by Bethany-Kris
Cara sighed. “I would think so.”
“That day I found her, I thought she was selfish,” he admitted, “because of what she did to Dom, something that was only meant to hurt me. She couldn’t help herself, clearly, she had to manipulate and play her games even at the end.”
“So?”
“So, then I learn she’s pregnant, too, and it just verified those thoughts. I don’t feel so awful for thinking them, now. I don’t feel as bad for what she did, because I don’t think it was ever about me. It was always about her, that’s just who she was.”
“It’s done now, Gian,” Cara said.
He nodded. “I was wrong when I told you freedom was always weightless. Do you remember that?”
“Of course. I remember everything you’ve ever told me.”
“Sometimes freedom feels heavy, too. Like when you don’t know what to do with it.”
Cara pushed up from her backside to rest on her knees. She leaned forward and kissed Gian softly on his mouth, feeling his lips grow into a sensual smile the longer she held him there. “You’ve got all the time in the world to figure this out, Gian.”
“With you.”
“With me,” she echoed.
“Because I don’t care much about the rest,” he said, holding her gaze, “as long as you’re going to be there with me, Cara.”
“I’m always going to be here.”
Where could she possibly go?
Life and love had entangled her heart and soul with Gian Guzzi.
He was hers.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
“He was wrong. All those years, what he kept repeating to me; he was wrong.”
“Who?” Cara asked.
“My grandfather. Duty. Legacy. And only then, love. Always in that order. That’s what he told me but he was wrong. At least for me. He used to say that if a man failed at his duty, his legacy would be nameless, and his love, hopeless. But that only works if a man loves his duty more than anything else in his life and I never did. I love you far more—I love my son far more. I would have no legacy without love, and then what would be the point of my duty at the end of it all? There would be no point, I suppose. I would have nothing worthy to pass on, nothing to watch grow. Or worse, I would have no one to pass it on to, no one to give all of my legacy. Yet, I do, and it was only because I refused to put duty first. I’m not sure if that counts as failing, or not.”
“Oh, Gian.”
“Yeah, I know.” Gian slipped the wedding band off his finger one last time, and handed it up as though it was an offering for her to take. “A gift I didn’t think I was going to be able to give you.”
Cara pinched the tiny piece of jewelry between her fingers, staring at it for a long while before she said, “One woman to one man, Gian.”
“For the rest of my fucking life, Cara. I promise.”
“Marcus!” Gian whispered loudly down the hall.
Nothing answered him back.
“Marcus, you better not be waking up your brothers, you little monster.”
Or his mother …
Marcus could be a handful for a nearly two-year-old child. Gian turned his back on his oldest son for two seconds, and the kid was gone. Like fucking lightning.
The further down the hall Gian got, the quieter he whispered for his son to come out of his hiding spot. “Marcus, Daddy has one of your cookies.”
Muffled behind the twins’ nursery door, Gian heard the sounds of Marcus making car noises. He quickly opened the door to find his boy playing on the floor between the two bassinets, his favorite toy car in hand. Marcus didn’t even look up at his father, instead continuing to play as though he hadn’t done anything wrong. Thankfully, it seemed the plush carpet was mostly muting the noise of the toy car.
“Marcus,” Gian murmured, carefully sidestepping a particular spot on the floor that creaked loud enough to wake the devil. “You know not to come into your baby brothers’ room when they’re napping. Come to Daddy, please.”
The boy rolled over to his back, and smiled up at Gian.
“Hi, Daddy,” Marcus said, barely above a whisper.
Serene.
Innocent.
Sweet as could be.
Terrible.
Good God, the boy was terrible. He knew exactly how to wrap his mother or father right around his tiny little finger with nothing more than a smile and twinkling brown eyes. Gian fully expected that out of his three children—whether or not more kids came in the future was up to Cara—Marcus was going to be the one Gian had to watch out for.
“Let me check on your brothers, and then we’re going,” Gian told the still-smiling toddler.
Gian leaned over the wicker bassinets, his gaze drifting over the swaddled, sleeping twin two-month old boys. Even small, brand new, and beautiful, he could see his features reflected in the babies. The shape of their noses, their dark hair, and the curve of their lips. Marcus had been perfect, too, but Gian had forgotten how strange and wonderful it felt to simply stare at his children and feel.
When they slept, when they were quiet, and when they couldn’t possibly know he was watching them … it was amazing. They were amazing.
And they had come from him.
Corrado preferred his thumb to a soother.
Christopher could only be soothed on the breast.
Gian vividly recalled the moment Cara had slid a positive pregnancy test into his hand with one of her sly smiles. He had never guessed that one baby would actually be two. Identical twins—boys, again.
Suddenly, their little family had become very big in a short amount of time.
He barely blinked, and he had three children. Three boys to raise. Three pieces of him to love. Others might have been scared at the changes in their life, but Gian was not one of those people. He had wanted a family of his own for longer than he cared to remember, but he had settled on the idea that he might not see those wishes through.
Yet, there he was, a father.
And there his babies were, all his.
“Daddy.”
