by Bethany-Kris
And good God, she was beautiful when she came.
Flushed skin and a trembling lower lip. Hooded eyes and red curls framing her pretty face. Shaking from top to bottom with the most pleased sigh falling from her godforsaken mouth. He loved every inch of this woman. Every single curve and line that she owned fit perfectly into his own. He loved her.
“Gian.”
“Hmm?” His fingers slowed on her clit as she hummed her way through an orgasm that seemed to go on and on for ages. He explored lower, finding her wet and hot at her slit, just like he expected and wanted her to be. “Talk to me, Cara.”
“You said it all pretty well without me needing to.”
“I do try,” he murmured. “And I know you miss when I choke you, when it hurts so good, or when I use you harder; I know you want me to fuck you crazy, and I will. But never like this, not when you’re like this, sweetheart.”
Not when she was fragile.
Not when she was growing something oh, so precious.
Not when he could worship her for being everything.
He just couldn’t do it. He wanted to love her differently, then. Not that it was a better way, but he liked it just the same.
Cara’s gaze darted to catch his in the mirror, and love stared back. “This is good, too.”
Gian tipped Cara’s head back far enough that he could catch her mouth in another burning, long kiss. Her tongue tangled with his, while his fingers weaved into her hair to hold her in place for as long as he wanted. He couldn’t quite get enough—not of her softness, sweetness, her taste and smell, or all the rest that made up her wonderfulness.
It was never enough.
“Show me how good, then,” he urged. “Show me how good you are, how good you look with me, Cara. Show me you see, too.”
Cara was bent over before Gian could get another word out of his mouth. Her pretty ass was high in the air, while she used the sides of the mirror for support to keep her steady. Gian used those few moments he had to admire the woman begging for his hands to touch her, for his cock to fuck her, and how absolutely perfect she looked bent over, ready, and so damn willing. He dropped his towel and filled her full of his cock while her gaze stayed locked on him in the mirror.
He felt every fucking inch of her take him in, squeeze tight around him, and promise something wicked and heavenly was on the way. Still, he kept his gaze locked on hers. With each hard thrust that she met, and every long pull that came a little faster than the last, he watched her.
She had to see what he did, even if he spent the rest of his life making it happen.
Gian would do it.
Happily.
Gian rubbed his forehead to ease the tension settling there, and went back to looking over the emails in his inbox. What he needed to do was get some sleep, but as he was already behind on work, he couldn’t afford to take the extra rest.
It never ended.
Life was always getting in the way.
“Gian?”
The cell phone on his desk rang at the same time Elena’s voice filtered in from the doorway of the office. Gian answered the phone, and held up a finger to ask for a moment from Elena.
“Ciao, bonjour,” Gian greeted, not even checking the caller ID.
“It’s time.”
It took Gian far too many seconds and a few more blinks of his eyes to realize who was speaking on the other end of the call, and what exactly they were trying to tell him.
Cara.
And her words could only mean one wonderful thing.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
Cara blew out a hard breath that crackled the speakers. “Oh, yes. Definitely sure, Gian. These contractions are nothing like those fake ones I was having. It fucking hurts.”
Gian winced, and kept the panic he was suddenly feeling out of his tone. For one, because he knew Cara didn’t need the extra worry, and for two, because Elena was just a few feet away, listening to one side of the conversation.
“Have you been timing it?” he asked.
“They’re ten minutes apart now for two hours, so lots more of this to go yet. Also, that kind of sucks, because if they hurt now, just think, Gian.”
“Think what?”
“Think how much it’s going to hurt when it’s like thirty seconds apart.”
“You’re going to be fine,” he assured.
Cara was strong as hell.
Silent strength.
Steadfast love.
She just was.
“Water?” he asked carefully, mindful of Elena’s presence.
“Not yet,” Cara replied, “but the doctors said it’s not like the movies, anyway. Lots of women’s water doesn’t break until they’re in active labor, so.”
“I’ll head over.”
“Don’t rush, we’ve got time.”
Gian chuckled, and shook his head. “You’re kidding, right? Of course, I’m going to rush.”
“Don’t get yourself killed on the highway or something, Gian. I swear to God.” Cara’s next breath came out stuttered and her voice strained. “All right, I’m going to hang up because another one is starting, and I don’t want to talk through it.”
“I’ll listen to you rage, if that’s—”
“Goodbye, Gian.”
He laughed when she hung up the phone on him. He had zero doubt that Cara would be just fine through labor and birth. If anything, she was too stubborn to get overwhelmed by something as silly as pain. It would likely be him on the floor in a panic, passed out or something equally humiliating.
Birth was not for the faint of heart, or so Gian was told.
“You’re leaving?” Elena asked.
Gian closed down his laptop, packed it up, and grabbed the suit jacket off the back of the office chair. “I am.”
“Congratulations are in order, hmm?”
He shot his wife a look. “I beg your pardon?”
“The only reason you would rush out at night after a phone call like that one is because your goomah is having the baby. Congratulations are in order, so congrats.”
Apparently, Gian had not been as vague as he thought on the phone call. That, or Elena was just very perceptive.
