“That may be my favorite thing about you so far.”
“That I worked undercover?”
“No, that you’re committed to honesty.”
“I hear you’re having some trouble with that.”
“Your boyfriend has a big mouth.”
“He said you didn’t look happy when he saw you in Oklahoma, and you couldn’t get over the lies Renata’s mom embedded your life in. We both know better than anyone else that our parents’ actions hold no bearings on our own.”
“I know that now. Hell, maybe I knew that then, too.”
“Then, what happened?”
Something about her drew me in—maybe the way she looked at me like she genuinely cared, her face so similar to Nana’s. It made me want to confess everything. I figured she must have developed that ability working undercover, but I liked it. I liked the idea of having a sister, someone tied to me by De Luca blood who hadn’t been tainted by the De Luca madness.
“I couldn’t stop the accusations from spewing out of my mouth. Our relationship never moved on from Devils Ridge ten—almost eleven—years ago. So, all that frustration I felt in Oklahoma…” I shook my head. “It was really what I felt from Devils Ridge after our relationship ended the first time.”
“And now?”
“I’m trying to release every lie I’ve accumulated in my life, so I can move forward and be someone Ren deserves.”
“Is that what this is?”
“A little. Yes, I’ve lied to you and want to apologize for it, but I also want to see you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I found out that you’re my sister. I’m also sorry it took me this long to come see you.”
She reached out and squeezed my hand over the tabletop. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I’m your sister. I knew since birth, and I could have approached you when I turned eighteen. The truth is, I was afraid. I’d heard a lot about your dad, and when rumors reached the bureau that you took over, I could have reached out. My job didn’t matter enough to me to prevent me from doing so. It was the fear that you’d be the monster my aunt always told me your dad is.”
I shook my head. “I don’t blame you. He’s a real piece of work, but I promise you, I’m not like that. At all. I want to get to know you.”
“I’d like that. How does the truth feel?”
“Like I should have done this in the first place.”
“Hindsight’s a bitch like that. What are you going to do now?”
“Go get my girl.”
The essence of bravery is being without self-deception.
Pema Chödrön
I checked my phone again. My desk chair dug uncomfortably into my thighs as I tapped my feet.
“Miss Vitali?”
“Yes?”
I looked up at Charles, one of my students whose mother always picked him up late. Nearly an hour had passed since the bell rung. The same amount of time had passed between Damian’s last text to me, and my patience ran thin. Which, I knew, was a sign that I still cared. Fuck caring. And fuck not having Damian, too.
Last week, after snapping at Sally again, I figured I owed her an explanation for my short fuse. I gave her the gist of it. I had an ex, who recently came back into my life for a short-lived summer romance. He wanted me back, and despite the fact that I loved him, I couldn’t bring myself to take the leap because our past kept coming back to haunt us.
Sally claimed that I wanted Damian to fight for me. It didn’t have to be that drastic, but taking the leap of faith scared me, and I needed some reassurance that we wouldn’t relapse. Second chances could either be an opportunity to prove you’ve learned from your mistakes or another opportunity for someone to hurt you. The latter made me cautious.
“Miss Vitali?”
“Huh?” I blinked a few times in rapid succession and focused on Charles. “Sorry, Charles. What did you need?”
“I was gonna say that your foot tapping is annoying, but now my mom is here.” He waved the iPhone no eight-year-old had any business possessing. “Bye, Miss Vitali. I liked the finger painting in class today. You’d be cooler if you let us do that every day.”
I cocked a brow. “I’m not cool?”
He shook his head, his chubby face solemn. “No. Mr. Rice is way cooler. I had him last year.”
Oh, boy. Someone save this boy from the wrath of an underpaid, overworked teacher.
I pasted a fake smile on my face. “Mr. Rice is pretty darn cool. Have a nice night, Charles.”
We both stood, and I opened the door for Charles. The two of us jumped back when we saw someone on the other side.
Damian.
I glanced at Charles before my eyes darted to Damian. “This is highly inappropriate.”
“I thought school was over.”
It was. Charles’ mom needed a watch like I need a gin and tonic right now.
Charles turned to me. “Is this your boyfriend?”
His mom rushed into the hallway, her hair a haggard mess. “I’m so sorry. I had to—” Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of Damian. “Um, wow.” She fixed her hair and smiled. “I’m Stella.”
Damian didn’t bother looking at her. Instead, I had his full attention as he nodded to the classroom. Because I needed her gone without a barrage of who-is-that-hot-guy questions, I gave Charles’ mom a polite smile and waved when I would usually give her some passive aggressive attitude after she came barreling in an hour late, her face still pink from her facial or her wrists bright red from the shopping bags she carried.
I shut the door and locked it after I entered the classroom. Damian gave me time to stare at the door while I gathered myself before I turned around and faced him. My classroom was a chaotic, Harry Potter themed mess you couldn’t help but stare at, yet I owned his attention as I took a seat behind my desk.
He followed me there, leaned against the edge of the desk, and stared at me.
“You’re here,” I whispered.
“It’s tomorrow.”
“I guess it is.”
