by Bethany-Kris
Catherine stormed through the hallway of the Four Seasons as she headed to her room. She was going to go to her mother’s first, one floor higher, but ended up on hers. She wanted to get the hell out of her dress and heels before she flew into her mother, anyway.
What had Catrina been thinking?
Now what were they going to do?
This little trick was nothing new for Catrina where Catherine was concerned. It was not the first, or even the second, time her mother had put her in a situation to train her, so to speak. Most times, Catrina would at least give Catherine a heads up and decent time to prepare for whatever was coming her way.
Not this fucking time.
And look what happened!
Catherine had no idea how she was supposed to go home and tell the bosses of the Three Families—her cousins, and her husband—that she officially shattered the agreement she had with their cocaine supplier. Sure, they had a lot of other business to fall back on. Their money was not made only with selling cocaine.
But for Catherine’s business?
The majority was cocaine deals to clients all over the country.
Still, her contact and business relationship with Giuseppe was needed to also keep the Three Families’ supply up and at a cheap cost, too.
Catherine stood outside her room door, and stared at the brass number without going inside. Wow. This was not supposed to happen.
Jesus Christ.
She unlocked her room with the card key, and stepped inside the darkness of the space. She closed the door and reached for the light switch on the wall.
The man standing across the room waiting for her was not who she expected to see.
Not at all.
“So yeah, just give me a call when you get a chance, okay? Love you, Cross.”
Catherine’s message hung up, but he didn’t delete it. He hadn’t meant to be ignoring her calls. He just kept missing them. Knowing the time in Italy, he figured calling her back now was pointless. Cross shoved the phone back in his pocket.
Sitting at the crowded gate, Cross took the moment to people-watch. It wasn’t very often that he was alone, and capable of getting lost in his own head. He was always with someone else, or usually, someone would recognize him and want to chat.
Not today.
A mother three rows over balanced her attention between rocking a stroller with her foot, entertaining the toddler hanging over her side, and chatting to someone on the phone. A young couple—early twenties—sat close together, heads bent low over a tablet as they laughed about whatever was on the screen.
Cross soaked in the noise, but also, the silence in his own head. At that very second, he had nothing else to do except wait for his call to stand, and get lost in memories.
He did just that.
Cross lifted the white wine and took a drink.
Catherine lifted a brow at him from across the table. “Well?”
“It’s … dry,” he admitted.
“Good for steak, or no?”
“It’s all right, I guess. A red wine might be better.”
“A red wine.”
“Yeah.”
“You told me dry-sec, Cross.”
“I told you to choose a wine—try a red, even. That’s what I said.”
“You know what,” Catherine huffed, “buy your own damn wine from now on, then.”
Cross chuckled. “I will.”
“Ma called.”
He set his glass back to the table and reached for a steak knife. “Did she?”
“She’s sending me to L.A. next week.”
“New client?”
Catherine didn’t answer.
Cross slowed his knife cutting into the steak as he glanced to Catherine. “Catty?”
“Not a new client.”
Her work with her mother often took her all over the States. They were only a year into their marriage—not even, as their one year anniversary was the following month—and her work kept her out of their house. A lot.
Her work kept her away so often, that she spent just as much time inside their beautiful Newport home as she did out of it.
Cross wanted more time with his wife, but he also wanted her to do what made her happy. He couldn’t tell her to slow down, could he? Not when it was only for his own selfishness, and not because she wanted that, too.
“So, not a new client,” he said. “What is it, then?”
“She wants me to handle a couple of the girls. Manage them, I guess.”
“Alongside what you already do.”
It wasn’t even a question.
Catherine nodded. “Basically.”
“All right, that’s good,” Cross finally said, though he wasn’t sure he believed it. “Did she say how long you were going to be there this time?”
“I don’t know.”
Cross heard what she was saying loud and clear.
“A while, then.”
Catherine sighed. “Maybe into December?”
“Are you going to be home for our anniversary?”
Because shit, he had a lot planned for that. Tickets he practically had to beat someone to death to get for a show she loved but never saw live. A private helicopter tour of Niagara Falls. A massive dinner with their families.
Things Catherine would love.
Cross didn’t want to push those plans aside.
Her familiar green eyes pierced into his from across the table.
“I promise I’ll be home for that,” she said.
“But in between …?”
Catherine made face. “Hard to say.”
“I want you home for Christmas.”
She froze in place.
Cross’s words kept coming when he added, “No, actually, I want you home all of December, at least. Can’t we have a bit of time, Catty? Just you and me without weeks away or drop-offs and pick-ups at the airport? I want that.”
“I know I’m busy.”
“I am, too,” Cross admitted.
“I’ll work something out, okay?”
“Okay.”
That was all he needed.
All we wanted.
“Anything else?” Catherine asked with a quiet laugh as she picked up her glass of water to sip.