She cleared her throat, and crossed her arms over her chest. She was ready for bed, by the looks of the silk robe she wore, her clean-face, and the messy bun of hair on top of her head. It was rare that Gian saw Elena in a state that was any less than perfect.
“I did try to be discreet on the call,” Gian said.
“I could tell, but I’m also not stupid.”
“I likely won’t be around for a couple of days. Don’t expect me, not that you’ll mind, I’m sure.”
Elena glanced away, her jaw tight and eyes hard. But there was a barely hidden sadness in her features, too. Gian hadn’t expected that at all.
“Again, congrats,” she murmured. “I hope he’s everything you want, and everything we don’t have, Gian. It’s easier for you that way, isn’t it? When everything you share with her, is nothing like what waits for you here?”
“You don’t really need an answer for that, Elena. You already know.”
How different they could have been, he thought. How entirely different their life could have been together.
If only she had cared enough.
Gian no longer cared at all.
Marcus Gian Guzzi made his way into the world nearly twenty-four hours to the minute that Cara had called Gian. He came into the world quietly, pink, slick and bloodstained. He didn’t cry at first, but not because something was wrong.
No, he didn’t cry because he was born with his eyes wide open, already looking for the people that belonged to only him.
The smallest thing to have ever scared the very life out of Gian.
The most beautiful thing to have ever graced his life, next to his mother.
An amazing, tiny, brown-haired, dark-eyed creature that was nothing like Gian had expected, but so much more. Ten perfect fingers, and ten perfect to
es. Soft, warm skin, and facial features, right down to the dimple in his cheek, that matched his father.
Features that matched the Guzzi genes.
Cara had been so quiet through the process, measured breaths and quivering words. She wanted Gian close, but she barely spoke to him at all. He went off her cues, to give her what she wanted, and didn’t ask to be told what to do. It wasn’t him doing this wonderful thing, after all. It was all on her.
It was only when, in a birthing pool of her choice, she had pushed Marcus out into the world that she did so with her first and only cry.
And it wasn’t so much a cry as a roar.
It was kind of perfect, too.
Hours after, once Cara had finally drifted off to sleep, and Gian was awake in the private room, holding his blinking newborn son, he took that silent moment to be amazed.
So amazed and in wonder.
His child was everything.
Gian lifted the swaddled boy a little higher, bringing him closer so that Marcus’s hazy gaze could catch his father’s. Sure enough, the baby stilled under his swaddling blankets the moment he locked onto Gian’s face, and everything was right and good and beautiful in that moment.
“Sweet boy. First of my legacy and house, and the seventh of your name. With blood made of gold, luck, and dirt, child. You don’t know what awaits you; you have no idea how amazing you’re going to be, but you don’t need to know, not yet. You have a whole life for me to teach you all of that, so it can wait. Guzzi Principe, this world is yours. This whole great, big world is all yours, Marcus.”
Like all Guzzi boys, Marcus was born a prince.
And like all Guzzi men, he’d eventually be a king.
“A little more, please.”
Cara tipped her head down, the action causing more of her curls to fall over her shoulder. “Like that?”
“A bit too much, actually,” the photographer replied. “Now we’re more like a curtain of hair, instead of a few stray curls.”
“Here, let me help.” Gian stepped into Cara’s view, and in front of the white backdrop. He smiled down at her, his fingers sliding along the column of her throat to push back the hair that had fallen over her shoulder. Cara had all she could do not to shiver, and guessing by the way Gian’s grin deepened, he saw it, too. “There, perfect.”
“Step back and let me see, Gian.”
At the photographer’s demand, Gian gave Cara a wink, and did as he was told.
“Yes, that’s much better,” the woman said. Then, her camera started up again, capturing images of Cara in a stone-still pose, with a sleeping, one-week old, naked Marcus in her arms. “You do seem to have a good eye for this sort of thing, Gian. Do you dabble in photography at all?”
Cara shot Gian a look that she hoped kept him quiet from discussing his little hobby with her and cameras. In his spot in the corner, now sitting back in the corner chair and watching the session, he seemed content and pleased. In his suit and shined leather shoes, his dark gaze staying pinned on her, he had never quite looked more handsome. He barely reacted at all to Cara’s unspoken warning.
“I certainly have an eye for someone,” he murmured.
“I hope you put it to use.”
“Oh, I do. I most certainly do.”
“Gian,” Cara said quietly.
His husky laughter filled the penthouse’s living room. The photographer had chosen it amongst the many others, because of all the floor-to-ceiling windows and natural light. Cara wouldn’t have minded going in to the woman’s studio, but Gian said it wasn’t necessary. She wanted photos, Gian had the woman come to her. It worked.
“I think we’re just about—”
Gian’s cell phone started ringing. “Done.”
The photographer smiled. “Yep. Just let me pack up. Cara, you can keep the muslin wrap for Marcus, as I don’t reuse items like those for other newborns. I have to say, he was one of the easier babies to photograph this week.”
“That’s because he spent an hour and a half on my boob before you got here,” Cara half-joked. “Milk-drunk.”
It wasn’t a lie.
It was kind of funny.
