“He’s not fussy,” the nurse said.
“Just like his papà,” I said.
Matteo made a gruff noise in his throat. It was a pleasurable noise, and I almost sobbed at the sound of it. I hadn’t seen him this peaceful since that day—the day mama told me I needed to be checked. The nurse suggested I try to feed Luca. Matteo slow shuffled back to the chair, gazing at us with such love in his eyes, it seemed to overflow and run down his cheeks.
“I will leave you to it,” the nurse whispered once Luca latched and started to suck. “You’re a natural at this, Stella. You will do fine. But I am here if you need me.”
“Okay,” I whispered, but my eyes were on my husband. “Thank you.” After she left, I asked, “Why are you walking so funny? That should be me.”
“Feed him in peace,” he said, nodding toward Luca.
I turned to our son, hardly able to look away, but after he ate and fell back asleep, the entire room seemed to fill up with family, who were all as in love with our son as we were. Nonno seemed more pleased than anyone else in the room, because our son had been given his name.
“Wear it well, Luca Piero Fausti,” he whispered to him. “It is a fine name. Wear it well.”
Our Luca would have fine shoes to fill, but I had a feeling that someday, he would.
After our family left, and Luca was asleep in my arms, it was just my husband and I, gazing at each other from across the room.
“Talk to me,” I whispered.
He gave a sharp nod and, as he rose from the chair, I noticed a bead of sweat drip from his temple, run down his face, and disappear into his white suit shirt. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the Fausti insignia on his hand was as glaring as ever. He came to stand in front of my bed, as stiff as a solider about to spill his guts.
“You will not steal my sperm,” he said.
Luca made one of those beautiful little noises, and I held him tighter, right against my heart. I wanted him to feel and hear all the beautiful things I had to tell him, just like I used to when he was a part of me.
“I will not steal your sperm,” I repeated.
“Sì,” he said, as serious as ever. “And I will still be able to pleasure my wife.”
“Matteo, what are you—” Then it hit me, and I narrowed my eyes on his crotch. “What did you do?”
He told me then what had been done to me, and what had been done to him. If I couldn’t have more children, neither could he. He could get the surgery reversed someday, but that wasn’t a guarantee it could truly be fixed. But I knew it had nothing to do with surgery, not really. It was what he needed to prove to me as a man of his word and actions.
That nothing in this world could make him have a child with anyone else.
If I couldn’t have them, neither could he. I’d never brought up about his grandfather and what he’d done to create heirs, but my husband was so in tune with me, I didn’t have to.
And my husband would have peace, since the dark thing lurking inside of me couldn’t take on life and then steal mine.
And looking at my son, I knew Matteo had made the right decision. Without him forcing me to do it, I wouldn’t have. And looking into my son’s eyes, I knew I had to be there for him. Fight to be in his life for as long as I could.
But I also knew why I felt so empty when I’d first opened my eyes.
Part of it was because my son had been born, and I was no longer shielding his body with mine.
The other part was the same, but different.
I’d lost a part of myself that I could never get back.
That would take time to accept. But looking at my husband and son, I knew that somewhere, some night, I’d made wishes upon stars, probably when I was being escorted to and from the underground club, and those wishes were granted in the forms of Matteo Leone Fausti, and our son, Luca Piero Fausti.
I had them both.
Held them both.
In more than just my arms.