God.
He loved his wife. He adored this woman, and her beautiful soul. She was his first love, and he planned on having her forever as his last love, too. He wanted a million and one things with her, and that had never once changed.
Of course, there was more.
There would always be more.
“Are we going to talk kids soon?”
Catherine’s eyes widened, darted to him, and then she coughed on her drink of water. “I beg your pardon?”
“Kids. Babies. Crying, milk-drinking, exhausting little things. You and I having one. When?”
“Do you really think describing babies like that is a good way to convince me to have one?”
“I think you appreciate my honesty, babe.”
Catherine snorted, and set her glass to the table. “One of many things I appreciate about you, but it’s not particularly high on the list.”
“Don’t be cute and avoid my question.”
“Not avoiding.”
“Kind of,” Cross murmured. “Is that a no on even talking about it, then?”
“It’s not a no,” Catherine said quietly.
“But it’s not a yes, either.”
Catherine peered up at the ceiling, and let out a slow breath. “I’m barely home as it is, Cross. You just told me to make sure I would be home for our anniversary, and to work something out for December. I come and go, and when it’s just us, that’s okay. We can handle it. And right now you want to talk about adding a little person to that equation, too?”
“Yep,” Cross said, not missing a beat.
“Isn’t that a little selfish?”
“Probably.”
Catherine shot him a look. “Cross.”
“We would figure i
t out, wouldn’t we? Don’t we always figure shit out, Catty?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Do you not want kids yet, or … at all?”
“I want kids,” she rushed to say. “With you, of course I do, Cross.”
He hid his smile into his next drink of wine.
“Compromise, then?” Cross asked.
“Try me.”
“You’re already gone a lot as it is. So it could take a while to hit the right time, couldn’t it?”
“It could.” Catherine’s gaze narrowed. “Keep going.”
“What if we didn’t actively prevent anything from happening? It comes when it comes.”
“If I canceled the appointment for my shot in two weeks, I know exactly what would happen.” Catherine snorted. “You’ll have me knocked up before Christmas, Cross.”
He smirked. “So be it.”
“You’re terrible.”
“You didn’t say no.”
“Nope,” Catherine replied, “I didn’t.”
After that one conversation, Cross learned a lot of things about his wife and marriage. One, he needed to speak the hell up when he wanted something from her. Two, years of not drinking or buying wine meant that Catherine couldn’t pick out good liquor to save her life. And three, Catherine always kept her word.
“Cross, my man. How long has it been?”
Standing at the sight of the Guzzi family’s underboss, Cross took the handshake and returned Marcus Guzzi’s smile. “It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”
“Tired, busy, praying, working,” Marcus said, “and you know, the good stuff, too.”
Cross laughed. “Tell me about it. I thought your father was coming to meet with me today.”
“Gian got tied up in a meeting with some guys. He didn’t think you would mind me showing up instead.”
“Or, your father is finally handing some responsibility over.”
Marcus shrugged. “Could be. Who’s to say?”
Cross would say it.
That’s exactly what it was.
Marcus was a couple of years younger than Cross, and not yet sitting in the boss’s seat. He’d been his father’s underboss for a good few years. It was time to begin the transition, and he suspected that was exactly what Gian Guzzi was doing with his eldest son.
“I have to head back to the airport soon,” Cross said, “so if you don’t mind, I need to get this business cleared up quickly.”
“No worries.” Marcus took a seat, and waved at the waitress in the upscale Toronto restaurant. “Make me a drink, Clarissa?”
“You got it, Marc.”
Cross looked over his shoulder at the young woman who shot Marcus a sweet smile before heading toward the bar. “A friend of yours?”
Marcus smirked. “Something like that. Business, right? Let’s get to that.”
Right.
Cross pulled out the file from the bag at his feet. He slid it across the table, and Marcus quickly snatched it up. He stayed quiet as the younger man looked through the details of the next gun shipment due to the Guzzi family. He was always careful with his plans, and exactly how he intended to get the guns to their targeted drop.
“The Limestone, Maine border going into New Brunswick will work,” Marcus murmured.
“We’re lucky if there’s even two custom guards on the weekends,” Cross replied. “It’s an easy pass, really. I try not to use it often, as I don’t want to draw attention to the spot. We’re still waiting on some other shipments to get in to finish the specifics your father wanted, so it’ll be a while yet before the drop.”
“Still on time, though.”
“Of course.”
“You don’t mind Gian sending someone over to check the guns once you get them into a New York port, do you?”
“He usually does,” Cross said with a shrug. “They’re always fine—he still sends somebody.”
“Detail oriented,” Marcus said.
“So am I. It’s why I don’t complain.”
Marcus closed the file up, and gave Cross his attention again. “It looks good, man. If anything changes, let us know so we can work accordingly.”
“Will do.”
