Priceless (An Amato Brothers/Rixton Falls crossover)

by Winter Renshaw

  Running my fingers through his hair, there’s a pulsing warmth between my thighs that quivers in anticipation, my heart rapid-firing as his fingers work the button of my jeans.

  “I love you. But right now I need you, Daphne,” he breathes, impatiently tugging on my zipper. His lips press against my collarbone, and I feel him softly inhale against my flesh. “I have to have you.”

  Chapter 43

  Daphne

  “You know, if you were any other guy, I’d be extremely creeped out by what you pulled off yesterday. Today too.” I nuzzle my cheek against his bare chest as we lay in my bed that night, tangled in sheets. We started in the kitchen, made a detour to the living room, and finished in my bed. “I still don’t know how you pulled those off.”

  He grins, his fingertips grazing the backside of my arms.

  “Who did you bribe?” I ask, half teasing. He doesn’t answer. “Oh, my god. You bribed someone. Was it Betty?”

  Shrugging, he settles into the pile of pillows behind him, tucking his free hand behind his head and staring at the ceiling. He’s glowing. I am too. I feel it. There’s a slick heat between my thighs, and my sex still pulses with tiny aftershocks of pleasure.

  “Regardless, that was a bold, bold move, Amato,” I say. “But promise me something, will you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Since I work here, please don’t bribe any more administrative professionals. Given your track record, I’d say you have a knack for it, but I kind of want to keep my job, so . . .”

  “You got it.”

  Cristiano rolls to his side, scooping me in his arms and pulling my body against his. I love his warmth and the way my body molds perfectly to his.

  “You sure this is what you want?” I ask, wincing, knowing he’s going to be annoyed with my question. Clearly, given his grand gestures and all, this is what he wants. I am what he wants. But I don’t think he’s examining the big picture here. “I only ask because I’m planting roots here, and you’re a free bird, and I don’t want to be the one to clip your wings.”

  “Ridiculous metaphors aside, I told you, we’ll make this work.”

  “Okay, but how? I can’t exactly pack my bags on a Wednesday and fly to Belize on a whim as much as I would absolutely love to.”

  “You get spring break, right? And summer vacation. Fall break. Thanksgiving. Christmas. President’s Day? Labor Day?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Okay, then. We’ll do our local getaways on the weekends. We’ll travel nationally during extended breaks, and we’ll do our big travels in the summer.” He kisses the top of my head. “So, I’ll have to stick to a schedule for once in my life. Big deal.”

  Burying my smile into the curve of his neck, I breathe him in and slip my hand beneath his arm.

  I love this man.

  But I don’t want to rush this. I want to savor it. I want to make it last. And if that means taking my time, then so be it. But something tells me he won’t be going anywhere for a while. He’ll be right here beside me patiently waiting for the day I’m ready to hand over my heart in it’s stitched-and-taped-together entirety.

  “Promise me something, Daphne,” he whispers into my ear. The glow of the California sunset outside my windows has faded, and darkness falls around us.

  “Sure.”

  “From here on out, when life gets really fucking hard – when this relationship gets hard, because those kinds of things are inevitable - we run to each other,” he says. “Can you promise me that?”

  Exhaling, I nod. “Yes.”

  “You know, for the first time in years, I’ve found myself thinking about the future,” he says, his voice holding a wistful quality. “I hadn’t thought about it for a long time. It was too painful. Almost as painful as thinking about the past. You think you have your life planned, you think you know who you’re going to spend it with, and when that doesn’t happen, it takes the joy out of wondering what’s next.”

  “True.”

  “But you changed that for me,” he says. “I can’t predict the future. Hell, I can’t control the future. But I hope you’re in mine. I want you to be in mine.”

  Turning to face him, I smirk. “Remember that fortune teller in Colorado?”

  He glances to the side before lifting a brow. “Yeah? What about her?”

  “She said I’d already met my soulmate,” I tease him because I know he doesn’t believe in that stuff. “I’m sure she tells everyone that. I meant to tell you that you were probably right. There was nothing she said to me that gave me any kind of definitive proof that she was the real deal. She knew I was the baby of the family, but that could’ve been a lucky guess. Wait. She knew I was an artist too. I don’t know . . . maybe . . .”

