by Bethany-Kris
Gian had always thought his lover was amazing, because how could he not think that when she had never proved him otherwise? Watching her navigate their twins simply reminded him of just how truly amazing she was. For him and their children.
Someday, he was going to be the luckiest man in the world—more so than he already was—and he would be able to tell their sons why they too were so lucky. Because they had a mother like Cara, who had loved them and given them every part of her that was good and beautiful from the moment she knew they existed.
Gian was just a sinner in nice clothes.
Cara was the angel.
Marcus hugged tighter to his father as Gian closed the nursery door as quietly as he possibly could. Downstairs in the kitchen, he found his mother wiping down the countertops. The room smelled like Lysol, and the dishwasher was running.
“Ma,” Gian said, putting Marcus down to the clean floor. “You don’t have to come over here to clean all the damn time.”
“Nonsense,” Celeste replied blithely. “This is how we help.”
Their house wasn’t dirty, anyway. They had a three-day-a-week maid. Cara was a bit anal on cleaning, too, and Gian picked up after himself and Marcus. Apparently, just the two of them made more messes than the twins.
That was a complete exaggeration …
Gian smelled the air as Marcus toddled toward the fridge, still voicing his desire for milk. Repeatedly. “And you’re cooking something, too.”
“A casserole. Cara doesn’t need to be cooking all the time with the new babies.”
“I do help, Ma.”
Celeste eyed him over her shoulder, smiling slightly. “I know you do. You’re a good man in that way, Gian. Of course you are, I raised you, silly boy. But other than your maid—who, by the way, needs a lesson on dusting higher than eye-level—who is here helping you and Cara?”
No one.
Gian had wanted to hire a nanny to help Cara, especially when he had to go into the city for most of the day, and didn’t get back until late. Cara would hear none of it. A nanny was not going to raise their children, and if Gian brought one home, he wouldn’t like what happened after. Or, that’s what Cara told him. He chose not to test the theory out.
“We appreciate it.”
Celeste’s smile grew wider. “That’s all I want to hear.”
He wished it was that simple, though.
Unfortunately, his father was not of the same mindset that his mother was. Frederic and Gian had not quite made amends for the choices that had needed to be made years ago. His father had yet to meet the twins, and he hadn’t even seen Marcus since the boy’s last birthday. Gian suspected when Frederic did come to see them, it would not be when his only living son was in the house, too.
Gian wanted to feel guilt for his actions that pushed his father away, but he couldn’t.
Had he made a different choice …
Had he been just a few minutes later …
“Mook, Daddy!”
Gian looked to Marcus. The toddler pointed firmly at the fridge, wanting what he wanted, and he didn’t want to wait one more minute. His oldest son was like his father in that way.
Had Gian second guessed himself back then, he would not have what he had now.
Gian didn’t regret any of it at all.
He quickly got his boy’s drink set up in a sippy cup, and set Marcus into his high chair so he could watch one of his favorite cartoons. Satisfied that his boy and his mother were thoroughly distracted, Gian headed back upstairs.
He should let Cara sleep.
He should …
Gian had other plans. Now that his twins were born, he could finally get Cara down the aisle, as she had promised him all those months ago. The problem was, he had been overthinking this for too long. When to ask, how to ask, and all of that nonsense.
He realized one morning, while Marcus cuddled into his chest, and Cara fed the twins, that it was all rather obvious. Their best moments, and their best conversations, always happened in bed. He didn’t know why, but it was true.
Gian didn’t think this would be any different.
At some point, Gian stopped caring about what others thought—and their fucking opinions—regarding his unmarried state, his children born out of wedlock, and how it made him appear as a boss to other families.
Fuck those families.
Gian was too busy raising his own family to play into other people’s politics. Besides, his ability to run a criminal organization was only dependent on his capability to keep control of the men, not which woman wore a ring and had his last name.
Although, he was working on that, too.
Just not to please anyone else but himself.
And Cara.
Slipping into their master bedroom, Gian found his wife was still sleeping happily. On the bedside table, the baby monitor lit up with the rhythmic sound of the twins’ breaths.
Seeing Cara curled into the blankets on his side of the bed, holding tight to one of his pillows, made Gian pause. Instead of waking her up like he had planned, he sat down in one of the rockers in the corner, and simply watched his lover.
Marcus was fine with his grandmother.
The twins were okay.
He had time.
They so rarely had time lately.
As he watched Cara, her dreams flickering behind her closed lids, Gian found his peace. Too often, his days and duties and stresses got away with him, and he forgot about the important pieces in his life that brought him happiness. Beautiful things like Cara.
Gian hadn’t realized it, but he’d pulled the small velvet box from his slacks pocket, and was flicking the lid open and closed. Why he was fidgeting, he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t nervous, but anxious.
The two-carat ruby, set atop a crown of diamonds on a white-gold band, rested inside the box, nestled amongst a velvet bed. He thought, when he had found the piece, that it fit Cara better than any other ring could. Certainly, better than normal diamonds, or something else of equal flashy appeal.
