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I just don’t care enough to do anything about it. I still hate every single thing about exercise, not to mention I don’t have the time in my life for it now that I’m a mom of two infants, and that’s without factoring in growing an empire in New York City.
My great-uncle may be dead, but someone else was always waiting to claim his throne in Ireland. With the help of Dom and K, I made it known that anyone who didn’t want to follow a cruel leader in Ireland or here could seek refuge in mine. Frankly, I don’t even care if they’re of Irish descent or not. Diversity is good and beautiful and needed to build something lasting with unbreakable strength.
Sienna and Sasha had their kids on July fourth of this year. They even delivered at the exact same time.
Si had a boy she and Matteo named Antonio, after her dad.
Sasha and Ren had a girl, Alina. And, of course, within hours of delivering, Sasha didn’t even resemble a woman who had just given birth. She was back to her perfect pre-baby weight and looking like one of those drop-dead gorgeous women you see on TV posed in a fight stance to advertise an upcoming fight. I’ve never actually seen her kickbox other than when she and Sienna are working out together. They seem to bicker more than throwing punches or kicks.
At least it took Si a little more time to recover after she had Antonio than it did Sasha. Even months later, I still feel like my body went through a train wreck bringing two humans into this world.
“Ciera, darling,” Mischa calls out in his thick Russian accent.
“Yes?”
“Do you take Domenico to be your husband?”
“I do,” I say gleefully.
“Do you also take Krishna to be your husband?”
“I do,” I state, hearing the joy in my voice and unable to contain the smile that spreads across my face.
“As judge among our people, I pronounce you all married to each other.” My father-in-law winks at me, then glances at Domenico to my right. “Welcome to the family, son.”
Taking a step back from us, Mischa inhales a deep breath, then looks around the courtyard before saying, “If you’ll excuse me, I have five grandkids to steal from my wife. She doesn’t get to hog them all day.”
We had our wedding in the garden behind our house. The fences between our three properties were taken down, so it’s really three yards made into one.
Brooklyn turned seven a couple of weeks ago, and she’s just now finally warmed up to me. She still fawns over Domenico, but she started calling him Uncle Domino when the boys were born. She narrows her eyes on me a lot less these days, so I guess there has been progress on that front.
It’s not like I can blame her or hold anything against her. If scary hot is a thing, Domenico wears it better than anyone. Krishna’s blond locks are still deceiving to the naked eye. It’s when you get to know him or really peer deep into his winter-blue eyes that he sends a chill down your spine.
“It’s time to get you out of that dress, pet,” Domenico whispers into my ear.
“We have a party to attend and babies to put to sleep. The fireworks will be going off soon too,” I add. I chose New Year’s Eve for our wedding date. I wanted to start the new year as one, so getting married at night on the thirty-first of December felt like a good plan.
“Fuck that. I have a marriage to consummate. Besides, we’re doing the grandparents a solid,” Krishna proclaims.
Nikita and Mischa spend more time being retired here in New York than they do in Florida since Sasha had Lina.
“Baby girl,” Domenico calls out as he places his finger below my chin and then tilts my head back to look him in the eyes. “We either take this to our bedroom or we can fuck out here in front of our guests. I don’t care which it is, but you’re about to not have a stitch of clothing on your body.”
“What happened to the part where you’re supposed to kiss the bride?” I ask them both, first eyeing Dom and then turning my head to where K is facing us both.
Lifting his hand, Krishna’s thumb runs from one corner of my mouth to the other, my lipstick likely smearing in the process.
“Oh, we’re going to kiss your lips, kitten, but unless you want my parents to see my face nestled between your thighs, you should run.”
Oh, hell, he’s serious.
I look to Dom to help me out here, but he just crosses his thick arms.
Oh, grand, they’re both on the same page.
* * *
My overheatednaked flesh rests against Domenico’s front and between his legs. His lower back is against the pillows at the head of our king-size bed. His lips cover mine, devouring every square inch of my mouth with his tongue as his right hand squeezes my throat in the way he’s made me come to need it just as much as I want it.