“I didn’t want to wait ten more years.” He used his foot to turn my chair, so my body faced him directly. “I don’t want to waste ten years, knowing the only woman I want is you, and everyone else I meet would amount to nothing, because all I’d be doing is comparing them to you every second of every day.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to realize how much I love you.”
“I do.”
How the hell could I not when I loved him so much, I knew that words would never adequately explain how I felt. I refused to believe he didn’t feel the same way. He was the right guy with the wrong timing, and I knew deep down that he deserved a second chance, and a third, and a fourth, and more, until we worked. But I, fearless Renata Vitali, was too chicken to take the leap.
“I don’t think you do, Princess.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me up until we stood face to face, my body between his legs, and his arm wrapped around my back. “I love you. Every good memory I have is with you. Every breath I take is for you. Every dream I have is featuring you. It’s. All. You. From the second I caught you on my bed and you stole my fucking phone, I was yours. I can’t let ten more years go by, Renata. The last ten years nearly destroyed me. I searched for you. Spent millions searching. Took time off to question anyone and everyone I could. Nearly started territorial wars trying to find you. And every night, I’d go to bed wondering if I was searching hard enough. My favorite part of the day was when I went to bed and dreamed of you. I’d lay on my empty sheets, wondering how ten years have changed you. Were you taller? Did you still dye your hair god awful jaundiced corpse yellow? Did you still live in sweats twenty-four seven? Did you still stay up late reading classics you’ve already read a million times before? My dreams always filled in the missing pieces, but they were never enough. When I woke up, you were never there, and I had to wait till nighttime to see you in my dreams again. I know you’re it for me because every time I do something that should m
ake me happy, I’m not fucking happy, because there’s no greater happiness than being with you.”
The first tear slipped past as he put into words everything I’d felt over the past ten years. Everything I tried to bury inside me. He didn’t give me time to fully process his words before he handed me something.
A photograph.
I took it from him and stared, unsure what I was looking at. A close up to a pile of ruins. Chunks of dark wood. Some cracked marble. Was this a junkyard?
I glanced back up at him. “What is this?” My eyes returned to the photograph as I stared, oddly transfixed by the destruction.
“My dad’s house.”
My head shot back up, and I swallowed. “What?”
Our library.
He’d destroyed our library.
No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
“I moved into the lake house in Oklahoma.”
“That’s great.” I cleared my throat, my heart withering at the thought of all those memories destroyed.
You still fucking care, Renata.
I tried again, hoping I was at least half convincing in my false happiness. “I’m happy for you.” I tried to be. I really tried.
“I moved it.”
“What?”
“I moved the library into the lake house.”
I shook my head. “What? How?”
“I had the entire thing cut out and shipped to Oklahoma, where I built it into the house as an add on, right next to the library you renovated. The old with the new. I’m ready to move on, Princess. I destroyed Dad’s place, and the only things I’ve taken with me are the good memories. Our library is sitting there, in my house, waiting for you to make more memories. Make more memories with me, Ren. Let me be the Day to your Knight again. Let me prove to you that we’re fate.”
Holy hell, this was him fighting for me.
I just had to leap.
I opened my mouth to speak. Fear gripped my muscles. My eyes met his, took in his expression, and I knew I was making the right decision.
Deception isn’t black and white. Sometimes, there’s more to the story. Sometimes, it’s the only step to overcome before your happily ever after.
Parker S. Huntington
One Year Later
I remind myself that I pretty much live with a ninja as I tiptoe down the stairs and into the library. Flicking on the light, I scour the shelves for the paperback I want and head for the divan from Devils Ridge.
Damian didn’t lie when he said he had attached the old library to the new one. It’s literally attached by some extra wall frames and an extended foundation. The dark Victorian decor clashes with the light farmhouse-style beach house, but I love it.
When I step into the old library, all the good memories from the first time I fell in love with Damian greet me. Everything is pretty much the same, except he flew to New York and took pictures of every Toynbee tile of ours. Those pictures are now framed in bookends on some of the shelves.
I grab a Sharpie from the desk and return to the divan. My fingers open the paperback. The Toynbee Convector. Skimming through the book until I land on “The Toynbee Convector,” I slide a photograph onto the page and close the book.
We’re reading it tomorrow. I can’t wait until he opens it and finds the ultrasound I had taken yesterday. I can’t wait for a lot of things lately. Every second of life with Damian excites me, and I can’t believe I went ten years without him.
The door creaks open. I set the book beside me on the divan, hoping it doesn’t draw Damian’s attention.
His eyes are a little sleepy, but I know he’s alert because we always are. It’s not the type of training we can turn off. “You’re up late.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
He sends me a sly grin and crosses the room to me. “I can help you with that.”
“Oh? How so?”
“I hear orgasms help you sleep better.”
“That’s mostly for men.” I place my hand on the front of his thigh, my head eye level with his growing erection. “I have a better idea.”
“A better idea than orgasms?”
“I think you’ll like it.”
