Luca doesn’t leave my side. After the baby is cleaned up and resting comfortably in a bassinet next to my bed, he settles into the chair.
“You should go home and rest,” I tell him tiredly. I can barely keep my eyes open and I yawn while I speak, covering my mouth sheepishly.
Luca smiles. “Go to sleep, love. I’ll be here when you wake.”
I have to admit that it brings me comfort to know he’s near. Even though my head knows that we’re safe now, my heart hasn’t forgotten what happened. I nod.
“Then don’t sleep there. Sleep here… with your arms around me.”
Luca glances toward the door, where any minute my stern elderly nurse could re-emerge.”
I laugh.
“Luca Minaldi is scared of a little old lady?”
He rolls his eyes as he gets to his feet and folds his tall form behind mine on the little hospital bed.
“This is cozy,” he murmurs, minutes before we both fall asleep. Nowadays, we’re only truly comfortable when we’re together.
But after everything that’s happened, I think that’s understandable.
The last thing I see before sleep overtakes me is Luca’s hand curled around mine, and my baby girl’s peaceful face.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Luca
I watch from the balcony as Eva strolls the gardens with tiny baby Aria. The baby’s pink clad arms wave healthily in the air as Eva drapes her over her shoulder. Eva insists that the sea air is good for her, that she needs to walk with her every day.
Sometimes I join them, sometimes I don’t.
Today, I sit with a battered leather journal on my lap, my fingers hesitant to open it.
Eva had given me the book weeks ago and had stared at me in concern as she told me what it contained.
“Your mom wasn’t lucid sometimes,” she reminded me. “Some of her words don’t make sense. But some of them, you need to hear.”
She looked at me so seriously, that I could no nothing but nod.
“Very well,” I’d told her. “I’ll read it when I’m ready.”
I’m not sure if I’m ready today, but if I’m not now, I’ll never be. So without another thought, I open it up and begin to read.
At times over the next hour, my fingers clench into fists over her words, or my stomach tightens, but I still read on. It’s a side of my mother I never saw…an open and honest side, in a book she believed to be private.
When I’m almost done, when the book is almost completely read, one passage causes my eyes to burn.
I wish I’d miscarried Luca. His life will only bring him pain, and I can’t bear the thought. I’ve brought him into a dark world, a world where he will be alone because I don’t have the power to save him. Every day, I see the light in his eyes extinguish, replaced with a dark foreboding. He’s tortured and I cannot save him. It would’ve been better had he not been born, then he would never have to live this nightmare.
A long ragged breath escapes me and I close my eyes, remembering the day on the cliffs when she’d screamed that she should’ve had my nurse drown me when I was an infant.
At the time, I thought she was simply being vicious… horrible words from a malicious person.
But now I think I understand.
Melina Minaldi wasn’t a horrible person. She was tragic. A prisoner in this long and dark game between the Leopoldos and Minaldis. A victim of circumstance. She had no way out and between the drugs and her own dementia, she had suffered. She was never really given the chance to be a good person, or a decent mother.
I can’t hold that against her. Deep down inside, I think she loved me in her own way. At the very least, she didn’t want me to suffer. That has to say something.
I carry the journal with me through the gardens, down the trail and to the mausoleums. I can feel Eva staring at me from behind as she lingers near the house. She doesn’t follow. She’s so intuitive, she can probably sense that I need a moment alone to say this goodbye.
In the mausoleum, I pause.
The smell of the damp stone brings back instant memories of being confined here, beneath this room with the body of my mother. I blink the memory away. That time is past. This place will never confine me again.
I open the door to an unlocked, empty crypt and place the book inside. Laying my hand on the door, I picture my mother, in a rare lucid moment when she’d seemed happy for a minute.
“Mother, I’ll have you moved up here, to your rightful place next to father,” I murmur to the air. “I know you loved him, in your own way. I’m sorry for all that has happened. But I’ve made it right. Rest in peace.”
The air around me is still and silent and the hair raises a bit on my neck. I feel as though a presence lingers near, listening to my every word. But I look, and nothing is there.
My imagination wanders away though, and I imagine that my mother is lingering in the shadows, listening to me. Watching me.
“I love you,” I tell her. “I always did. Even when you didn’t really deserve it. And I know you loved me, too.”
I walk away.
I walk into the sunshine, back across the trails where the flowers sway in the breeze, back toward Chessarae, where the towers rise toward the sun. When I am almost there, I turn and look over my shoulder toward the mausoleum.
Rose petals blow across the path, swirling into the breeze. They weren’t there a moment ago, and they quickly blow over the cliffs, drifting down into the sea, carried by the wind.
I pause, and I should be unnerved, but I’m not. It feels like closure, a closure that I’ve never had before. My mother and father are gone, both lives ended in so much pain.
But perhaps, just perhaps, they are finally at peace. I feel a certain stillness as I watch the flowers, my mother’s roses, float in the water, out to sea in the current.
Chessarae used to house so many dark secrets, so much treachery and hate. But Eva and I will change that. Between us, we’ll fill the rooms with laughter and love, open the doors and expose every secret.
Because secrets only breed more secrets and darkness and hate.
