“I know.” He kissed the top of my head. “But you love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
He chuckled, the vibration rumbling through his chest. “Let’s go upstairs. We should call the kids before they go to bed.”
The suite was ridiculous. Fireplace roaring, plush rugs deep enough to lose a shoe in, a bottle of vintage Krug chilling in a silver bucket.
I sat on the edge of the massive bed; the phone pressed to my ear.
“Mom?”
Austin’s voice was serious, as always. At eight years old, he sounded like a miniature accountant.
“Hey, sweetie. How’s everything? Are Uncle Michael and Aunt Shelly surviving?”
“Uncle Michael let us have pizza twice,” Austin reported. “And Aspen drew on the wall with a marker, but we cleaned it before he saw.”
I smiled, rubbing my temple. “Good job. How was the math test?”
“Ninety-seven.”
“That’s amazing, Austin!”
“I missed the one about the trains,” he said, disappointment heavy in his tone. “I forgot to carry the one.”
“Ninety-seven is still an A-plus,” I assured him. “Dad and I are so proud.”
“Is Dad there?”
“Yeah, hold on.” I handed the phone to Marco, who was loosening his tie by the fire.
“Hey, champ!” Marco boomed, his face lighting up. “Ninety-seven? You’re a genius! Better than I ever was... Yeah? ... Listen, don’t worry about the trains. Trains are always late anyway.”
He laughed at his own joke, winking at me. I watched him, the knot in my chest loosening slightly. He was so full of life. It spilled out of him, infectious and bright. It was hard to stay angry at the sun for shining too hot.
He talked to each of the girls, his voice shifting from boisterous to gentle. He promised presents. He promised to be home soon.
When he finally hung up, the room felt quieter. He came to me, pulling me up from the bed.
“The girls are good?” I asked.
“They’re perfect. Michael’s got it under control.” He led me toward the rug in front of the fire. “Now. Where were we?”
We sat on the floor, the heat of the flames flushing our skin. Marco poured two glasses of champagne, though we hardly needed it.
“Thirty million,” he mused, staring into the fire. “We can start manufacturing. Hire more engineers. Maybe even take a vacation that doesn’t involve investors.”
“I’d like that,” I said, resting my head on his shoulder. “Somewhere warm. A beach.”
“Bora Bora,” he suggested. “Or Fiji. Just us and the kids.”
“Sounds like heaven.”
He turned to look at me, his expression softening. The firelight danced in his eyes, turning the honey to amber. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For tonight. For believing in this. For putting up with me.” He reached out, tracing the line of my jaw with his thumb. “I know I’m a lot.”
