CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
BRODY
Tuscany was such an incredible and gorgeous place.
My wife gave me that description less than ten minutes ago. In my own opinion, it was all right. I was pretty simple to please. Give me a glass of scotch and my wife in bed naked, then I was a fucking happy man.
Hearing Noah’s grumble behind me, I couldn’t help but chuckle. “What’s wrong, buddy?”
“When does the baby stop crying? He’s so loud!”
Lila giggled from her room as she dressed. “He’s a baby. Babies cry, Noah.”
“Indeed, they do. You used to cry a lot,” I reminded him although he wouldn’t remember being that small. I did, it was before things with Gabby went sour.
“But he cries all the time.”
“Yes, he’s hungry, and your mother is feeding him. You don’t like that sound?” I asked, cocking a brow at my son. He was almost a spitting image of myself when I was younger. He’d gotten his mother’s good looks and my incredible charm.
Shaking his head, he frowned. Oh, he got the frown from me too, as Gabby liked to point out. “Please make him stop!”
A few seconds later, the noise had died down, and my cock twitched at the thought of my wife’s full breast out and exposed. I had given up that in exchange for letting our son fed. They’d be mine again when the kids were asleep.
“Noah, you better finish eating. Aren’t you leaving soon?” I asked, glancing at the watch on my wrist.
Was it so bad that I was eager as fuck for Gabby’s parents to take our children for a walk and then go back to their suite for most of the day? No, I was damn looking forward to putting that do not disturb sign out on the hotel room door and making the most of our time together.
“You need any help?” I called out, still looking at the sun rising on the vineyard. Why did kids need to wake up so early?
Her soft laugh sang through the air. I instantly smiled. “Unless you’ve grown boobs and they’re full of milk, I think it's best you keep away. Go and put the bottles in the bag for mama, please.”
After the birth of Wyatt, we were in a new-born bliss for a good fourteen months until Gabby announced as she rode my dick that I’d gotten her pregnant once more with our now six-month-old son, Milo. Unfortunately, that was the only time I had blown before her since making sure she was always taken care of first.
I had a new rule. Fingers and tongue were used on her before my cock went in unless I don’t have time to mess around with foreplay like when I took her in the bathroom on the plane while her parents watched our sleeping children or if she was sucking me off. I never said no to her mouth.
Back on track, Wyatt and then Milo were both mama’s boys. Wyatt was running around now and pulling Lila’s hair, payback for all the teasing she used to do to Noah. The older kids as much as they got sick of their little brothers, I was glad we hadn’t had any other children after them. The age distance was good. Lila doted her little brothers. I did catch her dressing Wyatt up in a dress and glittery shoes once. He wasn’t complaining, so we let them be.
My wife was a superhero at home. I was a prick for not noticing the amount of work she could do around the place and still have time to tend to everyone’s needs. I appreciated her all the more.
When Wyatt was born, so small at seven pounds and with barely any dark hair on his head, I wept like a fucking baby. This is what I could have lost. Seeing how well Gabby went through labour even after she almost broke my hands by squeezing so damn hard, I knew we would be back in there soon again. When Milo entered the world, screaming with his mother’s loud lungs, I felt the same way again. Call me stupid but I wanted to be back in there and going through all of it over again.
Lila still wanted a little sister after all.
It would be our anniversary soon, and I had learnt it was the simple things that pleased my wife like taking her for dinner to the same place we had gone on our first date, the pizzeria. The table was pre-booked, and I planned to spoil her that day; then, love her all night, provided our sons slept.
Her parents had finally come around. There was no complaint of the names we chose for our sons. There were lots and lots of tears. After I had finally stood up to my wife at Christmas that day, they hadn’t interfered again. Maybe my parents said something I didn’t know, and I don’t want to. Things were good. That’s why we were on this holiday with them even if it were an “I’m sorry for treating you both like shit for the past fifteen years” holiday. Least, it wasn’t my pockets that were dug into and paying the ridiculous amount for this fucking awesome suite.
It was wonderful to sit and listen to absolutely nothing but silence. Francesca and Giovanni had taken our brood of four for the day. They all went willingly and excitedly, as they mostly wanted to learn how to squash grapes.
I caught Lila two weeks ago, standing in our kitchen and jumping up and down on the kitchen floor. When I asked what she was doing, she smiled and replied practising her squashing. Yes, it was a fucking mess of red and green grapes all over the tiled flooring.
I know you are wondering about Scott. He and I are slowly on speaking terms, but it’s not like before. He’s my brother, yes. But he also hurt my wife in the worst possible way, and for that, he could never be forgiven. He wasn’t allowed in our home, not until Gabby stopped shaking at the sight of him.
Someone who shook at the sight of Gabby was my boss who had his ass handed to him. She bluffed her way through that conversation with messages and photographs I hadn’t seen before. The voice mails were there, but that’s about all of it. Kate was fired and escorted that evening. How do I know? I was sent the footage from another employer on the floor.
