Twisted Fate: Dark Heart Duet, Book Two

by James, Ella

  I can’t help another insane giggle. “This is so surreal. I almost can’t believe it.”

  His fingers lace through mine, and he gives me a tight, sweet smile. Then he scoops me up and wraps his arms around me, as I wrap my legs around his waist and cackle at the sheer insanity of being carried when I’m whale-sized. Luca sets me on the cottage’s back porch, and I look at the sunset, and then him.

  I end up in his arms again. We’re hugging, and I can’t let go.

  “I think my feet are swelling, but I don’t want to move from this spot. I just want to know you’re here and this is real.” My voice breaks. I don’t mean for it to. I feel bad when I see my pain reflected on his face. He breathes deeply, banishing that look, and there’s another one in its place.

  His hand cups my belly. “I’m here—and it’s very real.” He looks so sure, so steady. “What can I do to convince you?”

  “I don’t know.” My body gives a little shudder, like it’s burning off excess adrenaline.

  “I love you.” He kisses me gently. “Forever. From the moment I saw you at the school, I knew you were someone I couldn’t forget. If you’ll have me—if you want me—I’ll always be yours.”

  Tears are dripping down my cheeks. “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “Will you stay with me? Can you—will you live here, too?”

  “Of course.”

  He opens the door. Then he grins and lifts me over the threshold. “Isn’t there something to that? The groom carries the bride…”

  I start to cry again—because he’s the groom; I’m going to be a bride.

  “Oh, no,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  In the kitchen, he pulls a chair out for me. I can’t help laughing when we realize that I can’t fit. To accommodate my Santa belly, he needs to pull it out a bit more. He does, and I collapse into the chair, laughing at my lack of grace. Then he gets down on one knee again and wraps his arms around my legs.

  We stay there for the longest time, his head against my hip and my hands playing in his hair. Finally, he stands up and serves us dinner.

  “Pizza and lemon cake.” There’s another round of crying, but I try to stop the waterworks so we can have fun. We chat while we eat, and it’s so perfect that I find myself struggling to believe it’s real.

  When we’re finished, we get in the shower. There’s more laughter as we get out and find no towels big enough to wrap around my belly.

  “Here…I’ve got a robe for you.” He holds up a burgundy one that looks fluffy.

  “For me?”

  He smiles, almost bashful, and I hug him. We’re both grinning as we move into the master bedroom and he pulls the covers back.

  “You first.” He holds his hand out. I scoot in, laughing as I do, and we lie in the bed together. Moonlight fills the little room, which has no curtains. The salty ocean breeze blows wisps of hair around my face. And Luca kisses me.

  “I love you, Elise O’Hara. Forever.”

  I run my hands through his damp, dark hair. “I love you for longer.”

  “Have you ever thought your name would sound better as Elise Galante?”

  I laugh, propping my check in my palm. “Have you?”

  He grins. “Yeah, I always have.”

  “From day one?” I tease.

  “From day one.”

  “What will I do with you?” I murmur as we cuddle close and my eyelids feel heavy.

  “Marry me, I hope.”

  The next day, I do just that. Dani and Ree insist on flying over as soon as baby comes and throwing the biggest party that our little strip of beach has ever seen. Jace calls Luca to congratulate him, man-to-man, and I’m pretty sure I hear Luca laughing in the living room as I make his mom’s special spaghetti sauce. A few days later, I get a call from an unknown number, and it’s Isa, of all people—doing basically the very same thing.

  “I know we don’t really know each other well,” she says. “But I wanted to say I’m happy for you, for both of you. I want us to get to know each other. Be friends. If you want to.”

  “I do,” I say—and I find I really mean it.

  “This baby is going to have the biggest family ever,” I tell Luca at the dinner table that night.

  “Good.” He smiles. “I want us to have it all.”