I stay seated, though he stands in front of me, his head tilted down to meet my gaze. I can tell he thinks I’m about to pull out his erection, but instead, I lean around him and grab the Sharpie. His smile slips, and it takes everything in me not to laugh.
Grabbing his left hand, I press my lips to it and sigh onto his skin. “I love you, Damian. I have spent a decade missing you, and whenever I think of it, I can’t believe how stubborn we were. How stubborn I was. The truth is, I’ve always known that you’re it for me. I knew it when we were kids, and I know it now.” I uncap the pen. “I don’t want to spend another second without you. I don’t want to spend another second as anything other than your wife. You’ve already put a ring on my finger. Will you let me put one on yours?”
“You’re asking me to marry you?”
“Yes, but technically,”—I raise my left hand—“you put a ring on me first. I just want that to be clear.”
“Crystal clear.” He gives me his hand, and a stupid grin lights up my face as I draw a line around his ring finger.
I meet his eyes. “Do you know what this means?”
“What?”
“I basically just emasculated you by being the one to ask you to marry me.” I don’t actually believe that, but I know his reaction will amuse me. I smirk at his narrowed eyes. “I think you need to reclaim your manhood.”
I squeal and drop the Sharpie as he lifts me and grinds his erection into my core. My legs knock against the paperback, and it falls to the ground. The ultrasound slides out.
“What’s this?” Damian sets me down, bends over, and picks it up. The widest smile I’ve ever seen on him crosses his face, even wider than when I drew that ring on his finger. “You’re pregnant?”
“Yup. Sixteen weeks. I didn’t even realize it because my cycle has been irregular since I removed my IUD.”
“You’re not even showing.”
“I am, but I think you’ve been distracted by my new curves.”
“Did you propose because you’re pregnant?”
I shook my head. “No, I found out I was pregnant when I took a test two days ago. I’ve been planning this for about a month.”
He eyes The Toynbee Convector. “You’ve been waiting for us to get to this book.”
I nodded to the ultrasound picture. “The baby was just a happy coincidence.”
The baby.
Our baby.
It strikes me that I have everything I want in this library. Damian. Our baby girl. Rings on our fingers. I used to think Damian was a twisted prince who couldn’t love. I used to think he’d become the king and destroy me.
But our demons have been put to rest. Our past no longer plagues us. And Damian may not be the Damsel anymore, but I feel like a fucking princess.
Six Years Later
“So, let me get this straight. She didn’t insist on a giant diamond ring?” Niccolaio eyes the tattoo on my finger like it’s a Rubix cube he can’t crack.
“No.” I arch a brow. “Did Minka?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Ranie shakes his head, his eyes glued on his wife, who stands at the edge of the lake in a candy red bikini half the size of her baby bump. “You guys are stupid.”
Bastian tosses the last of his cheeseburger to my dog and ignores the glare I cast his way. “At least their wives have something on their fingers.”
I pat Pages, my tiny Shih Tzu—a living, panting blow to my masculinity, but my wife wanted him, and I wanted her happy. “If that gives Pages the shits, you’re cleaning it, Romano.”
“You’re a six-two guy with a five-pound Shih Tzu named Pages. If you think I’m cleaning your dog’s shit, I can schedule a CT scan for your damaged brain. I’m sure Liv would do it.”
Marco shakes his head. “My girl’s
not touching any of you assholes.”
Ranie twists the platinum band on his finger. “Gallo’s eight months pregnant. If my wife’s wedding ring still fits on her finger after eight months with a bun in her oven, my sperm’s not as super as I thought. And I can assure you that’s not the case. My son’s gonna be huge. You should have seen the size of his package on the ultrasound.”
We all had, in our group chat from hell.
Didn’t miss the second or third pictures he sent either.
Asher’s eyes remain closed, like he can’t believe he’s spending a Saturday with us, but he can suck it up because my girl wanted everyone here, so everyone had better damn well be here. “I’d be more concerned with your son, who’s pissing into the fire pit.”
None of us ask how Asher saw that with his eyes closed. We all look to the side, and sure enough, Luke is swinging his package around like it’s a lightsaber, splashing piss all over my custom-built fire pit.
Marco laughs and downs his spiked Arnold Palmer. “Father of the year, Ranie.”
His daughter runs up to us, her Converse soaking wet from running at the edge of the lake. “Why does Luke’s bagina look different from mine? He says it’s ‘cause he’s cooler than me.”
Marco covers Charlotte’s ears and yells out, “I’m gonna fucking kill you, Ranie!”
Ranie flips Marco the bird as he walks over to Luke, makes his son zip himself back up, and tells him not to get caught next time. Andrettis don’t get caught, Luke. Gallo waddles over to them and overrules Ranie, saying there will not, under any circumstances, be a next time.
Marco uncovers Charlotte’s ears and kneels, so they’re closer to eye level. “Remember what I told you about Brett Keith?”
“The guy who mom used to like?”
He narrows his eyes. “Mom never liked him. But yes. Him.”
“You said, ‘Never trust anyone with two first names.’”
Bastian snorts and pats Charlotte’s head. “Your dad’s really mature, Charlie Girl.”
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