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EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER
Dante
I walk through the private gallery in the Parisian loft. There are many artistic types around, and I do my best to fit in, wearing my monkey suit with a big smile on my face. I don’t have to fake my appreciation of the work.
This is my woman’s biggest art show yet. It’s a collection of all the pieces she’s completed based on the concept of changing: the dog to the wolf, the devil Dante to the angel, and this one…
I pause, smiling at the painting that shows, on the left side, a lost and wild-looking man and woman on some journey but clearly about to come to a terrible end. Then, they find each other as they reach the middle, collapsing. They walk on, hand in hand, until they’re big, bright, smiling, and happy.
“It is an excellent skill, Mr. Bianchi,” a Frenchman says beside me. “To make a point and still have so much merit. She will go far.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He smiles, walking on, leaning on a gold-pommeled cane.
“What did he say?” Mia says, appearing at my side.
She’s wearing a gorgeous, flowy dress, the light fabric making me want to sink my hands into it. “He was singing your praises.”
“He’s the biggest art collector in the city,” she says, flustered, waving a hand. “But that doesn’t matter.”
I laugh, touching her hand. I’ve grown so much closer with my wife over the past year and a half. I’ve spent many evenings with her, discussing her art or watching her work. I remember the dinner we finally had with Ma. I remember how proud my wife was when I hit every milestone for my blackouts. The sessions, the therapy, and the mindfulness exercises were all because of Mia.
“You cured me,”I tell her, and she always laughs, but I mean it.
She looks serious now.
“This is your career,” I tell her.
“I just…” She gets closer, lowering her voice. The loft comprises several interconnecting rooms, with a couple of art pieces in each. We’re currently the only ones in this section. “Do you remember last month when the condom split?”
I swallow. I’m smiling. My heart is pounding, but the grin won’t leave my face. “Yes…”
“I did a pregnancy test,” she says. “I’m positive. We’re going to have a baby.”
She’s smiling, too, with a gorgeous grin that stretches from ear to ear and makes me want to propose to her all over again. “Are you happy?”
“I was going to ask you,” I tell her, “after this trip, if you were ready to start trying.”
“Really?” She touches my hands, blinking up at me, her eyes wet with happy tears. I’ve been with my pinup princess long enough to know the difference.
“I swear,” I tell her, leaning down for a kiss, lowering my voice to a whisper. “You’re going to be a great mother. I can just see you and your little sidekicks, all painting together, always happy.”
“Forever,” she whispers, placing her lips against mine.
EPILOGUE
NINE YEARS LATER
Marco
I stand next to Grandma, my hand on her arm, as Mommy stands on the grass and paints us. Mommy’s got Lucky Lucy strapped to her chest, my baby sister who loves to sleep and cry and sleep some more. Me and Joey call her Lucky Lucy because she gets to sleep and relax all day.
Joey started school this year. I’ve been in school for alongtime, so I don’t rest much. But we really love our baby sis.
“Are you almost done, Mommy?” I ask.
“He wants to play,” Grandma says, “not stand here with me.”