  Four weeks later, on a breezy night when the sunset is flaming orange and Luca’s finishing the baby’s crib and I’m testing the rocking chair, and we’re both starry-eyed and feeling so young and so nervous, I get up to twirl in his arms, dancing to a song on our small radio—and my water breaks. There’s a laughing, sobbing, thrilling ride to the hospital—followed by hugs, kisses, and a healthy bit of screaming.

  Fourteen hours later, we add another layer to our love: our gorgeous daughter, Rose.

  * * *

  Luca

  SEVEN WEEKS LATER

  This old guy at the market last week told me to hold on tight to Rose, because babies are like slippery fish. I thought the dude was kind of crazy until Elise goes out to get her hair cut one Sunday afternoon.

  “Maybe you could give her a bath or something,” she says, feathering a kiss over Rose’s black hair.

  I lower the local newspaper I’m reading in an attempt to boost my fluency. “You think she needs a bath? And you don’t want to help her get it?”

  Elise gives me a wide-eyed look, paired with a funny little smile. “Well, I’d love to help her take a bath. But I thought bath time might become a dad thing.” She sits up straighter on her end of the couch, cradling Rose against her breasts, which are on full display in a sleeveless, baby-feeding shirt. “I can’t help noticing the only time you really do things with her is when I ask,” she says softly.

  Her feet knead my thigh, and she tilts her head as she smiles. “I know you aren’t lazy, and you said you want to do these things, so…” She shrugs one shoulder.

  “So, what?” I arch a brow.

  “So…I kind of feel like maybe you’re—”

  “Don’t you say it, rosa.”

  She smirks, and she doesn’t. She feeds Rose as we discuss the weather in Italian—we’re both trying to become more fluent—and when she’s finished and Rose is asleep, she tucks our little bundle into her baby swing and heads toward the mouth of the hall. I can just barely hear the clucking as she flounces toward our bedroom.

  I shake my head. “Motherfucker.”

  I just got called chicken by my own wife, regarding how I handle our new baby. She’s not wrong, though. I’m worried I’ll break her. Ever since I laid eyes on Rose, she’s seemed too small—and too perfect—to be real. She’s somewhat like her mother that way.

  Elise looks almost gleeful as she stops by the couch to kiss me on her way out the door.

  “I think someone’s been inside too much,” I tease.

  “You know it.”

  I get out for therapy and soccer with some guys who live on our street. Also, I go to this gym that’s a town over; there’s no way to do a good home workout with a bench. But, because of how often she’s feeding Rose, Elise is mostly stuck at home.

  “Don’t be surprised if I come back in six hours with highlights in every color of the rainbow.” She grins as she moves toward Rose in the swing.

  “I think she’ll be fine,” she murmurs. “The last few times with the bottle were okay, and she hasn’t been gassy or had a blowout today.”

  I smile at my wife discussing little Rose’s poop, and Elise shakes her head like she thinks I’m insane. “Men and fart stuff.” She rolls her eyes.

  “It is kind of funny. You have to admit that. There’s so much of it, and she’s so little.”

  “Mmhmm.”

  She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me like she wants to make another little pink-cheeked poop machine.

  “Be careful. And text me when you get there.”

  That makes her laugh, but she says, “I will. Let me know about you, too. And don
’t be afraid to burp her, right? You can use some force. She’s not as fragile as you think.”

  I widen my eyes, and she giggles again. “Bye, cuore.”

  I wait until the dust cloud from the car’s tires dissipates before I pull my laptop off the shelf and crack it open. I’ve been waiting to check…

  Fuck—yep, there’s an email. Shit. I don’t think I can check it. I get up and watch the baby breathe—which isn’t that easy to do while her swing is in motion, but I manage, since it’s something I do all the time. Then I sit back down and think of Elise making chicken sounds.

  I click the email…read it once, and then I read it again. And again. And then I’m laughing. I quiet down so bambina won’t wake up. Then I reach for my phone, wanting to call Elise right now and tell her. In the end, I convince myself now’s not the time. She’s going out to relax. I don’t understand how that works—how having a stranger chop the ends of your hair off is like taking a mini vacation for women—but who am I to question what my wife enjoys? She questions nothing about me, embraces every facet of our life together…except when I leave my dirty clothes on the bathroom floor. That, she doesn’t seem to like. I’m getting better, though.