  Cristiano’s quiet for a second, and then he pushes a hard breath past his lips.

  “What’d she say to you, anyway? You ran off that night, and I never asked because you were in a mood,” I say, studying his face.

  He rolls to his back, running his hand through his hair and looking straight up at the ceiling.

  “She said my father apologized for not being the man we needed him to be. That he was proud of us. All of us. And that he watches us,” he says.

  Chills run the length of my spine, and my arms are covered in gooseflesh. “Wow. That’s . . . that’s pretty powerful. I mean, how would she know just by looking at you that your father had passed on?”

  He’s silent.

  “So maybe she was the real deal?” I shrug.

  “Maybe,” he says. “But it doesn’t really matter in the end. We’re not supposed to know what comes next, at least I don’t think we are. That’s the whole point. Life’s one big adventure. Nothing’s promised. Nothing’s guaranteed. There’s an up for every down. And if we’re lucky enough, the good stuff will outweigh the bad. And if we’re even luckier, we get to know what real love feels like.”

  Cristiano rolls over on top of me, pinning me against the mattress. His hand tenderly lifts to my jaw, guiding my mouth toward his.

  “I don’t want to know what happens tomorrow or the next day or the day after that,” he whispers, his lips grazing mine. “I just want to know you’re going to be there.”

  Epilogue

  Daphne

  Ten Years Later

  “We’re here!” I call out as we step into the foyer of my parents’ home in Rixton Falls. Cristiano dusts snow off his shoulders, and I shake it from his hair.

  It’s New Year’s Eve: the tenth anniversary of the day we met and our seventh wedding anniversary. It’s been eight years since he proposed outside a four-hundred-year-old castle in Tipperary. It’s been six years since we embarked on a belated honeymoon to Bangkok. Five years since we had our first near-catastrophic fight in Sydney. Four years since we rode camels in Egypt, toured the pyramids after hours, and almost got caught. Three years since we were held up in customs in Moscow and lived to tell the tale. Two years since we stumbled upon a little orphanage in Costa Rica that opened our hearts - and minds - to the kind of adventure neither one of us ever imagined was on the horizon . . .

  “Aunt Daphne! Aunt Daphne!” Our five-year-old nephew, Nolan, tromps down the hallway, arms open wide, and he jumps into my arms, wrapping his legs around my waist.

  “Hey, buddy,” Cristiano grins at Nolan. “How’s it going? I heard Santa stopped by your house last week. You must’ve been a good boy this year, yeah?”

  “I was so good, Uncle Cris! I was better than Noah!” he says. I stifle a laugh because I know it’s true. Noah’s been quite the handful lately from what we hear. “I was so good, Santa brought me Optimus Prime and a little brother!”

  “Mamá?” A sweet little voice beckons me with a tug on the back of my jacket. It’s the strangest thing having someone call me that, and while we’re still in the getting-to-know-you phase, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I don’t know her favorite foods yet. Or cartoons. Or Disney princesses. I don’t know her favorite
color (mostly because it changes every time I ask her). I don’t know how long it’s going to take for her to adjust to this strange new world we’ve brought her to. I don’t know any of that. But I do know one thing.

  I am her mother. From now until the end of time.

  “Yes, sweetheart?” I place my hand on her shoulder and gently guide her around. Her wide, deep-set brown eyes take in the sweeping foyer of my parents’ house before settling on her new cousin.

  “Who is this?” Nolan points.

  “This is Lidia,” I say, brushing soft, chocolate-brown hair from her forehead. “She’s your new cousin. She’s five. Like you. And she’s really looking forward to getting to know you.”

  Lidia brushes against me, stuck like glue. She’s been this way since we stepped off the plane from Costa Rica last week, but I don’t blame her. I can’t imagine this is easy for her, and at times, I imagine it’s been terrifying, but Cristiano and I have devoted every waking moment to ensuring she’s comfortable and happy and has everything she could possibly need to make this a smooth transition for her.