Sitting at the dining table, I was only in a pair of boxer shorts and wet hair from my recent shower. A feast of food that I would never be able to eat was spread out before me. I would eat something only to keep my energy up.
A low cough came from the door, I smirked as I looked up, and Gabby flashed her thigh to me, making my cock swell with need. Soon, baby, I’d have you very soon. A glimmer from her new ring sparkled, and a rainbow pattern was against the wall as she moved her fingers back and forth. I married that woman again, and I would continue to propose every time she had any doubts about how I felt about her.
We only remarried three months after Milo, and there was nobody to witness it other than our children. We married the way we wanted to marry in the first place, together and simple.
“Brody,” she began. “Are you busy?”
Flicking page after page through a newspaper that wasn’t interesting me, I thought I’d tease her for a moment before giving her what I knew she wanted. “Can I help you?”
“Brody, my parents took the children for a walk,” she smiled, biting down her full lower lip. “Do you know what that means?”
In my eyes, she was the most beautiful woman alive. Standing there before me, she wore her long hair tussled and cascading down her back and the silk robe exposing the slightest of cleavage her olive skin offered me to see. Without a hint of make-up, my wife was the most beautiful woman alive. In my eyes, there was nothing to compare her to.
She was like the Tuscan sun, and I found it hard to ever look away from her.
Lowering my eyes once more, I spoke quietly and trying to hide the smile. “No.”
“No?” she asked with a frustrated tone. “I want you, Brody.” God, I loved it when she begged.
Putting a finger mid-air, I cut her off from saying anymore and then met her eyes with my loving gaze, a smile with a soft but still stern voice. “Gabriella, I’m going to finish reading this paper, and then I’m going to finish off breakfast and get naked with you again; no calls, no interruptions. The day is just ours.”
As our life would always be together.
THE END
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Chapter 1
PRE-OBLIVION
I overslept. I could already feel the slight heat of the late morning, especially with the sheets wrapped around me like a warm, comfortable cocoon.
Even with the sunlight shining through the window, my room looked cold and impersonal with its white walls and bare furniture. There were machines all around, one had a screen with numbers running across it and a line jolting up and down, making a beeping sound that wouldn’t stop.
I tried to get up, but my limbs felt too heavy, so I just sagged back into bed. Though my brain was sluggish and slow, I did notice something off. How the sheets felt too thin and stiff and not like my sheets at all, how my body ached when I made even the slightest move, and how my throat felt dry as a desert.
“He’s awake!” The voice came from my bedside. It was my son Mikael.
A man entered the room with hurried steps, striding straight toward me. He had a clipboard in one hand and a concerned, yet hopeful look on his face.
“Water, please,” I managed to say through a sore throat. Agata who was standing beside Mikael burst into tears. The man in the white coat nodded and poured me a glass of water from the sink behind him.
“Welcome back, Ivo. You’ve been in a coma for six weeks.”
I thought I was in the recovery room after the surgery. I thought the procedure had gone fine and I’d just woken up, but no… I just lost six weeks.
I gradually became more and more aware of what was going on around me. I couldn’t tell which memories of the past weeks were real and which were not. In my dreams, I saw Brandy holding my hand. I tried to squeeze hers in return, but my fingers wouldn’t move. When she let go to walk away, I was completely devastated. I called for her to stay, but nothing happened. I tried to move, struggling to speak or scream but I couldn’t.
Memories from before the accident came in flashes: flowers, Brandy in a wedding dress with her loving eyes, and pain. Pain was always the last memory before the darkness returned and now out of the coma, I was finally awoken from the recurring nightmare. It should have been that day, the moment of truth, but the accident got in the way.
The next day, some doctors came in and asked me several questions. They asked me if I knew where I was, and I tried to say yes. They asked if I remembered why I was here and again I nodded. I remember periods of nothing, peppered with little snippets of memories but trying to communicate with them while intubated and drugged was very difficult.
I was still sedated but at that point I was conscious enough to have clear memories and soon enough, muscle movement came back to me. A week passed and I was up and moving on my own with the help of a walker. I still felt dizzy occasionally but my children, always there by my side to give me support, helped me out as best as they could.
Two agonizing weeks flew by and yet I was still confined.
I asked Mikael to get my journals from my office. I wrote my last journal entry and recorded everything I could remember. What better way to reveal to them what their mother and I went through other than by reading our journals. I had to let them know the truth.
“I want you both to read these,” I said to my children.
Mikael looked at me skeptically for a brief moment. Raising a brow, he asked, “What are those for?”
“You’ll find out,” I said as I handed over Brandy’s journals to Agata. “I want you to start with the pink one,” I instructed.
Agata took the journals with clear uncertainty written on her face. She began flipping through the pages. “Whose journals are these, Dad?” she asked.
“They belong to someone who played the biggest and the most important part in our lives.”
“Our lives...” Agata muttered while scanning through the pages. She drew in a deep breath, “Okay, I’m gonna start with this one Mik and you’ll read the others, okay?”
“Cool,” Mikael agreed.
Agata started reading Brandy’s journal.