We have no need for that anymore. From this point on, we’ll live our lives in the sun.
Eva smiles at me as I approach and I smile back, watching the way she cradles the baby near to her heart, sheltering Aria from the breeze, from anything that could harm her.
Eva is what a mother should be, loving and loyal and strong. She’s my wife, my life, my best friend. I can’t ask for anything more.
I take her hand, and together, we stroll through the halls of Chessarae, so I can play our daughter to sleep.
Epilogue
Eva
I lay on the beach, a floppy hat protecting my pale skin, as my daughter and Grendel splash in the shallow water of the sea.
“Mama, watch this!” Aria shouts, her dark curls bouncing on her shoulders. Her gray eyes, so like mine, sparkle with laughter as she takes a running leap and bounds over a tiny wave. Lifting her chin, she looks back at me proudly, as though she’d just hurdled the moon.
“Excellent job, sweetie!” I call back. She smiles and tackles Grendel and they roll around in the water.
It’s been four years since everything happened, since Luca was held captive by Adrian, since Grendel was shot and Aria was born.
Grendel has grown old, his muzzle white and his joints tired. But he still guards Aria with the ferocity of a pup. He knows his job is to protect her and he does it very well. He never leaves her side.
“Are you getting too hot?”
Luca’s voice breaks the silence around me and I turn, watching my beautiful husband tread lightly down the hill leading to the beach. He’s dressed casually, in swim trunks and a t-shirt.
“You’re joining us?” I ask happily. “I thought you had to work.”
He shrugs. “What’s the point in running your own company if you can’t take a day off? I needed to make sure you didn’t overheat. I’ve heard that’s common in pregnanc
y.”
I palm my belly, which is swollen with our son. I’m just weeks away from the delivery of our second child.
“I’ve come up with a name,” I tell him hesitantly, because every name we’ve thought of lately hasn’t been a match for us. He smiles patiently now.
“And what is it this time? Ronald? Archibald? Gilbert?” He rolls his eyes and I giggle.
“God, no. I thought of a traditional Maltese name. I think you’ll like it.”
He waits, his dark eyes sparkling.
“Michel Lucien,” I tell him proudly. “Michel because I like it, and Lucien after your great-great-great grandfather and namesake.”
Luca beams. “I love it,” he announces. “It’s perfect.”
I sigh a breath of relief as I watch Aria splashing nearby. “Our son has a name.”
“Our son has a name,” Luca agrees. “And my wife is very smart. Speaking of that, your clinic has sent over the files that you wanted to see. Apparently, my wife isn’t good at taking maternity leave.”
I shrug. “The baby hasn’t been born yet. It doesn’t hurt to work a tiny bit.”
“And they said that your patient will come out here at 4:00 for you to see him.”
Luca stares at me now, humor filling his eyes.
“Before you say anything, I simply want to get his initial evaluation done. The baby will be born soon and—“
Luca shakes his head. “I love you. Of course I’m not going to say anything. It’s why you turned my mother’s wing into a lab and your offices…. So you could work from home when you wish to. You worked hard to get where you are, my love. And you put everything on hold for me for quite a while. I’m not going to get in your way now. I only ask that you don’t over do it. Don’t wear yourself out.”
I smile up at him. “How did I get so lucky?” I ask him. “Fate smiled on me when I met you.”
Luca says nothing, but he reaches over and grabs my hand.
Slowly, over the last four years, he’s come to terms with everything that happened, with his life, with the Minaldi legacy of lies and treachery… and with the idea that he can change the future of the Minaldi line.
His legacy will be one of beautiful things… of supporting the arts, of being active in the Valetta community, of helping those who need it, and of being a loyal and loving husband and father.
The Minaldi legacy has been forever changed.
“I love you,” he tells me, leaning down to kiss my lips, his mouth soft against mine.
“I know,” I answer.
Together, we turn and watch Grendel and Aria play in the sun, evidence of our beautiful life.
Peace has finally found us.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Courtney Cole is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling novelist. She love Greek mythology, cashmere socks and standing on the shore of Lake Michigan with her toes in the water. You can almost always find her staring dreamily out her office window.
To learn more about her, please visit www.courtneycoleauthor.com or www.courtneycolewrites.com
Preview of IF YOU STAY
Chapter One
“Pax.”
I can’t be sure that the girl said my name. Her voice is muffled and unintelligible and hard to understand, mostly because my dick is in her mouth.
Slumping against the black leather seat of my car, I push the girl’s head down further, wordlessly urging her to bury more of me in her throat.
“Don’t talk,” I tell her. “Just suck.”
I close my eyes and listen. I can hear the spit pooling in her mouth and sliding out the corners. Her cheek makes a soft sound as it grazes my open zipper. She moans periodically, although I don’t understand it. She’s not getting anything out of this. My hand is on her head, pushing, pushing. Guiding her movements and her speed. I grip the hair at the base of her neck, winding it in my fingers; pulling it, releasing it, then pulling it again.
She moans again.
I still don’t know why.
I still don’t care.
I’m high as fuck.
And I don’t know her name.