  “Lee-dee-ah,” Nolan says her name slowly, correctly. I’m impressed. He slides down my side standing close to his cousin. Probably too close. But he wears an expression of sincere fascination, and something tells me they’re going to be fast friends.

  Lidia nods, chewing her lower lip and tucking her chin against her chest. She’s a little shy, and we knew that from the instant we met her at the orphanage in San Vicente. We first visited two summers ago, passing by the Ciudad de la Esperanza orphanage and stopping inside as we followed a trail of children’s laughter. We spent the rest of our trip volunteering there, mostly building maintenance and doing chores like cleaning and laundry. Every once in a while, they’d let us interact with the children, but they needed to get to know us better, and they needed references and background checks to clear, understandable. A few months after that, we returned. And every chance we got over the months that followed, we went back.

  Lidia arrived at the orphanage during our visit last summer. She had dirt on her face, dark circles under her eyes, and wore tattered pajamas. She was malnourished, frightened, and shy. And for whatever reason, she would only allow Cristiano to come anywhere near her.

  It was an unusual bond at first, but the more time we spent around her, and the more I saw the two of them interact, the more we began to feel an undeniable attachment, and the more we began to realize that imagining a future without this little girl in it felt sort of . . . empty . . . in a way it hadn’t before.

  We talked it over, our discussions ranging from casual to in-depth. But it wasn’t until last January, when we were knee-deep in our usual routine, when we realized it was Lidia’s birthday, and that she wouldn’t be sharing it with a mother or father. We both wanted to be there, celebrating with her, showering her with love and confetti and balloons. We missed her smile. Her laugh. The way her tiny arms felt wrapped around our shoulders.

  So we made some phone calls. We returned, yet again, to the Ciudad de la Esperanza. And we set the wheels in motion to make this little girl ours.

  Delilah pads lightly from around the corner, a baby swaddled in a blue blanket sleeping soundly in her arms, and oversized house slippers covering her feet. There’s a contented peacefulness in her exhausted expression.

  “Look who’s here-” she begins to say, stopping in her tracks when she sees my sweet little dark-haired angel. Her eyes widen before glistening, and she lifts her hand to her lips, sucking in a startled breath. “Daphne . . .”

  I glance at Cristiano who wears a proud beam as he rests his hand on Lidia’s shoulder. Lidia reaches up and slips her tiny fingers into his palm, smiling when he gives it a reassuring squeeze.

  “This is our new daughter, Lidia,” I introduce them. “Lidia, this is your aunt, Delilah. My sister.”

  “One of your aunts,” Cristiano corrects me. “You have several.”

  “That’s right,” I add. “Lots of aunts and uncles and cousins. Gran familia.”

  She turns to Cristiano, burying her face against his wool coat. Scooping her up in his arms, she wraps her hands around his neck.

  “It’s a lot to take in, I know.” I say, rubbing comforting circles into her back.

  Delilah steps closer, her gaze flicking between Cristiano’s and mine. “I had no idea . . .”

  “No one knew,” I say with a soft grin. “The adoption process was lengthy and complex, and there were no guarantees. We didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”

  “So this is why you’re on sabbatical?” Delilah says with a smirk. “I should’ve known you were up to something.”

  “Nobody knows then?” Delilah asks, giving me side eye. “Not even Mom and Dad?”

  “Not a soul,” I say, grinning.

  Lidia turns her attention to Delilah, peering over her arm and clinging to Cristiano like her life depends on it.

  Delilah steps closer, one hand cradling her baby and the other reaching toward my new daughter, then pausing as if she knows to take things slow. I know my sister, and deep down, she’s dying to wrap her arms around this child and give her a warm, Rosewood welcome, but the licensed therapist in her knows it’s best to wait until Lidia’s comfortable with her.

  “Aren’t you the sweetest thing,” Delilah says softly. “I can’t wait to get to know you, Lidia. And I can’t wait for you to meet the rest of the family. Your grandma and grandpa are going to swallow you whole.”