  Since I can’t tell Elise quite yet, I text Jace. I don’t know how, but we’ve become real friends. The guy is awesome, just like rosa told me.

  I got in. AND got the job.

  Oh damn, so you found out already?

  I laugh. Yeah.

  It only took them twelve days!

  I know.

  That’s awesome, man.

  Kinda feel like they made a mistake.

  I told you they wouldn’t care. Your history makes you better, and a lot of schools like adult students.

  …Hard to believe.

  Believe it! You’re the one they wanted.

  I think about that as Rose stirs and I pull her out of her swing. It’s a little hard to text and hold her, but I’ve got it figured out.

  I guess so.

  Jace asks: You told Elise?

  She’s getting a haircut.

  Yeah but did you tell her you applied?

  No.

  I thought you were going to.

  Yeah. I was going to.

  What happened?

  I chew on the inside of my cheek. Didn’t really think they’d let me in, I guess.

  I thought they would, Jace says. I figured if they knew your name, it would make you more appealing and not less.

  Ha

  I’m serious. They probably want who’s interesting.

  We shoot the shit some more as I rock Rose. Then I slip my phone into my pocket as I start to talk to her. It’s a little weird to talk to a baby…but I kind of like it. Honestly, I think she likes it, too. If she’s fussing and I talk to her, she’ll quiet down.

  By the time Elise gets home, I’ve got the baby tub filled in the sink, and I’m easing Rose’s wiggly, slippery body down into it. She’s screaming—but not full-force—and I’m humming to her. I can feel Elise come into the room, but she doesn’t speak as I get Rose settled.

  Then the baby’s okay, and la mia rosa is smiling with her shorter hair. She smells like hair products, and she looks elated…almost laughing her joy as she looks from me to Rose and back to me.

  “Hi, you two.” It’s a purr.

  She chats about the salon as she helps me wash the baby. When Rose is tucked in her towel, wrapped in blankets, and we’re working on getting her into her tiny baby clothes—she really is a slippery fish—I say, “Oh, hey…I got a job.”

  “What?”

  I laugh, feeling awkward. “Yeah, it’s with the university. Columbia. I’m…mentoring college students while I work on my PhD.”

  “Oh my God, your PhD! In what?” She looks almost aghast.

  “Philosophy.”

  Her eyes are huge. “Do you need to move back?”

  “No. It’s online.”

  “Oh my God—Luca…I had no idea you’d applied.”

  “Yeah.”

  She throws her arms around me, laughing happily. “Congratulations!”

  I close my eyes and try to memorize the feeling I get when she hugs me. I’m thinking about it that night—wanting more of how damn good and warm I feel—when we slip into bed together.

  “What’s the matter?” She wraps an arm around me, snuggling in close.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “C’mon…” She kisses my jaw.

  “Just thinking about the job.”

  “And school.” She smiles, looking blissful.

  “Are you really happy? You don’t mind? I should have told you.”

  “Oh, no, it’s beyond fine. I never thought we’d be here forever.”

  They’ll need to touch base with me in person at the end of each semester. So that means that by this coming December, we’ll need to be back stateside—or I’ll have to travel.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have done it,” I murmur.

  “Oh no, I mean, you should have. I don’t think I could be happier.”

  “Really?”

  She nods, smiling softly. “I like that you knew what you wanted back in college. But even if you hadn’t…I like that this makes you happy now. That it’s something you want to do. And I think it’s funny that what you’ll be doing, in the end, is teaching.”

  “How come?”

  She makes a wide-eyed face. “I’d been thinking about teaching, too.”

  “Yeah?”

  She smiles, looking smug, like she’s been sitting on a secret. “Yeah,” she whispers. “Students are so fun, and teaching feels like it would be something special. Never-ending opportunities to impact someone’s life and help them reach potential.”

