“Papà,” Matteo said, accentuating each syllable, attempting to help.
A squeal rang out. Mariano and Marciano were probably making faces at their baby brother.
“Ooooo,” Maestro went, making sweet baby noises. Probably forming his mouth into an “O” and slapping his hands (Italian for sure) at his sister and brothers, moving his feet in an excited way. “Ahhhhh!Wooahoooo.”
A replica smile of his father’s, but with big, expressive green eyes. My brother shining through his otherwise Mediterranean look. It wasn’t so much the look that gave him away, more so his spirit. Elliott was there, staring back at me, promising all would be all right.
No, I corrected.All is well.
“Papà,” Brando tried again.
“I think he likes Daddybest,” Mia said, then she must have kissed his pudgy cheeks. The noise floated toward me like a melody.
“Dadooooo!” Maestro went and the entire crowd cheered for him.
Loud Italian smooches rang out, and this time I knew they had come from his father. His youngest son squealed in delight.
“Baby,” Brando called a minute later. “We’re going to be late.”
In the next moment, he appeared in the doorway, holding Maestro in his arms.
Maestro was getting sleepy, his eyes blinking at me, head against his father’s broad shoulder. He reached out to me with his arms, and I took him against me, inhaling his scent into my lungs. All set for bed in his music-note pajamas, he smelled like a little piece of heaven.
Reaching out for my other children, I pulled them all close. No matter how old, I’d never stop breathing them in, wishing I could’ve held them all inside of me forever.
Brando looked me over from head to toe. Then his eyes narrowed into fiery slits.
Ignoring his fierce stare, I told the kids it was time for bed and padded quietly out of our room. After I was done with our bedtime ritual, Brando completed his, kissing each child and hugging them tight.
We shared a moment of completion at the sight of them all safe and tucked into bed.
Then the chase was on.
We were out of the woods, but life was still our jungle. I was still his beauty. He was still my beast. Our makeup highlighted our differences.
“Good enough?” I asked, looking down at my outfit.
We had made plans to go to a concert with Violet and Mitch, and to fit the mood, I had found one of Brando’s old Led Zeppelin t-shirts and decided to pair it with a leather miniskirt, our old leather jacket, and a pair of black heels.
“Not fucking enough,” he almost growled back. “Change.”
“If I don’t?”
He grinned, and the look went straight between my legs.
He stalked toward me, and for the first few steps I held my ground, until his body came against mine and I couldn’t hold it any longer. He backed me up until we were in our room, and the door shut quietly behind him.
He rolled his powerful shoulders. “Non muoverti,” he said, his mouth close to mine, dark eyes intense.
“What if I want to move…”
My words trailed off as the look he gave me made me almost snap my mouth shut. I had tested him once. Twice…
“Two for two,” he whispered. “Want to go for a third?”
I shook my head—no or perhaps yes.
He turned his back on me, going for the stereo system in our room. A moment later Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love” came pouring out of the speakers. It was rather loud for this time of the night.