  Lidia’s wide gaze latches onto mine, suggesting Delilah’s message got lost in translation. I whisper words of comfort and she exhales softly.

  “English is her second language,” I say to my sister with a wink.

  Glancing down at sleeping Nico, I pull the mink-y blanket away from his face and take a closer look. “Hello again, sweet baby.” I was fortunate enough to be there three weeks ago when he was born. I was there when Nolan came into this world too. “I can’t believe how much he’s changed already!”

  Delilah wears a tired smile, her eyes half drooping. “Yeah. He really has. Nico takes after the Rosewood side I think. Noah’s all de la Cruz and Nolan’s a fifty-fifty blend. But Nico, he’s got a lot of us in him.”

  Baby Nico stirs awake, his eyes fluttering softly when he hears his mother’s voice.

  “Uncle Cris, I wanna show you my new toys. Lidia, you can come too!” Nolan slips his little hand into Cristiano’s, pulling them all toward the family room.

  “He sure loves his Uncle Cris,” Delilah says, watching them disappear around the corner. “I told you about the framed picture right? The one he keeps on his nightstand? Every night, we have to say, ‘Goodnight, Uncle Cris!’ before we turn out the light.”

  “That’s adorable.” I chuckle, wrinkling my nose. “Where is everyone?”

  “Derek, Serena, and their girls are in the kitchen with Mom and Dad. Demi, Royal, Beckett, and Campbell are on their way. Zane and Noah are in the basement playing video games last I knew.” Delilah situates Nico, moving him to her other arm. “Did Cristiano bring his camera?”

  I nod. “Yep.”

  Over the past several years, Cristiano’s taken up photography, turning it into a full-blown career. He’s officially retired his “Jax Diesel” persona, opting to be on the other end of the camera, only he doesn’t just photograph cover models, he captures weddings, engagements, babies, and families. His photos are creamy and dreamy, using all natural light and candid moments. He truly has a knack for capturing all of life’s priceless moments on film.

  “Awesome,” Delilah says. “I’m going to have him snap a few of Nico and his brothers together. Would be nice to get a few of all the cousins together too.”

  “He’d be honored,” I say, following her into the kitchen. Peering to my right, we pass by the family room, and I watch as Cristiano sits cross-legged on the floor between Nolan and Lidia, surrounded by an army of action figures and little toy cars. The children are playing hard and giggling at something Cristiano ju
st said, and I’m willing to bet their little imaginations are running wild.

  Leaning against the wall that separates the family room from the kitchen, I spot Cristiano glancing up at me from across the room.

  “Everything okay?” he asks, his dark eyes reflecting off the twinkling Christmas lights covering the blue spruce tree beside him.

  Smiling, I nod toward the man who owns my heart and soul. I love watching him as a father. He’s so good with Lidia. So patient and sweet. So doting and protective. He looks at her like she’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen in his entire life. I couldn’t ask for a better partner as we embark on this thrilling, and at times challenging, new chapter in our lives.

  “Yes. Everything’s fine,” I assure him.

  In a few minutes, I’ll bring my parents and the rest of my family in here to meet Lidia, and the day after tomorrow, we’ll head to Jersey so she can meet the other half of her family. All four of Cristiano’s brothers are in town with their families, and Valentina’s cooking up a world glass, traditional Italian dinner. None of them know about Lidia either, and I know Cris is dying to introduce them.

  While the anticipation of what’s to come in the immediate future sends tingles and butterflies zipping through me, it’s the great unknown that excites me the most. When we return home in a few days, to Seaview, it’ll be the three of us. Me, Cristiano, and our Lidia: the three Amatos. And I have a feeling that whatever lies beyond that, are the most priceless adventures this trio will ever know.

  Dream Cast

  Daphne – Claire Holt

  Cristiano – Joseph Cannata

  Weston – Wyatt Russell

  Joey – Nicola Peltz

  Delilah – Nina Dobrev

  Zane – Mario Casas

  Bliss – Blythe Danner

  Robert – Tom Selleck

  Demi – Mila Kunis

  Royal – Zayn Malik