Dear Journal,
It was the most hideous dress I had ever seen. Vivid shades of red, yellow and blue mimicked Snow White’s dress in the animated film. When I tried it on, I was not surprised to see that I resembled a freaking cartoon character wearing a corset-style, lace-up front costume. All that was missing were red shoes and knee-high socks.......
--Brandy’s Perspective--
No one past the age of six should wear a dress like this. It was fine for a six-year old girl in some kind of play or a Halloween costume party, but not for a twenty-three year old maid of honor for her brother’s wedding. I scanned the dress, trying to think of innocence, beauty, and sweetness but it was all wrong for me.
My brother, Heineken peeked into my room and walked in wearing the most annoying smile ever. “You look good, Brandy. Are you excited for Carl’s wedding?” he teased and ruffled my hair.
Ken is seven years older than I am and he believed that the age gap allowed him to treat me like a kid. He was married once, for about two weeks, long enough to legally be the father of the product of a drunken one-night stand. The mother promptly rode off into a life of heroin and prostitution. Bitch!
However, Scotch, my four-year old nephew, is the most amazing person in my life. So amazing that I could look past the days of him giggling away while we cleaned up the crapped-filled diapers and green-pea-mush vomit. Speaking of baby vomit, I eyed the Snow-White-inspired dress once more and slumped in an armchair. Maybe I’d “accidentally” set it on fire during the wedding rehearsal.
Carlsberg peeped in and grinned, “How’s the dress, Brandy? Would you believe that I didn’t even have it made? Apparently, some other brides tend to be afraid of being “out-prettied” at their own weddings. This means that there are a few more dresses like that in the wedding boutique, stored in case there’s any kind of accident with this one.”
“Why, Carl why,” I groaned. “This is overkill! This dress is for ugly brides with hot friends. Can your Italian bride not think of a better theme?”
“I find it cute and amusing, and it’s actually because Ken doesn’t want you hooking up with Mia’s cousin’s sister-in-law’s best friend’s brother or something, and neither do I. The dress is perfect for hiding all your curves and killing all your momentary self-confidence, making you conveniently unlovable to passersby,” Carl said.
“What? What are you talking about?” I sputtered.
Ken dangled a little pink notebook in front of my face.
“That’s my journal! You sneak, you freak!” I gasped and grabbed for it. “How did you find it? I hid it so well,” I pouted.
Carl sighed, “You know how much she loves fairy tales Brandy and this is going to be my wedding. Please just be happy for me and bear with that dress for about two hours or even less?” He took the journal from Ken and tossed it to me. He smiled, I smirked then we linked arms and laughed. No matter how ugly the dress was, I loved my brother and I would wear the dress for him. “I have a date with a certain Italian girl that I think is engaged to me. I expect you to be wearing the dress on the big day.”
“Wait, have you visited Dad’s grave yet?” I asked.
“Yeah, of course. I asked for his blessing,” Carl said.
“H-how about Mom? Did you pay her a visit?”
“No.” Carl shook his head.
“Why not?” My eyebrow raised. ”At least just let her know, or ask for her blessing as well.”
“Brandy, there’s no use. She won’t understand, she can’t even recognize me.”
“She’s still our mother.”
“I know and nothing could change that, Brands,” Carl said in a low voice. “But even after seven years I could still hear Dad crying for help in my sleep.”
Years ago, our mom accidentally killed our Dad. At the time, mom had slipped back to the grip of her disease and, not recognizing the man she was sleeping with, she
thought that she was being raped by Dad.
There must be a criminally culpable state of mind that accompanied her act but since she was suffering from Alzheimer’s disease, a murder charge was easily defended. As a result, she was turned over to the Lady Guinevere Center for Alzheimer’s. Just like that, the woman I have cherished all my life was gone, in more ways than one.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
Ken spoke from behind Carl, “Brands, mom’s disease has gotten worse. She’s starting to be uncommunicative and soon she’ll stop talking.”
“Yeah, last time I checked, her doctor said her Alzheimer’s is now in its last stage.” None of us spoke but after a few seconds Carl broke the silence and said, “Come on, Brands! Cheer up, don’t ruin my day okay?”
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to practice my Italian accent.”
As Carl left, he added, “If it’s any consolation, I had to have them make it uglier, just because you’re too cute.”
After he left and Ken soon after, I stared at myself in the mirror. Ugh!
Carl’s wedding is on Friday and our flight to Verona on Monday. It was the only thing that was keeping my dress from being accidentally torn to shreds.
After spending almost the entire morning of preparing and packing things for our trip, I went to visit Mom.
I brought with me a photo of Carl’s graduation day. In the picture, I had icing all over my hair because of the cake fight my brothers started. We were all hugging her and putting icing on her face. The picture made it look like everything was okay.
I smiled at the memory of that day and bit my lip to stop myself from crying.
I walked inside the center and down one of the hallways.
I visited my mom so often that she actually thought I worked at the center and preferred me over anyone else. Sometimes she even called me her mom. It is never easy when you become the parent of your parent.
Forgotten Sweethearts: A Romance Novel Page 31
