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“You really better go,” Rose nudges me.
Reluctantly I step down from the stone terrace and make the long trek to the part of the garden our landscaper has dubbed the fairy forest. It’s been built on a smaller scale with dwarf trees and bushes and miniature landscape ornaments—all designed to be child scale. We did the landscaping last year but the kids demanded a treehouse so we’re building the best damn treehouse Italy has ever seen.
When I reach the edge of the forest, August has managed to climb to the top of the ladder but April has her hand on his head.
“April, you need to come down from there. We talked about this. No climbing up on the treehouse until all the work is done.”
Her chin pops up defiantly. “I’ve got to see if they’re building this right. You always say that you don’t know if something’s done right until you check it out for yourself.”
“Yeah, you got to i’spect ewerything,” chimes in her brother.
The two throw identical mulish glares in my direction. I sigh. Just yesterday I had grown men cowering in a boardroom but here are my tiny sprites throwing my words back in my face. “So I did, but when I go to a site, I wear all the safety equipment and I listen to the instructions of the foreperson so I don’t injure myself or anyone else.”
“But it’s taking so long,” April wails.
“Because it needs to be safe and perfect and that takes time.”
The twins consider this for a moment and then, after some secret, telepathic communication, April lifts her hand and August hops down. Soon after, April climbs down to join us.
“Was the view good up there?” I ask as we walk back toward the terrace.
“Yeah. It was good, Daddy.” She slips her hand in mine.
August takes my other one. “Is Mommy having two babies again like me and Apwil?”
“Just one as far as we know.”
“Nanny McVay says that you like it when Mommy’s got the baby in her belly. That you look at her like the moon rose up.”
“It’s the sun, dummy,” August corrects.
April tries to reach around to slap her brother. I block the blow with my knee and give her a warning look. August sticks his tongue out and I have to give him a glare. The two make faces at each other, but settle down.
“Do you, Daddy?”
“Do I what?”
“Do you look at Mommy like she’s the moon—I mean sun?” April revises quickly so she doesn’t get another smart remark from her brother.
“I suppose I do.”
“But she’s not really the sun, you know. She’s a person,” April says.
“If Daddy says she’s the sun, she’s the sun!” August declares, squeezing my hand in emphasis.
“She’s the sun in my world. When she enters the room, it’s immediately brighter. When she’s sad, it feels like the whole world should wipe its eyes.” I gaze up at my dear wife who has one foot on the stone terrace floor, pushing the swing gently. She looks like a goddess, presiding over a heavenly garden. I can hardly believe that she’s mine. What I said to my children is absolutely the truth. My world was dark and lonely before she entered. My head was full of revenge and hate and I thought love was something people made up to excuse their worst actions. She shined a light into all my dark places and loved me anyway.
“Mommy! Mommy!” April shouts, letting go of my hand and racing toward her mother. “Daddy says you’re the sun!”
I’m close enough I can see the corners of her mouth curve up. “He does, does he?” she says, her soft voice carrying on the breeze.
“Yeah.” April clambers onto the swinging bed and nudges herself under her mother’s arm. “He says you light up his world. Was it dark there before?”
“No, not dark. Just not as bright as it could be,” Rose answers. She presses a kiss onto her daughter’s head.
“That’s a delicate way of putting it,” I say when I reach her. August lets go of my hand immediately and takes up the space on the other side of his mother.
I lean back against a stone pillar and take in the beauty of the scenery in front of me. The sun is making its slow descent into the horizon. Behind me is nearly two acres of manicured lawn, sharply trimmed hedges, a natural pool that looks like it was carved from the ground a hundred years ago, and a stable of four horses. The land itself has undergone a huge transformation and I’ve spent more money than I thought was prudent on making this estate into something truly to be proud of but no garden, no house, no piece of artwork is more breathtaking than the picture in front of me.
Rose isn’t merely the sun. She’s the center of my whole world. Our children and I orbit around her, seeking out her touch, her gaze, her love. Without her, I’d have turned into her brother—a man who with all the money in the world happened to be the poorest.