Everything is a fog, except this moment. I tune out the crashing sounds of Lake Michigan to our right, and the sounds of the cars on the highway a few miles away. I block out the glowing lights from town. I tune out the roaring quiet and the occasional thought that someone might happen by and see us. No one is out here on the beach, not at 11:00 pm. Not that I would care anyway.
Right now, all I’m focused on is this blow job.
I already know that I’m not ready to come, but I don’t tell her because I don’t want her to stop yet, either. I let her go for a few minutes more before I push her away.
“Take a break,” I tell her as I settle back into my seat.
I don’t bother to put myself away, I just sigh loud and long as I relax in the breeze. The girl turns her attention to the visor mirror, trying to straighten her mess of a face.
“Wait,” I instruct. “Hold on for a minute.”
She looks at me in confusion, her lipstick smeared. I smile.
“I know you want some of this,” I tell her, grabbing a little bottle from my jacket pocket. I dump a few coke pebbles onto a little mirror on my console and crush them with a razor, dragging the powder into two straight lines.
I offer her the little straw and now she’s the one smiling with her distorted clown mouth.
She snorts at her line, coughs, then snorts it again.
Settling back into her seat, she tilts her face to the car roof as she lets the drug take effect. Her eyes are empty as she thrusts the straw at me and I hesitate for only a second.
I’ve hit it hard today and I’ve done more than I usually do.
Of everything.
But for some reason, the need to disappear into the black is strong today, stronger than usual. And it’s on days like this that I hit the hard stuff. I grab the straw and do my line, breathing in the powder that never fails to take me away. Even when I can count on nothing else, I can always count on this.
The familiar burn immediately numbs my throat. The emptiness spreads throughout the rest of my body, dulling my senses, speeding up my heart. I can feel the blood pulsing through it, hard and pounding, carrying oxygen to my numb fingers.
I fucking love this shit.
I love the way it dulls everything but my attention. I love how it heightens my awareness while still turning everything else black and numb.
This is where I am comfortable. Drifting here into this nothingness, this obscurity.
Coke makes it easy to exist in the emptiness.
I run my fingers through the traces of the remaining powder and slide it along the skin of my erection before grabbing the girl by the back of the neck. I shove her head back down and she opens her mouth willingly. This is most definitely not against her will. She wants to be here.
Especially now that I have fed her habit.
Especially now that she can lick her habit from my dick. If she moans now I’ll believe it because she’s getting something out of it, too.
“Finish,” I tell her. I stroke her back while she moves and I can’t feel my fingers.
Her head bobs for a few more minutes and then without warning, I come in her mouth. Her eyes widen and she starts to pull away as my ejaculate seeps from the edges of her lips, but I hold her fast by the back of the neck until my dick stops throbbing.
“Swallow,” I tell her politely.
Her blank eyes widen, but she swallows obediently.
I smile.
She gags, but she doesn’t heave.
“Thank you,” I say, still polite. And then I lean past her and shove open the passenger side door. It creaks as it swings wide, evidence that cars were still made from iron back in 1968. I pull out my wallet and hand her a dog-eared twenty.
“Get yourself something to eat,” I tell her. “You’re too skinny.”
She’s got the look that girls on nose candy get. The way-too-thin look. Tha
t’s one downfall of the stuff. It’s good for drifting away into oblivion, but it’s hell on your appetite. If you don’t make yourself eat, you’ll waste away and start looking like shit.
This girl doesn’t look like shit. Yet. She’s not ugly. But she’s not pretty either. She mostly looks hardened. Mousy brown hair, pale blue eyes. Bland, stick-thin body. I can take her or leave her.
And I’m leaving her.
She glares at me as she wipes her mouth.
“My car is in town. Aren’t you at least going to take me back to it?”
I look at her and note how there are three of her that blur into one, then back into three, before I shake the blurriness from my head and try to focus again.
Nope. Still three of her.
“Can’t,” I tell her, dropping my head heavily against the headrest. “I’m too fucked up to drive. It’s not that far, anyway. It’s not my fault that you wore five-inch stripper shoes. Just take them off. It’ll make it easier to walk.”
“You’re a fucking asshole, Pax Tate,” she spits angrily. “You know that?”
She grabs her purse from the floor and slams my car door as hard as she can. My car, Danger, shakes from her efforts.
Yes, I named my car. A 1968 Dodge Charger in pristine condition deserves a name.
And no, I don’t care that this coked up little bitch thinks I’m an asshole. I am an asshole. I’m not going to deny it.
As if to prove that point, I can’t even think of her name right now even though it only took me one second to recall the name of my car. I might remember the girl’s in the morning or I might not. That doesn’t matter to me at this point. She’ll come back. She always does.
I’ve got what she wants.
I strip off my jacket and lay it on the passenger seat, zipping my pants back up as I watch her stomp away. Then I open my own door, dangling one black boot over the doorsill, letting the cool breeze rustle over my flushed, overheated body.
The landscape up and down the coast is jagged and rolling and wild. It is so vast that it makes me feel small. The night is inky black and there are barely any stars. It’s the kind of night where a guy can just disappear into the dark. My kind of night.
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