Little Marcus pushed up from the floor and tugged on his father’s pant legs. Quickly, to keep him quiet and prevent him from waking up his baby brothers and mother, Gian scooped Marcus into his arms. The toddler peered into the wicker bassinets, curiosity lighting up his gaze.
For the most part, Marcus had no interest in his brothers. They were still too new, Gian thought. They didn’t play like he did, they cried when Marcus wanted quiet time, and they took up a lot of his mother and father’s attention.
He was a good big brother, though.
Or he tried to be.
That was all Gian asked of his oldest boy.
“Mook,” Marcus said, clearly done with looking at his brothers. He patted his father on the cheek with a slightly wet hand. Likely drool. Gian ignored the ickiness of it. “Mook, Daddy.”
“Yeah, we’ll get you some milk, bambino.”
It was better Gian did leave the nursery, anyway, as the twins hadn’t been down for very long, and Cara had only fallen asleep in the next room shortly after. If he woke them up, but especially Christopher, then Cara would have to get up, too. She needed her rest; she deserved to sleep.
She had wanted a shower while she had the chance to take one, but shit, Gian didn’t even think she was able to do that before she hit the bed. Out like a light.
Motherhood was tiring.
Tandem breastfeeding twins was exhausting.
Cara barely breathed a complaint.
Gian had always thought his lover was amazing, because how could he not think that when she had never proved him otherwise? Watching her navigate their twins simply reminded him of just how truly amazing she was. For him and their children.
Someday, he was going to be the luckiest man in the world—more so than he already was—and he would be able to tell their sons why they too were so lucky. Because they had a mother like Cara, who had loved them and given them every part of her that was good and beautiful from the m
oment she knew they existed.
Gian was just a sinner in nice clothes.
Cara was the angel.
Marcus hugged tighter to his father as Gian closed the nursery door as quietly as he possibly could. Downstairs in the kitchen, he found his mother wiping down the countertops. The room smelled like Lysol, and the dishwasher was running.
“Ma,” Gian said, putting Marcus down to the clean floor. “You don’t have to come over here to clean all the damn time.”
“Nonsense,” Celeste replied blithely. “This is how we help.”
Their house wasn’t dirty, anyway. They had a three-day-a-week maid. Cara was a bit anal on cleaning, too, and Gian picked up after himself and Marcus. Apparently, just the two of them made more messes than the twins.
That was a complete exaggeration …
Gian smelled the air as Marcus toddled toward the fridge, still voicing his desire for milk. Repeatedly. “And you’re cooking something, too.”
“A casserole. Cara doesn’t need to be cooking all the time with the new babies.”
“I do help, Ma.”
Celeste eyed him over her shoulder, smiling slightly. “I know you do. You’re a good man in that way, Gian. Of course you are, I raised you, silly boy. But other than your maid—who, by the way, needs a lesson on dusting higher than eye-level—who is here helping you and Cara?”
No one.
Gian had wanted to hire a nanny to help Cara, especially when he had to go into the city for most of the day, and didn’t get back until late. Cara would hear none of it. A nanny was not going to raise their children, and if Gian brought one home, he wouldn’t like what happened after. Or, that’s what Cara told him. He chose not to test the theory out.
“We appreciate it.”
Celeste’s smile grew wider. “That’s all I want to hear.”
He wished it was that simple, though.
Unfortunately, his father was not of the same mindset that his mother was. Frederic and Gian had not quite made amends for the choices that had needed to be made years ago. His father had yet to meet the twins, and he hadn’t even seen Marcus since the boy’s last birthday. Gian suspected when Frederic did come to see them, it would not be when his only living son was in the house, too.
Gian wanted to feel guilt for his actions that pushed his father away, but he couldn’t.
Had he made a different choice …
Had he been just a few minutes later …
“Mook, Daddy!”
Gian looked to Marcus. The toddler pointed firmly at the fridge, wanting what he wanted, and he didn’t want to wait one more minute. His oldest son was like his father in that way.
Had Gian second guessed himself back then, he would not have what he had now.
Gian didn’t regret any of it at all.
He quickly got his boy’s drink set up in a sippy cup, and set Marcus into his high chair so he could watch one of his favorite cartoons. Satisfied that his boy and his mother were thoroughly distracted, Gian headed back upstairs.
He should let Cara sleep.
He should …
Gian had other plans. Now that his twins were born, he could finally get Cara down the aisle, as she had promised him all those months ago. The problem was, he had been overthinking this for too long. When to ask, how to ask, and all of that nonsense.
He realized one morning, while Marcus cuddled into his chest, and Cara fed the twins, that it was all rather obvious. Their best moments, and their best conversations, always happened in bed. He didn’t know why, but it was true.
Gian didn’t think this would be any different.
At some point, Gian stopped caring about what others thought—and their fucking opinions—regarding his unmarried state, his children born out of wedlock, and how it made him appear as a boss to other families.
Fuck those families.
Gian was too busy raising his own family to play into other people’s politics. Besides, his ability to run a criminal organization was only dependent on his capability to keep control of the men, not which woman wore a ring and had his last name.
Although, he was working on that, too.