Red, like her hair and her lips.
Red, like the color of her passion and her love.
Red, like the hurricane they were together and apart.
Red was the color of all extremes, both good and bad. It was the color best described by the strongest human emotions—love and anger. Red was the color of blood, of a man’s heart, and he thought if it were possible to see inside his soul, it would be a crimson shade, too.
Just like Cara and her love and soul.
A ruby was perfect.
He slipped it back into his pocket for the time being.
“Gian?”
At the sound of Cara’s sleepy call of his name, Gian was up off the chair and crossing the room. He slipped into bed with Cara easily, his arms snaking around her body to pull her in close. There, he could hold her still, feel her warmth, and hide away from the world for a short time.
“Afternoon,” he murmured into her hair. “Chris and Corrado are still asleep, so you can rest some more, if you need to.”
Cara sighed. “I swear, I have an internal alarm now. I wake up before the twins do, in preparation for them.”
Gian kissed the top of her head. “That might be very true.”
“There’s no ‘might be’ about it, Gian. The boobs know.”
His laughter rocked them both in the bed. Cara’s lips curved into a sweet smile against the column of his throat. “They do have a job to do, now.”
“Apparently.” Cara tipped her head back so she could look up at him, her wild red curls splaying over the pillow. “Gian?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you marry me?”
He stiffened in the bed, his gaze darting down to meet hers. “You couldn’t even let me ask, could you?”
Cara shrugged, her sly smile teasing him. “I saw you looking at the ring. I figured … well, I should save you the trouble.”
“You’re supposed to let me ask, Cara. I’ve waited a long time for this.”
“It is a beautiful ring.”
“Cara.”
“Ask,” she whispered before pressing a quick kiss to his lips.
Gian let his fingertips dance over Cara’s side, tickling her. Her giggles rang out at the same time a quiet set of matching, perfectly-timed cries started from the baby monitor.
“Shit,” he muttered.
Cara winked as she pushed up from the bed. “I may be queen of the house, but I still answer to the little ones. Fun is over. The princes call, Gian.”
And they would keep calling, he knew.
Marcus, too.
Plus, every other person that interrupted their daily life time and time again.
Gian grabbed Cara’s wrist at the last second, stopping her from climbing off the bed. He could deal with getting the ring on her at another time. He only needed to ask.
“Marry me, Cara,” Gian said. “Please, marry me?”
Cara crawled back over the bed, kissed him hard once, and replied, “Do you expect any other answer but yes?”
“Not really, but I’m worried that if I don’t ask right now, I will never get the chance to ask. So please, Cara, will you let me love you like this, too? I’m already happy, whole, and lucky because of you, but will you marry me, too?”
“Yes, Gian.”
He pulled her back for another lingering kiss, and then swatted her ass as she clamored off the bed and headed for the nursery. It wasn’t long before he was following after her, too, scooping one of the two twins from their beds to help Cara in whatever way he could. He headed for the changing table with a slightly happier Corrado, while Cara sat down into one of her rocking chairs to feed the less than pleased Christopher.
Less than a minute after the twins had woken up, a loud, chocolate-stained Marcus made his way into the room, too. He made a beeline for his mother.
Their life was busy and messy. Time was already a rare commodity. He got his yes, though. That was all that mattered.
Time could be made.
He figured that was a lesson worth learning early in their family; time could always be made.
Seventeen Years Later
Gian stared up at one of the many paintings that hung in his home. He had far more expensive pieces than this particular one; art was a good way to hide vast wealth in material things that could be easily liquidated, after all.
But this painting?
This one he could never sell.
To him, it was priceless.
Sitting on a gold chair that looked almost like a throne, in the middle of a forest that was just beginning to change to autumn, the woman stared straight ahead, as though she owned the whole world. She seemed unaware of the fact time had stopped around her—the artist catching colorful leaves as they fell, and a bird looking down from one of the trees behind her. Blue eyes, red hair. Dressed in a royal purple, knee-length gown with the heels to match.
And damn, didn’t she look good acting a Queen.
Then again, Cara always looked amazing.
Surrounding their mother in the portrait were her boys—five of them. Gian had commissioned the piece when their last boys were only nine. Those same boys were fourteen now, and he still looked at the painting every single day.
Nearly nineteen-year-old Marcus shuffled past his father in the hallway with a cigarette tucked up behind his ear, a sly smile as he glanced down at whatever was on his phone, and swinging a set of Mercedes keys in his hand all the while. Gian let his oldest son pass him by, but only because this was nothing abnormal for Marcus.
Or any of their boys, really.
Gian was not the most important person in the room, not when his children were just coming home after being gone for days, or even a few hours to school. Marcus no longer lived with them—he hadn’t since he turned eighteen—but he knew better than to stay away from the Guzzi home for too long. Three days, four at the max, was enough.
Then, Cara started to miss her son.
Marcus didn’t like those phone calls from his father when Cara started complaining. To be fair, Gian didn’t like her complaining.
Gian headed after his son, ready to eat.
