I then kiss her head and whisper into her hair, “Baby.”
“Yes,” she says, turning in my arms.
“You have to start making babies!”
Samantha gives me a wicked look, and then she raises a brow. “The heck I do.” She then tickles me, wrestles out my grip, and runs.
I chase Sam into the grand hall, and as always, she is lightning fast. Sam stops on the far side of a long, polished oak table in the fast-moving mock hunt.
I am stuck on the other, and we pant, our eyes locked.
“Babies, now!” I demand as we face off. We already discussed it last night, and she agreed. Agreed to become pregnant, and soon.
I do, however, love this playful cat-and-mouse theater.
Suddenly, Samantha dashes around one side of the table, and I go after her. “Too young!”
“Come here, woman!”
Again, she is faster than me, and again, she is in bare feet. Just like a wicked hot peasant in the day. My formal Italian shoes are proving to be pointless. “Come here, woman.”
“Pussy will be stretched,” she yells loudly.
That idea connects, and I slow. Maybe it’s time to discuss timing and details.
“Okay, we need a deal,” I say, panting near the huge fireplace.
Sam stops nearby, a sword now in her hands.
“One at a time, and not too much stretching,” my fiancée proposes. “With lots of practice!”
Sam moves behind an antique table with a priceless Ming Dynasty vase on it. We eye each other, and I finally nod.
We shake hands, and I take the sword and put it back near the fireplace.
As we walk back for the lobby, I throw my arm over Sam’s shoulder. We then talk about dogs and getting a dog before having kids.Many kids.
A week later,after hearing a friend in media has had puppies, we travel to the Hamptons in the Jag. Over juices, poolside, Samantha and I visit the small hounds.
The pups are young, and they have only just started to give them away. They are chocolate labradors with no names yet, but they are gorgeous.
As they scamper over our feet, and we hold them up and beam, we agree to receive two of their pups. We are given a male and a female, and we are in heaven.
Before we head north, and home, we make another stop.
After driving through Troy’s Remington’s high gates and onto his classy property, Sam’s jaw drops.
I have to agree, Troy Remington’s home is a finespread with impeccable views of the ocean.
Troy welcomes us and our pups, and we sit and talk, overlooking the Hampton beach.
While sipping the non-alcoholic version of mojitos, mojiteas, we discuss some planned media projects outside of our new business. It takes an hour, but Troy finally agrees, and we shake hands.
The deal will help us both, and it is healthy synergy.
As we leave Troy’s mansion, for lack of a better term, Sam holds the pups on her lap. She then looks back into the rear vision mirror.
“What?” I ask.