Just not to please anyone else but himself.
And Cara.
Slipping into their master bedroom, Gian found his wife was still sleeping happily. On the bedside table, the baby monitor lit up with the rhythmic sound of the twins’ breaths.
Seeing Cara curled into the blankets on his side of the bed, holding tight to one of his pillows, made Gian pause. Instead of waking her up like he had planned, he sat down in one of the rockers in the corner, and simply watched his lover.
Marcus was fine with his grandmother.
The twins were okay.
He had time.
They so rarely had time lately.
As he watched Cara, her dreams flickering behind her closed lids, Gian found his peace. Too often, his days and duties and stresses got away with him, and he forgot about the important pieces in his life that brought him happiness. Beautiful things like Cara.
Gian hadn’t realized it, but he’d pulled the small velvet box from his slacks pocket, and was flicking the lid open and closed. Why he was fidgeting, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t nervous, but anxious.
The two-carat ruby, set atop a crown of diamonds on a white-gold band, rested inside the box, nestled amongst a velvet bed. He thought, when he had found the piece, that it fit Cara better than any other ring could. Certainly, better than normal diamonds, or something else of equal flashy appeal.
Red, like her hair and her lips.
Red, like the color of her passion and her love.
Red, like the hurricane they were together and apart.
Red was the color of all extremes, both good and bad. It was the color best described by the strongest human emotions—love and anger. Red was the color of blood, of a man’s heart, and he thought if it were possible to see inside his soul, it would be a crimson shade, too.
Just like Cara and her love and soul.
A ruby was perfect.
He slipped it back into his pocket for the time being.
“Gian?”
At the sound of Cara’s sleepy call of his name, Gian was up off the chair and crossing the room. He slipped into bed with Cara easily, his arms snaking around her body to pull her in close. There, he could hold her still, feel her warmth, and hide away from the world for a short time.
“Afternoon,” he murmured into her hair. “Chris and Corrado are still asleep, so you can rest some more, if you need to.”
Cara sighed. “I swear, I have an internal alarm now. I wake up before the twins do, in preparation for them.”
Gian kissed the top of her head. “That might be very true.”
“There’s no ‘might be’ about it, Gian. The boobs know.”
His laughter rocked them both in the bed. Cara’s lips curved into a sweet smile against the column of his throat. “They do have a job to do, now.”
“Apparently.” Cara tipped her head back so she could look up at him, her wild red curls splaying over the pillow. “Gian?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you marry me?”
He stiffened in the bed, his gaze darting down to meet hers. “You couldn’t even let me ask, could you?”
Cara shrugged, her sly smile teasing him. “I saw you looking at the ring. I figured … well, I should save you the trouble.”
“You’re supposed to let me ask, Cara. I’ve waited a long time for this.”
“It is a beautiful ring.”
“Cara.”
“Ask,” she whispered before pressing a quick kiss to his lips.
Gian let his fingertips dance over Cara’s side, tickling her. Her giggles rang out at the same time a quiet set of matching, perfectly-timed cries started from the baby monitor.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Cara winked as she pushed up from the bed. “I may be queen of the house, but I still answer to the little ones. Fun is over. The princ
es call, Gian.”
And they would keep calling, he knew.
Marcus, too.
Plus, every other person that interrupted their daily life time and time again.
Gian grabbed Cara’s wrist at the last second, stopping her from climbing off the bed. He could deal with getting the ring on her at another time. He only needed to ask.
“Marry me, Cara,” Gian said. “Please, marry me?”
Cara crawled back over the bed, kissed him hard once, and replied, “Do you expect any other answer but yes?”
“Not really, but I’m worried that if I don’t ask right now, I will never get the chance to ask. So please, Cara, will you let me love you like this, too? I’m already happy, whole, and lucky because of you, but will you marry me, too?”
“Yes, Gian.”
He pulled her back for another lingering kiss, and then swatted her ass as she clamored off the bed and headed for the nursery. It wasn’t long before he was following after her, too, scooping one of the two twins from their beds to help Cara in whatever way he could. He headed for the changing table with a slightly happier Corrado, while Cara sat down into one of her rocking chairs to feed the less than pleased Christopher.
Less than a minute after the twins had woken up, a loud, chocolate-stained Marcus made his way into the room, too. He made a beeline for his mother.
Their life was busy and messy. Time was already a rare commodity. He got his yes, though. That was all that mattered.
Time could be made.
He figured that was a lesson worth learning early in their family; time could always be made.
Seventeen Years Later
Gian stared up at one of the many paintings that hung in his home. He had far more expensive pieces than this particular one; art was a good way to hide vast wealth in material things that could be easily liquidated, after all.
But this painting?
This one he could never sell.
To him, it was priceless.
Sitting on a gold chair that looked almost like a throne, in the middle of a forest that was just beginning to change to autumn, the woman stared straight ahead, as though she owned the whole world. She seemed unaware of the fact time had stopped around her—the artist catching colorful leaves as they fell, and a bird looking down from one of the trees behind her. Blue eyes, red hair. Dressed in a royal purple, knee-length gown with the heels to match.