No, Marcus didn’t greet his father first. He moved across the dining room floor quickly, dropped his phone into his pocket, and then bent down to kiss his mother’s waiting cheek. She sat at the head of the table—a spot that should have been reserved for Gian only.
It wasn’t his spot to have.
It had never been.
It was Cara’s spot in their home.
Head of the house.
She always had the floor.
The only Queen of his family.
Gian made sure not a single fucking soul ever forgot it, either. Including their five sons.
To be a Guzzi principe, those boys were never allowed to see their mother as anything but the queen that had birthed them. They worshipped Cara, the ground she walked on, and the very air that came out of her body. In their eyes, their mother did no wrong. Each one of their sons would defend their mother to the fucking death, and they wouldn’t think twice about it. They didn’t let anybody say a bad word about her, not without some kind of apology that usually included blood.
When they walked into the house, Cara was who they looked for. Cara was who they greeted first in every situation—their father second. Cara was served before them, him, and guests alike. She never had to ask a second time for anything, not when she had five sets of ears listening the first damn time. She wanted for nothing in their home.
His sons’ greatest fears?
Failing their mom.
They didn’t know it, but they could never fail Cara. She loved them too much to see their faults. Gian saw their flaws, occasionally, because he was their father and he had a different role to play, at times, with his boys. But no matter what, he was damn proud of his sons.
Gian liked to think he had a big hand in how his sons treated, loved, and respected their mother. Fact was, his boys just loved Cara. And all he needed to do was occasionally remind them why as they’d grown up. They did the rest themselves, honestly.
“Hey, Ma.”
Cara preened up at her oldest son, happy as could be. “How was your week?”
“Busy.”
“Not too busy, though,” his wife said, shooting Gian a look.
Marcus shrugged. “It’s good, Ma. I like being busy. Keeps me out of trouble.”
Cara pursed her lips. “Mmhmm. I’m sure. Sit, your brothers are almost home from school.”
She wasn’t wrong.
Gian had only taken his seat at the other end of the table when four pairs of footsteps echoed down the main hall. Two sets were closer than the others. Loud, raucous laughter followed his four other boys. Nearly seventeen-year-old Christopher and Corrado moved through the dining room first, going straight for their mother. Seniors in high school, the two boys were often more different than they were alike. Which was strange, considering they were identical twins. One was more daring, the other reserved. One was louder, the other quiet.
Perhaps it was just how his first set of twin boys fed off one another. One helped the other to stay calm, the other pushed his brother to take risks.
Gian wasn’t entirely sure.
He let his boys figure out this life thing all on their own.
“So, wait, she tried to—” Fourteen-year old Beni—short for Benito—quieted when he realized the entire dining room was looking in his direction. He shrugged off the dirty look his twin brother—Benedetto—gave him, especially considering Cara was now interested in whatever she had heard.
“You’re an ass,” Bene grumbled. “Told you to drop it.”
“She?” Cara asked quietly. “Who is this she, Bene?”
“Ah, Ma. It’s nothing.”
Bene—said with an ‘ay’ sound at the end—and Beni—said with a hard “e” sound—were the complete opposite of their older twin brothers. Where Chris and Corrado made a great effort to be different from one anot
her, Bene and Beni did not.
From a young age, the younger twins had stuck to one another like glue. They spoke alike, dressed similar, and rarely allowed people close enough to understand their strange bonds. Gian could bring forth a dozen memories of his youngest twins having conversations with one another in a babbling language as babies and toddlers that no one could understand. Or how one would always know the other was sick or hurt before anyone else did. It took Cara and Gian years—until the twins could speak properly and communicate—to understand why one would wake up in the middle of the night in a terror, only to figure out the next morning, the other twin was sick with some bug or other.
Cara had quietly mentioned once that she had shared a similar—albeit less intense—kind of bond with her dead twin. It scared the shit out of Gian, not because his boys shared something so strange and wonderful, but because what if. Cara had never thought her twin would be taken away, and he didn’t want to consider that might happen to one of his boys, too.
Because what if it did?
He did not think Bene or Beni were like their mother. He did not believe one could survive without the other, not like they currently were. They were too close, too dependent, and their lives were too intertwined. Cara told Gian all the time not to think about it. Live and let live, she would tell him. Love and let love.
Some thought the boys were a little odd or strange, but Gian didn’t. Then again, he had watched his boys grow from the day they were taken from their mother’s body and put into his arms. Of course, he didn’t find anything odd or strange about them.
There were some who could not tell the two apart, although their parents had never had that trouble.
Gian would never forget Cara’s tired laugh when the ultrasound technician very quietly informed them that their pregnancy was once again a multiple. Not one baby, but two, and identical.
Cara had turned to him and muttered, “You got your baseball team, Gian.”
They hadn’t even known the genders.
Cara always seemed to know.
She also got her tubes tied after that pregnancy.
Cara smiled, took her kisses from her youngest boys, and waved them off to their respective seats. “I will be asking about this she later, Bene.”
