by Mia Madison
They won’t reach us in time. I look toward the parts store. Dante is running too, dodging around cars, moving at impossible speed, his face a mask of fury.
The driver’s door slams shut. The car peels out. I reach for my seat belt, hold my daughter close, and pray.
22
You Chose The Wrong Way
“That’s not acceptable.”
Chandler Fitzwilliam Carrington the Third speaks in a cool, detached tone. It’s the only one I’ve ever heard him use. I wonder if he’s ever shown emotion in his life.
I’m huddled on a silk damask settee in a lavishly appointed salon. Sophie clings to me, tense and frightened, and there’s nothing I can do to comfort her. I haven’t let her out of my arms since the moment Weems -- the PI -- grabbed me.
It’s late in the evening of my abduction. Technically, early the next morning. I’ve been awake for the better part of twenty-four hours, and I can’t allow myself to fall asleep.
The Carringtons might not be willing to kill me outright. But they wouldn’t hesitate to dump my unconscious body outside their property and refuse to let me back in. So I’m clinging to wakefulness, no matter how exhaustion drags at me.
I know my abductor’s surname only from hearing Mr. Carrington talking to him. He was taking no chances with me getting away from him again, so he had another car waiting, all the doors stripped except the driver’s, like the one he shoved me into. All he had to do was drive like an absolute maniac — which he did — and buy himself time to make the transfer.
That got us out of town and to a small regional airport, where a plane was waiting. The Carringtons’ money took care of everything, no questions asked, and a few hours later I found myself in this palatial home.
Since then, Chandler the Third and his wife, Morgana, have been trying to persuade me to leave Sophie with them. First they tried threats. Then they tried money.
No matter what they offer, they get the same response: I will never leave my daughter. She and I are a package deal. If they want Sophie to live with them, they have to let me live here, too.
For all their wealth and power, they’re not entirely bright. They seem incapable of understanding a mother’s love. That some things, some people, can’t be bought.
They’re baffled by my steadfast refusal to see things their way.
“You have only to name your price.” Mrs. Carrington sounds snobbishly peeved, as if it’s beneath her to feel actual anger. “Our terms are very generous.”
I don’t bother meeting her eyes. “For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world, but loses his soul?”
She stares at me. “What on earth are you on about?”
“Just some ancient wisdom.” I shift a little, tucking Sophie more closely against me. The Carringtons keep their house chilly, and we’re both cold.
I don’t mind; the discomfort helps me stay awake. Much more of this, though, and my daughter’s apt to catch a cold.
My clothes — Gina’s clothes — give me a thread of hope. Even now, there must be people searching for me. Regardless of his motives, Dante wants me back.
The problem is that the Carringtons, as wealthy people do, own multiple homes. It will take time to check them all, ascertain which one I’m in, and figure out a way of freeing me.
Time I don’t have. I’ve accepted sips of water for Sophie, but no food or drink for myself. Of course they’d drug me.
How I’ll face Dante again, I don’t know. Thinking about him shreds my heart with a brutal combination of pain and longing, warmth and confusion and fear. So I try not to think about him.
My eyelids start to droop, and I shake my head sharply. Morgana watches me shrewdly, her eyes icy. She and her husband know I can’t last forever.
But they have no idea how strong my will is. That I’ll do anything to keep my daughter safe.
“We can easily use the legal system to gain custody,” Mr. Carrington says. “We’re offering you other alternatives out of the goodness of our hearts. It’s very selfish of you to sacrifice Sophie’s welfare for your own.”
A few days ago, that kind of talk might have worked on me. I had enough cracks in my self-esteem to think that Sophie deserved better than I could give her.
Now I know that what’s good for me is good for my daughter. That the best thing I can give her is a mom who’s happy and healthy and whole.
For that, I will always be grateful to Dante.
As if I’ve summoned him with my thoughts, I have the sudden conviction that he’s here with me. The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and the shadows in the dimly-lit room seem to come alive.
“Do you really think—” Mrs. Carrington starts, and then the room is full of black-clad men.
They seemed to materialize out of nowhere. They have us completely surrounded, and the weapons they’re carrying look very, very real.
Then two forms separate themselves from the others. Carlo, looking like a total badass, and at his side, Dante.
Carlo holds the center of the room, putting himself between me and the Carringtons. Dante comes right to us, crouching down next to the settee. “Tontay,” Sophie whispers in a tiny, scared voice that breaks my heart.
“Hi, baby girl.” I can see it in his eyes, that he’d like to do all kinds of violence and mayhem here, but he keeps it out of his voice. “Ready to go home?”
She nods and goes into his arms, and Dante stands and holds out a hand to me. I take it, and he pulls me to my feet and puts his arm around me, tucking me close against his side.
When we start across the room, Morgana says, “I don’t know who you are, but that is our grandchild. You have no right—”
“Shut up.” Carlo’s voice is sub-Arctic. “After they’re out of here, I’ll tell you how this is gonna go.”
“Our son is dead.” There’s a quaver in her voice, and for a moment I almost feel sorry for her. “We’ll never have another grandchild.”
Dante stops. “There was a right way to go about this,” he tells her. “You chose the wrong way.”
