She can’t even talk yet.” Aunt Delphine frowned and walked over to us. “Marcella is already so spoiled. You all carry her too much.”

  “We’re the only ones spoiling her?” I snorted. “I guess you just happened to be passing her room in the middle of night?”

  “Just checking on her.”

  “Sure.”

  Everyone called Aunt Delphine Marcella’s butler behind her back. If anybody carried her more than Eden, it was Aunt Delphine. The woman adored my daughter, dressing her up and constantly buying her dolls.

  Aunt Delphine shook her head. “Eventually Marchella will need to learn how to sleep in her crib.”

  “Why?” Ignoring my aunt, I quirked my eyebrows at Marcella. “What is she talking about, princess? Don’t I have arms, little one? Weren’t they made to hold you? What other purpose do they serve?”

  Dropping the diamond necklace, Marcella blinked those long black eye lashes. Hazel eyes sparkled back at me. Long curls covered her head. She’d been born with midnight black hair, but as she grew, my blood began to kick in. Blond curls peaked through the dark ones here, and there. Her hair was changing color as well as her skin. She’d been a pale little thing before. Now her skin had a bronze hue. With all the playing that we did at the beach, she tanned and darkened more than Eden.

  Marcella, you beautiful angel.

  If she could be cuter, I might’ve cut out my soul and put it in her tiny hands.

  “Who am I kidding?” I chuckled. “I have no more soul to give you, little one.”

  Aunt Delphine rolled her eyes as she always did, when my princess and I had these conversations.

  “Your mommy has my soul, but you both share my heart now. I’m a cut-up man with you two. But your mommy assured me, that my heart is big enough for you both to share. I still apologize. You’re mine. You won’t need to share much else.”

  Marcella gazed at me in pure awe. I loved that look. Those eyes wide. Mouth open. Attention on my words and every moment. She watched me, as if I was a god —her savior. How long would it be that way?

  We’ll never need to know.

  “I’ll do my best to love and protect you.” I ran my big hands along her small head. “I may not be able to give you my soul, Marcella. And perhaps, you have to share my heart, but everything else is yours. My money. My houses. My guns. My hands. My men. My days—”

  “And all his cheesy words.” Aunt Delphine took Marcella from my arms. “It is midnight. Marcella’s going to be off her schedule.”

  “She’s a Laurent.” I rose. “She follows no schedule.”

  “Go to sleep, Jean-Pierre.” Aunt Delphine walked off with, Marcella. “And don’t wake Eden and keep her up all night either, like you do when you get in this late.”

  “She’s my fiancé!”

  “That doesn’t mean sex slave.”

  “What?” I frowned. “We’re reading the bible, when I wake her.”

  “You’re going straight to hell with that lie, Jean-Pierre. Leave Eden alone. She has her first concert this week. She’s nervous.”

  She’ll rock it. It’s my baby.

  Eden had taken control of the Belladonna symphony, like I’d planned. Deep inside, I knew Eden would never play again. After I’d proposed, I taught her how to conduct. It was an art unto itself, and I wasn’t a patient teacher. Somehow, she survived my training.

  When her fingers healed, she discovered she couldn’t play, but wasn’t sad about it at all. Her new passion had become conducting her new symphony—all her friends.

  They kept the name, and now all of them planned to tour Europe one day.

  We’ll see about that.

  “At the symphony’s debut this week, I know Nice will see her as the star she is.” I waved my aunt’s worries away. “Eden will be fine. I’ve taught her everything.”

  Aunt Delphine paused, turned around, and gave me the look—the one that used to make me piss my pants as a boy. “Let Eden sleep.”

  “I’m definitely waking her up.”

  “Jean-Pierre.”

  What did my aunt understand? She didn’t get my commitment. I had plans. Big plans. One that would have my beautiful fiancé on her back and even bent over.

  Marcella needs a brother. Several actually. Big knuckleheads watching her back.

  Our wedding would be soon. Eden had lost the weight she’d wanted, to fit her dream dress. As soon as we hit the honeymoon, I would put another baby inside her.

  Maybe two.

  But one didn’t jump into these things fast. One needed to practice. And I had planned on practicing how to make, lots of babies this evening.

  Giving up, Aunt Delphine shook her head and smiled. “What is your problem, Jean-Pierre?”

  “Marcella needs a brother to watch over her.”

  Aunt Delphine muttered a curse in French.

  “You two have a lovely evening. And Marcella, be good to your aunt.” I walked over to them, kissed my Aunt’s cheek and landed a soft kiss on Marcella’s forehead. My little one squiggled her mouth. Saliva dripped out the corners. And the drool was just as much adorable as her.

  Marcella gurgled out a sound. I waited to see what it would be. It was just mumbled gurgles for now. Each day she was working on her wording, trying to speak. And each day, secretly, I anticipated the moment papa would leave that tiny mouth. At times, the possibility made me delirious.

  Maybe, tomorrow.

  Rafael claimed we fed Marcella too much and her first word would be, pie.

  What does he know?

  Marcella was not a fat baby. She was so tiny and utterly adorable. Chubby cheeks and the cutest double chin. And was it Marcella’s fault, that her mommy’s big breasts made tasty milk, full of fat and all the things she needed? Was it Marcella’s fault that her daddy had sped up the milk production, by sucking on her mommy’s long nipples in between feedings?

  Sighing, Aunt Delphine left. “Good night, Jean-Pierre. Go to sleep and stop causing havoc in the middle of the night. You always did,
even as a kid.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I licked my lips and headed to the bedroom.

  Now. . .it’s milk and cookie time.

  Eden’s breastfeeding had taught me a lot of things. One pleasant fact was that a mother’s breasts was supply and demand. Not only that, but Eden’s body would produce breast milk for Marcella’s needs at every stage of her baby journey.

  But more important, was the original fact about the supply and demand. The more Marcella drank, the more milk came. And the more I suckled Eden’s nipples between feedings, the more Eden’s breasts toppled over her bra, the more she dripped milk into my mouth as I fucked her, the more the taste of her milk made me come alone.

  Every man should have milk and cookie time like me. What other reason is there to wake up each day?

  When Marcella was first born, we couldn’t have sex. Eden’s body had needed to heal, and Marcella was relentless with our time, and attention. None of us got any sleep in those earlier months—not Eden, the staff, or me.

  And the whole time, Eden’s breasts strained her old bras and t-shirts. It was hard to keep my hands off her. It was damn near impossible to not think nasty thoughts, when she would unhook one side of her nursery bra, expose a lovely breast, softly pull at the stiff nipple, and feed Marcella.

  Or course, when there was free time, I spent those moments massaging and caressing them. Of course, the few times she could take it, I softly kissed her pussy and made her come. I never came in return. She was too tired to suck me off, even though she would have easily obliged.

  The week we could have sex. I’d brought in a bra specialist to give Eden a private assessment. It was more out of horniness, than undergarment assistance.

  My aunts had taken Marcella on her first picnic, and I had Eden topless in the center of our bedroom, while other women pampered her—manicure and pedicure. Body massage and facial. The lingerie specialist entered next, measuring her breasts. The woman took her time with each globe.

  The whole assessment, I sat in a chair across the room, keeping my hands far from my cock and finding it incredibly difficult.

  The specialist let her know, that Eden had gone up two cup sizes. I may have kept a neutral expression on my face, but my cock jumped. And my obsession for Eden, was fueled even more.