The truth was, Marcus happened to be a wonderful baby. Sure, he clusterfed at night before bed, and he liked to have his spaces quiet and dimly lit, but Cara figured that was just his way of transitioning into the world at a slower pace. Marcus rarely cried, he barely fussed. And then there was Gian … She swore the baby just knew his father was in the room, even when he couldn’t see Gian.
Marcus was attached to Cara, yes.
Gian was entirely different.
“Here, let me take him, mon ange,” Gian said, coming to stand at Cara’s side again while the photographer packed up her things. “Go get in that new dress I brought back for you from Ottawa yesterday. He’ll be okay with me.”
Already, Marcus’s hazy brown eyes fluttered open at the sound of his father’s voice. He tried peering around, but was only satisfied in his knowledge that his father was near when Gian scooped him from Cara’s embrace. Then, the baby blinked up at his father and promptly fell back asleep.
“Gian, that’s not an at-home kind of dress.”
He smiled, and kissed her cheek. “Maybe not, but it is fit for a queen in her castle. Go put it on. I’ll get him into a diaper and clothes, too.”
Cara thought about Gian’s ringing phone that had interrupted the end of the session, even though he hadn’t picked up the call, and wondered … “Is someone coming over?”
“A couple of people, actually.”
“Who?”
“Family.” His stare dropped down to Marcus. “Mostly for him, though.”
Oh.
“I’ll go change,” Cara said.
The nervousness in her tone must have been clear to Gian because he reached out and stroked her cheek with two fingers. “All you have to do is smile, beautiful girl. The world is so much better when you’re smiling.”
He always says the right things …
Cara still couldn’t shake the nerves as she slipped out of the flowy white dress that she had used for the photo session, and into the form-fitted coral Dolce & Gabbana number hanging in the closet. She figured the dress had been a silent apology of sorts from Gian, as something had come up in the week, and he’d rushed off to Ottawa to take care of it.
For the most part, he had spent the first couple of days after Marcus’s birth with her, then one night at the penthouse, before heading back to the mansion. He had promised to come right back the very next night, but the Ottawa thing came up, and ruined those plans.
Quickly, Cara checked herself in the mirror as she slipped on a pair of black pumps and a diamond choker. Another expensive gift that she had woken up to the morning after Marcus’s birth. Gian had only shrugged and smiled slyly when Cara asked where it came from.
Thankfully, her fit and slim form was bouncing back rather fast. She thanked breastfeeding, good genetics, and the fact she had been in decent shape before and throughout the pregnancy for that little gift from God. Of course, things were different.
Her body was still different. Slightly wider in the hips. Her breasts were bigger. And her stomach had softened slightly, even as it flattened back down.
She had worried about the changes, both selfishly and vainly. She wished now that she hadn’t spent time on that nonsense at all.
Cara came out of the bedroom and into the main section of the penthouse to find the photographer had left, but the new guests had arrived. Her presence wasn’t noticed as she hung back in the entryway, and watched the newcomers ooh and awe over her son in his father’s arms.
Gian’s mother and father, and his siblings, each took their turns giving little Marcus their time and attention.
“Oh, look at his little fingers,” Crystal said softly.
“Guzzi eyes,” Domenic noted.
“Not just the eyes,” Celeste said of her grandson. “Look at the boy—he’s Gian’s spitting image, my God.”
&
nbsp; “He is, isn’t he?” Gian asked, his pride shining through.
“Oui, he looks just like you did when you were brand new. Doux bébé,” Celeste cooed, running her fingers through the wisps of Marcus’s dark hair.
“And her,” said the quiet, tall man standing just a few feet back from the others. “He looks like her, too. You can’t miss that.”
Cara shifted as the man’s gaze fell on her in the entryway. It seemed she had not gone as unnoticed as she previously thought. She knew who he was—Gian’s father, Frederic. She didn’t know a lot about the man, as Gian didn’t offer, but she had heard things in passing.
He did not approve.
Not of her.
Not of her child.
Not of Gian’s choices.
Just the way Frederic’s cold gaze passed over her, and darted back to the baby boy in Celeste’s arms, Cara knew all of those things were true.
“He does take after Cara quite a bit, too,” Gian said, losing the happier tone from earlier. He turned to Cara, extending an arm and opening his hand wide for her to step forward and take. She did, still unsure and unsettled in her heart. “Remember what I said about today, Dad.”
“I came, didn’t I?” Frederic asked.
“Sì, but remember, too. This is not your home. Your rules do not apply here. Mine do. Hers do.”
Dom cleared his throat, and quickly diverted the attention back to the baby. While it helped a bit, Cara still couldn’t shake the coldness she had found waiting for her in Frederic’s gaze, or how he all but dismissed her presence, even when he was standing directly beside her.
It was difficult.
A shameful feeling burned in her throat.
She couldn’t expect anything different.
Cara only relaxed when Gian’s lips pressed to her temple, unbothered by the people watching them. His lips moved with his words, whispering over her skin with assurance and love.
“You are never the lesser, not in your own home, mia cara bella. Demand respect in your space because it is yours, and do not let someone take it from you. You are the queen, and this is your castle. This is your home, and those who are lucky enough to be allowed inside should understand what that means. Smile. Always smile here.”