Neither of the Carringtons has any response. We go on, out of the room and then the house. There’s an SUV waiting in the driveway that takes us to the airport, where another private plane is waiting.
“You have a jet?” I ask when we board. “Or is it Carlo’s?”
“Tonio’s.”
“Who?”
“Another cousin. Married to Caitlin. You haven’t met him yet.”
“Oh.” I shiver as we sit down, and Dante wraps a heavy throw around me, then grabs another one for Sophie. He’s still holding her, which is good. His body is so much hotter than mine, and she needs the warmth.
Dante takes my hand, and I’m too tired and too thankful to fight it. I lace my fingers with his and lay my head on his shoulder. Ten seconds after the plane takes off, I’m fast asleep.
Much later, I’m vaguely aware of the plane landing, other people boarding, murmured words, someone carrying me. I don’t think it’s Dante; his scent is different. Then we’re in another vehicle and I drop back into oblivion.
23
Both Of You
When I wake again, it’s broad daylight. I bolt upright in bed, filled with terror. “Sophie?”
“She’s all right. She’s asleep.” Dante wraps an arm around me and pulls me back down with him, bringing the covers up over me.
I burrow into his heat. Even though my body has recovered, in my mind I’m still trapped in that cold, hopeless place. “Are you sure she’s okay?”
“Yeah. My mom’s here, and Izzy’s been, and Anjelica.” I remember her; we met at Carlotta’s house. Was it only two days ago? “They all helped look after Sophie so I could stay with you.”
“I was so scared,” I whisper to his chest. “But I knew you’d come.” I just didn’t know if you’d be in time.
“Heather, we gotta talk.”
I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“Something happened. Before that asshole
grabbed you. Baby, you gotta tell me what was in your mind.”
“Can’t we talk about it later?” Like maybe never.
“We gotta talk about it now. Before it festers any deeper into you.” He doesn’t try to make me look at him, just holds me tight. “Whatever it is, we can deal with it. But you have to talk to me.”
I don’t want to tell him, but the words spill out. “I figured it out.” My voice is broken, ragged.
“Figured what out?”
“Why you want me.”
The hand he’s curled around the back of my neck tenses for an instant. “And why’s that?”
“I met Mickey.”
“And?”
“I know, Dante.”
He brings his face close to mine. His voice is very gentle when he says, “You’re gonna have to spell it out for me.”
Finally I whisper it, the secret, corrosive shame that’s been eating at me since I realized. “You wanted what Rico had.”
There’s a silence before he says, incredulously, “You think I’m in love with Mickey?”
“No! But you want the same thing.”
Another, longer pause. “So let me see if I’ve got this straight. My twin brother married a younger woman and now she’s carrying his baby, so I hooked up with the first young, single mom I could get my hands on so I wouldn’t be left behind? Is that about the size of it?”
He makes it sound ridiculous, but I know better. “He’s your twin brother.”
“Baby, you have got some whacked-out shit in your head.”
I jerk away from him, but he pulls me back. When I keep struggling, he rolls us so he’s on top of me, pinning me to the bed. His hands frame my face. “Heather, listen. Listen to me.”
He keeps saying it, quietly but insistently, until I stop trying to get away from him. “Good. You listening now?” Reluctantly, I nod.
“Okay. We haven’t known each other that long, so there are some things you don’t know about me. A lot of things, actually. And one of those things is — and, babe, I don’t say this to brag, or to make you jealous, but it’s important, really important that you get this — I do not lack for female attention.”
Of course he doesn’t. He’s a gorgeous, sexy beast. I don’t know how I ever thought he wasn’t my type.
When I don’t respond, he goes on. “How old are you?”
“Twenty. Twenty-one next month.”
“I’m forty-two. And since I was younger than you, I’ve never had any problem getting women interested in me. Another thing you don’t know about me is that I’m in a motorcycle club. Now, not every woman goes for that but a lot of them do. Are you getting me here?”
“Women like you,” I say sullenly.
His mouth twitches. “Yeah, babe. They do. And a lot of them over the years have gone out of their way to show it. Plenty of women would be happy for me to put a ring on their finger and a baby in their belly.”
“Then why?” It bursts out. “Why did you pick me? I want to know the real reason.”
The humor fades from his face. “The real reason? You really want to know?” I nod. “Okay. I’ll tell you.”
Dante puts his mouth by my ear. “Because you’re a good mom. Because you have never once been scared of me. Because you like the way I fuck, and you fuck the way I like. Because you’re brave. Because you’re strong, so strong taking care of your girl, but you’re soft, like a flower, with delicate fuckin’ petals that bloom at my touch.
“Because you like to cook. Because you have a great ass. Because you’re funny. Because you work hard. Because I love the taste of your pussy. Because you’re so honest, you tell the truth even when you don’t want to. Because you’re beautiful.”
He kisses away the tears trickling down my face. “If all I wanted was a young woman, or a fertile one, I could have had my pick at any time in the last couple of decades. I picked you. If the world were gonna end tomorrow, and I had to choose who to spend my final hours with, I’d choose you.”
“Shut up,” I croak. “Stop talking now.”
