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“Would you both stop this? We’ll get in trouble!”
“Shut up, Tristan!”
“One day. Just one peaceful day,” I mutter. “I’m going to count to three,” I shout as I walk toward the terrace door and step outside, where my identical triplet sons freeze, swinging their heads in my direction.
I’m not even surprised to see Matías trapping Jacob in a headlock and Tristan trying to separate the two.
“Oh no,” they exclaim in unison and quickly straighten up, standing beside each other and grinning wildly at me. “Hi, Dad.” The wind whooshes over us, announcing that fall is in full swing and intends to make us forget about summer altogether for the foreseeable future, billowing their blond hair a little while their crystal-clear blue eyes gaze at me innocently.
I groan inwardly because their eyes, my wife’s eyes, make it impossible for me to stay strict for long. They always manage to trick me into doing what they want, when what they need is discipline—and lots of it.
After our wedding, we focused on our lives and Isabella. My wife finished her psychology degree and opened up a center for abused children, where she helped them heal and gave them a better chance in life. Meanwhile, I designed another new collection that became an instant hit.
Love fueled my artistic flow, and life couldn’t get any better.
The whole pregnancy and birth experience was traumatic for both of us, and we didn’t plan to have any more children. We were happy with our little angel and decided to leave all the kids hoopla to my friends. However, one night we were reckless and got pregnant, and while it wasn’t part of the plan, we were happy about it. All the other wives getting pregnant at the same time was a bonus because we liked the idea of them all being the same age and already being born into a friendship group.
I still remember my dumbstruck expression when the doctor told us we were expecting triplets. Shock and fear stormed inside me just imagining having three more girls running around and taking my heart with them. It didn’t help that they couldn’t tell us the sex of the babies, so the seven months that followed were hell for me while my wife found the entire situation funny.
But they didn’t think like girl dads at all. The idea of my angel growing up so some horny fuck can seduce her and then think he has some kind of claim on her…it made me rage inside, which once again caused my godfather’s amusement. To him, my hell was atonement, but I didn’t see it that way.
I need no atonement when it comes to my wife because my love for her is not a sin; it’s salvation, and I’d go through anything and everyone for her.
However, the doctor safely delivered three little boys when the big day came. I held them all in my arms, falling in love three more times…and understood one simple thing.
It didn’t matter if you had sons or daughters…you worry about them and love them all the same and wish to protect them so fiercely that nothing and no one would hurt them.
“What did I say earlier?”
They all sigh, then Tristan takes a deep breath, clearing his throat. “We need to be on our best behavior because everyone’s coming to our house to celebrate the anniversaries.” He frowns, biting his lip and adding, “Even though it’s not your actual anniversary.”
Since we all got together with our wives ten years ago, Remi came up with the idea of just picking a random day to celebrate our big dates together at someone's house. Obviously, we all spent the actual dates with our wives, dragging them to luxurious resorts and places where no one but us existed.
Oddly enough, everyone liked the idea, so it stuck, and we agreed to take turns hosting. This year is our turn. The guests aren’t even here, but I already have a headache.
“We wore something nice.” Tristan speaks again, frowning at my silence and throwing his arms over his brothers’ shoulders. “Just like you told us, Daddy.”
Ah, Tristan. Always the peacemaker among the three and the baby of the family since he was born ten minutes after his brothers.
God gave us three sons with nothing in common besides identical faces and a fierce love for one another. They always protect each other and never allow anyone to hurt them.
Tristan spends his days painting in his room, creating magic on his walls filled with various oil paints. He loves to read myths and often translates his visions of them on paper, running to his grandma and showing them off to her. Although he wiggles his nose in distaste whenever he looks at my designs for jewelry, claiming that his talent should not be wasted on some shiny things.
Grandpa Atlas—who, thank God, is still with us and relatively healthy since he still fucks around, which at this point we all consider impressive—almost had a heart attack after hearing this. He bitched to Dad about how his grandkids have no respect for the family business, and that it’s all his fault.
He calmed down after Tristan assured him that he planned to conquer the artistic world and spread the family talents and legacy. Although judging by how he talks Tristan’s ear off about our history and how hard it is to actually design a piece and their value…he’s still salty about the remark.
Tristan hates loud noises and music, mostly keeps to himself, and prefers to avoid being among large groups of people unless he absolutely has to.
Apart from art, he has only one interest—Gloria, one of Octavius’s daughters, who also happens to be a triplet and my goddaughter.
He dedicates everything he creates to her, but my free-spirited and motorcycle-loving goddaughter sadly has eyes for his cousin, Santiago’s son.
Apparently, seven-year-olds have a lot of drama going on. Who knew?
I think it’s hilarious while Octavius worries, but that’s inevitable since we all have a bunch of kids. They’re all best friends, go to the same school, and even plan to attend the same college in the future. That’s how tight they are.
Some of them will fall in love with each other and stay together, some will have their hearts broken, and some will find love elsewhere and make their partners part of our family.
