Ever since Scarlett came home, Mia was attached to her hip. She turned away from everyone but us. Mostly, though, she wanted her mamma. Her behavior seemed to affirm the theory that I had—she’d be peculiar too.
She’d sensed when we left her on purpose in Switzerland, with Maggie Beautiful and Luca, but knew we hadn’t when we returned from that cabin in the Italian Alps.
I brought her closer, kissing her head, patting her back for a second, before she finally dozed back off.
Slipping in beside my wife, I turned to face her. She reached out, settling pieces of my hair.
“You need a haircut,” she murmured to herself. “Your hair is getting long.”
Everyday conversation. It seemed so out of place, but in an odd way, it gave me comfort. As though our life was moving forward with the rest of the world, but it wasn’t.
We were stuck.
Our son’s life was in jeopardy, and I couldn’t even consider the possibility of something happening to my wife in consequence. If I did, too many memories came ashore, and the uncertainty threatened to take me out.
I’d only been able to live with what happened before because the choice to have a child wasn’t mine then. It had just happened. This time, it was my choice. No, my wish. I’d wished this baby on her.
“Cat got your tongue?” She grinned.
“If you say so,” I whispered.
“I do.” She whispered too.
“You’re the boss.”
“Am I?”
The question lingered between us for a while as we gazed at each other.
Reaching out, I touched her hip, a little pressure, a little more, until she moved closer. Layers came between us, and her body called to mine through the fucking suffocating fabric. The need to be skin on skin was close to the need to take in air.
I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold my breath.
It was easier to be underneath the depths without oxygen than to be this close to her without feeling her against the palms of my hands, her breasts against my chest.
I leaned in even closer, kissing her collarbone, all the way to the hollow of her throat, up her chin, to her lips. I was careful not to reopen the split. My hands roamed underneath her shirt, to her ribs, and I kept it there, feeling the heat of my palm emanate against her skin.
“I need—”
“I know,” she whispered.
“I don’t mean—”
“I know that too,” and I could hear relief in her voice.
This wasn’t sexual. It had to do with our connection, and she knew it as well as I did.
She lifted some, and I unbuttoned the thermal sweater she had on. Then I helped her out of the pants. Her stomach seemed to be even more swollen, and a pain shot straight to my heart at the thought of the loss.
“Brando,” she said, seizing my attention, as though she knew where my thoughts were headed.
When I went to remove what separated her body from mine, she put out a hand, stopping me.
“Let me.”
Our bodies touched a second later, nothing between us but flesh, blood, and bone—what sealed us together—but opposites attract. Warm to cool. Dark to light.
Closing my eyes, I pulled her even closer. I groaned, long and low. “Jesus,” I whispered. “You’re glowing in the darkness.”