  That makes me uncomfortable—as someone who hasn’t really reached theirs.

  She nuzzles my jaw. “Tell me what wheels are turning in that beautiful brain of yours.”

  “Thinking of a sexy professor.”

  We kiss, and that leads to other things.

  “I’m telling you,” I whisper-hiss, “Rose will remember. Somewhere in her mind…she’ll have this memory of us—of our noises, if not actual pictures.”

  Elise laughs. “That’s crazy.”

  “You wish. What’s insane is how scarred she’s gonna be.”

  We’re in hysterics. A short time later, we’re both moaning, trembling, coming undone in our quaint double bed. When it’s over, and I’m falling asleep, I scoop her against me, playing what she calls big spoon.

  “I love you,” she whispers. “Mr. Galante.”

  “I love you, Mrs.” I kiss her hair.

  “You know there’s no one better than you, right? You’re everything I want and need.”

  I stifle a yawn. “I’m glad you think that.”

  “But,” she prompts.

  “What do you mean?” I murmur.

  “I can feel a ‘but’ there. So I was just wondering what it is.”

  I’m fading, so maybe that’s part of it—why I tell her my feelings without too much hesitation. “I still wish I was better.”

  “There’s no better.” She snuggles against me, and I hold her tight.

  “I’ll make sure you never regret it,” I whisper near her ear.

  “Regret what?”

  “Being with me. Every year will be better.”

  She laughs softly. “That’s not what I need. I only need tonight to be good.”

  For a long time, I’m the big spoon, but as we drift off, it’s Elise who’s got her arms and legs wrapped around me. Her hand is playing gently in my hair. We’ve got Rose right by us, in a little baby bed thing. Even I have to admit: it feels cozy as fuck. It feels good.

  “I love you so much,” I whisper. My voice is hoarse with sleep.

  “I love you more, Dr. Galante.”

  That makes me smile. One day, both of us might have professor desks. All the better to bend her over. That’s the last thing that I think before I drift off. I wake to the sight of Elise and Rose gently listi
ng back and forth in the rocking chair beside the bed. The sun is up. The room is bright.

  “Is it…?” I look around.

  Elise grins.

  “It’s morning? I slept through my feeding.”

  “You slept through the night.”

  “Did I?”

  She nods. “You didn’t even stir.”

  “Well, shit.”

  She looks gleeful. That’s a goal I’ve had; I’ve still been talking to my therapist, trying to fix my sleep cycle—among other things.

  Elise and Rose climb into the bed with me. When rosa starts to fall asleep, with little Rose wiggling on the mattress beside her, I scoop up our bundle and leave the room with her.

  “Come with Daddy. Let’s let your mom sleep.”

  I change Rose’s diaper and feed her outside in the porch swing we hung behind the house. We’re still out there when Elise comes out an hour later. She sits beside us, leans her head against my shoulder, and, when I can tell she can’t keep her hands off the baby for a second longer, she takes Rose and kisses her head.

  “This is perfect.” She yawns.

  She shifts the baby into the crook of one arm and wraps her other arm around my waist. I drape mine around her shoulders.

  “I think so, too.”

  “You do?” It’s a murmur.

  I kiss her hair. “More than perfect. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

  “Me either.”

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  “I love you more, my husband.”

  “I still love you more than lemon cake.”

  She laughs. “I love you more than homemade pizza and sleep.”

  The baby makes a little coo sound right then, as if she’s trying to chime in, too. The beach breeze ruffles Rose’s hair, and tosses Elise’s. The sun slants through the porch swing’s chains, tossing small circles of light over the three of us. The minutes pass—too quickly, I think, as Elise and I talk, but still slowly enough to be savored.

  Finally, the baby cries, and we move inside, exchanging little smiles as I start dinner. A little while later, we take everything out onto the beach, where we eat picnic-style atop a big quilt. Rose squirms on her back, waving tiny fists at the sky. Elise says the lemon cake is my best yet. And maybe it is.