Standing from the table, Cross shrugged on his leather jacket, and downed the rest of the whiskey he had ordered.
“You going back home?” Marcus asked.
“Nope. I’ve got somewhere more important to be.”
After all, Cross had learned it was the important people in his life that couldn’t be forgotten. Never, no matter what. She couldn’t be forgotten. They couldn’t be forgotten.
Cross rolled over in the bed only to find it was empty when he reached to pull Catherine closer. Blinking awake, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and groaned away the exhaustion.
“Catty?”
No answer.
He looked to the opened bathroom door attached to their master bedroom.
“Babe, you in there?”
Still, nothing.
Grumbling under his breath, Cross rolled out of bed. The hardwood floors cooled his bare feet as he headed out of the bedroom in search of his wife. He didn’t like waking up alone, but it happened more often than not considering how much Catherine was coming and going from their home while she worked for her mother.
Except for that month, she had been home with him.
All December.
Just like he wanted.
Cross glanced at the clock on the wall as he headed down the stairs to the main level of their tri-level home. It told him it was well past one in the morning.
Merry Christmas, he told himself.
The morning was sure to be busy. Mass at church with his parents. Dinner with Catherine’s parents. An evening supper and party for his famiglia. Yeah, busy. He really could have used the sleep he was now missing.
“Catherine?” Cross called as he rounded the bottom steps.
“In the living room.”
Cross found Catherine sitting cross-legged in front of their live, nine-foot tall Christmas tree. White lights, gold and red trim, and a sparkling, twinkling star lit up the top. He had surprised her with the tree when he brought it home, and then helped her decorate every damn inch of the massive thing. The white lights reflected off the glass bulbs hanging on the tree branches, sending cascades of sparkles and colors lighting up the wall.
It was a beautiful piece of work.
It took them hours to do it.
Catherine peered up at him with a soft smile as he came to stand beside her. He let his hand drift through her waves of silky hair. Catherine hummed happily under her breath, and leaned into his touch even more.
“Don’t you look good,” she told him.
Cross cocked a brow. “How so?”
“Nothing but boxer-briefs on. Hey, if you put on a Santa hat, you could be my naughty—”
“Nope,” he interrupted.
Catherine giggled. “Hey, it was worth a shot.”
“What are you doing up, babe?”
“Something wouldn’t let me sleep.”
Cross’s brow furrowed as he met her gaze. “What, was I snoring or some shit?”
“Never.” She laughed. “I was just … I guess I had something on my mind.”
He didn’t like the sound of that at all. Instantly, he moved to sit beside his wife, but the second he was on the floor, Catherine quickly climbed into his lap. Hugging her inside his embrace, he felt her relax.
Cross rested his chin on her shoulder, and soaked in her sweet scent. “You could have woke me up, Catty.”
“I know.”
“So, why didn’t you?”
“I wanted to be sure first.”
Cross had no idea what she was talking about. “Are you purposefully being vague, or what?”
“Do you want to open a gift?”
“No, I want you to tell me what’s up with you.”
Catherine sighed, and reached under the tree to grab a little gift box. Maybe six inches in length
, and a half of an inch thick, he thought it probably held a bracelet or something. She placed it in her lap when he refused to take it from her hand.
“Okay, then I will open it.”
“And then will you tell me what’s up?”
Catherine didn’t answer.
She simply flipped open the lid of the box.
Cross’s heart stopped.
A single piece of white and pink plastic rested inside on folded up green tissue paper. His gaze flew to the window pane of the plastic strip, and saw two pink lines in the sign of a cross on the white background.
Written on the stick were results, it seemed.
One line, not pregnant.
Two lines, pregnant.
Still, Cross couldn’t form words.
Catherine made a quiet noise under her breath and said, “So, there it is.”
“Holy shit, babe.”
“Pregnant.”
His heart hurt.
He was that fucking happy.
He was that excited.
His chest hurt because his heart was beating so hard, and so fast, but he didn’t even mind.
“Holy shit,” he said again.
“I told you.”
Cross wasn’t even listening to what Catherine was trying to tell him. He grabbed her by the waist, and turned her around in his lap. The little gift box, tissue paper, and pregnancy test scattered on the floor as she grabbed his face and kissed him once, sweet and soft, and oh, so slow.
“Pregnant,” he murmured into her kiss.
Catherine grinned. “I wanted to surprise you in the morning.”
“Pregnant.”
Her laughter was the balm to his soul.
She was his peace.
She gave him everything.
“I told you,” Catherine mumbled when he kissed her twice as hard.
“Told me what?”
“You would have me knocked up before Christmas.”
Cross tipped his head back and barked out a laugh that echoed in their quiet home. He doubted that in a few months, it would still be quiet. He didn’t care. He couldn’t fucking wait. They were going to have a baby—him and her wrapped up in a perfect little human. Catherine was going to be beautiful carrying his child.