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“Yes, you do. You’re doing it with me right now.”
“Damian thinks we should go to family counseling.” Bastian slid his fingers up and down my arm in a soothing motion. “What do you think?”
I could hear the frustration in his tone. He didn’t want to admit that he needed help. None of them did.
“There’s nothing wrong with needing professional help,” I told him. “Damian has learned how to cope with things better because of his doctor.”
Bastian nodded. “He doesn’t need me as much as he used to. I think you had a lot to do with him changing. So did Sofia.”
“We can only help him so much,” I said because he needed to hear it. “Damian has done a lot of the work on his own, and it’s because his doctor knocks a lot of sense into him. He’s not always perfect. Damian has moments when I see him slip back into old patterns.”
“So you think we should all go?”
“I have spent most of my life working through issues with my doctors. They talked me off the ledge when I felt like I was losing my mind.”
“Okay,” Bastian agreed. “I’ll go to the doctor, but only if my brothers go with us.”
“That’s a good idea.” I smiled in the darkness. “We should go as a family.”
My eyelids fluttered, overwhelmed by the exhaustion taking over me. Swan Lake was midway through the ballet. The candle flicked, slowly dimming on the nightstand. We must have been talking for a lot longer than I realized.
I rolled onto my side and kissed him. “Goodnight, Bash.”
“Sweet dreams, Cherry.”
ChapterSeventeen
MARCELLO
Ifound Alex sitting in front of an easel in her studio. After Luca had surprised her with the space, she wanted to get started on her fresco. But with her going from one pregnancy to the next, the ceiling was still white and bare.
I wanted to help her with it.
Alex leaned forward in a comfortable chair, the paintbrush gliding across the canvas. I loved watching my wife in her element. She reminded me of the best days of my childhood when my mother was still alive.
My mom would have loved her.
When I was a kid, I would sit in my mother’s studio chair and watch her paint. She would have her hair pinned up with paintbrushes, her dark hair falling into her face. Paint on her skin and clothes, even in her hair.
She always looked happy in that room, like it was her favorite place. That was how Alex looked when she painted. Not a care in the world, my wife let go and created masterpieces.
I never thought I would marry for love.
My parents did, but in our world, most of us had to marry for power. I was lucky and so damn thankful to be home with Alex.
With my family.
As I walked toward her, I lifted a paintbrush from a table, rolling it between my fingers. She’d been asking me to paint with her for years.
I finally felt ready.
It was time.
“Which of my husbands is spying on me?” Alex chuckled, her back to me, the brush sweeping across the canvas.
“I want to paint with you.”
She startled at my confession, turning to the side with her lips parted in shock. “Are you serious?”