Dante keeps using his mouth, but not for words. The kiss is long, and deep, and earth-shattering. When he lifts his head, I whisper, “I don’t deserve you.”
“If you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving you wrong.” I bite my lip to keep from bursting into sobs. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes.” I cover his face with tiny kisses. “Yes.”
He claims my mouth again, and the kiss is turning hot and heavy when there’s a tap on the door. “Sorry to interrupt,” Carlotta says through the wood, “but Sophie’s asking for you.”
We look at each other. “For me?” I call.
“For both of you.”
And that just makes it perfect.
Epilogue
Sophie, of course, is our flower girl. She makes a beeline down the aisle, toward Carlotta, who’s kneeling at the other end. When her nonna pantomimes tossing flowers, Sophie waves the basket wildly, dislodging a huge clump of petals, and then runs the rest of the way.
Laughter ripples through the packed church. The Adamos are out in force, and I’ve gotten to know almost everyone here in the last few months.
Dante waits at the front of the church, a line of sexy Adamo men next to him. We had to cut it off at some point, or else we could have had the whole audience up there, and no one left to sit in the pews. Rico’s his best man, and then there’s an empty space, followed by Carlo and Tonio. Logan’s the ring bearer, but he’s sitting in the front pew with his dad.
My bridesmaids follow Sophie at a more sedate pace: Gina, Izzy, Anjelica, and Cait. When they’re all down front, it’s my turn. Vic offers me his arm, the bridal march plays, and everyone turns to look.
Sophie’s standing on the front pew on the bridal side, craning her head to see. When she spots us, she yells, “Unca Bic!” and Carlotta has to stop her from running back down the aisle.
“We see who rates,” I murmur under my breath. “I’m only her mother.”
Vic just grins. He and Sophie have a mutual admiration society.
In truth, I only have eyes for Dante. He looks amazing in his tuxedo, and I can’t wait to take it off him later. This is the first time he’s seen me in my dress, and from the look on his face he appreciates it.
It’s a simple but elegant cream-colored satin, the arms and bodice snug, the skirt flared. No lace, no train, no veil, no excruciatingly high heels. Now that I’ve finally had the chance to explore the world of fashion, I’ve learned that I don’t want to be a slave to it.
I’ll wear a dress when Dante takes me out, if for no other reason than that skirts allow for a different kind of fun and games than pants do. But my man loves my ass, and he never complains about clothes that show it to best advantage.
When we reach the front, Vic kisses my cheek and joins the line of groomsmen. I join hands with Dante, and the ceremony begins in earnest.
We’ve practiced this, being away from Sophie, but it still makes me nervous. She’s spent the night at Carlotta and Giovanni’s, and once or twice at Izzy’s with Logan. But my girl is a homebody, and she’s happiest when she’s with me and Dante and BeeBee.
And Bic. Dante got me our new puppy as an early wedding gift, and Sophie promptly named him after her favorite uncle. He’ll be all right for a couple of nights without us, just like our girl, but we’ll miss them all the same.
“It’s just two nights,” Dante reminds me. “And we can always go home early if we need to.”
“I know.”
When Carlo explained to the Carringtons that they would be facing a number of legal charges for their treatment of me -- and that he had the evidence to make the charges stick, and his family had enough influence to combat the favor they’d curried with select judges -- they decided to cut their losses.
They’re now living the expat life overseas, and Carlo has assured me that he left them with no illusions about trying any funny stuff. “They’ll be under surveillance the rest of their
lives.
Any suspicious meetings or financial transactions, any sign that they’re trying to hire someone to get to Sophie, and I’ll follow up. But I don’t think they’re stupid enough to risk it.”
I think he’s right. Still, it’s going to take me time to get over it. The problem with our brief honeymoon isn’t so much that Sophie might need me; it’s that I might not be able to stop myself from checking on her, above and beyond the scheduled updates.
But if anyone can make me forget every single thing in the world except his name, it’s my husband.
As soon as he carries me over the threshold of the mountain lodge we’ve rented, he starts the seduction. Champagne, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and kisses. Endless kisses, all over, but always returning to sip at my mouth.
I got a dress with lots of buttons, just to tease him a little, but he turns the tables, undoing them with great deliberation, kissing each bit of skin as it’s uncovered. The farther he gets, the slower he goes, until I’m twisting in his hands, my body heavy with unspent energy.
When he undoes the last button, he works the dress over my hips and lets it pool on the floor, sinking with it until he’s kneeling behind me. “Have I told you I love your ass?”
I smile. “You might have mentioned it a time or two.”
“These dimples.” He presses a kiss to each of them, flicking out his tongue, and I shiver. “Fuckin’ amazing.”
“Husband?”
He wraps his arms around me and leans forward to look up at my face. “Wife?”
I run my fingers through his hair. “Have I told you that I love you?”
“Tell me again.”
Turning, I go to my knees before him. “I love you.” I kiss his mouth, drinking deep. “You’re everything I dreamed I wanted, but never thought I could have.”
“Musta dreamed you too.” Another kiss, longer, his hands skimming down my body until they close over my ass. “Too perfect for me to be anything else. I love you, Heather.”
