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“Another child. I want one.”
My eyebrows raise and I turn my body, putting space between us as I look up at him with a cocked head. “You know I’m the one who has to carry that kid and then birth it.”
He nods, recognizing the validity of my words but gives them no weight.
“Eight is enough, Gio. There’s a reason why they say that.”
He turns, looks at me, and grabs my hips possessively.
“Look. There,” he begins, motioning with his head to where the kids are without taking his eyes off me. “At our family. You. Them. It’s all I’ll ever need. But I want more. More kids. More laughter. More daughters that remind me of my wife and more sons to look over them.” He pauses. “And every time I look at you it becomes impossible for me to take no for an answer.”
“I’m not sure if I can handle another preg-”
Silencing me with a kiss, he wisely plays to my emotions, overriding reason.
His hand slides across my backside and he scoops me up.
“Put me down. I’m as big as a house.”
“Light as a feather, and apparently the wine’s got you already tipsy with the crazy you’re spewing from your lips.”
“At least let me put on something sexy. Some lingerie or something.”
He throws me over his shoulder and carries me back into the house. I manage to stiffen my back and tip my neck back so I can look up as I do, seeing our kids still playing, oblivious that we’re about to give them the gift of another sibling.
“You’re beautiful just as you are. You don’t need anything to accentuate your beauty. You’re perfect. A sculpture of you should hang in the museums in Rome, but you know there’s no way in hell I’d ever share you with anyone, so no sculptor to stare at you endlessly while…” He pauses, and I can hear the pain in his voice just thinking of another man ogling me all day. “You’re mine, woman. Mine and only mine. Always have been…always will be.”
He’s right, and seconds later he’s carrying me up the stairs and then tossing me onto the bed, not caring one bit that my wine spills every which way and my glass breaks on the hardwood floors. None of that matters when the Terror of Tuscany comes out to play.
But these days Mr. Terror doesn’t strike fear into the hearts and minds of others. Sure, his reputation still holds tremendous weight and no one would dare cross him, but those days are done.
He’s clean now, running a legit business that generates tremendous profits, which he always insists on investing into the kids. Their education, the sports they enjoy, and pursuit or dream they can even think of.
And all the Gucci, Prada and Fendi I could ever wear, even though I’ll always be a sweats and T-shirt kinda lounging look girl and have to constantly remind him I don’t need fancy things or gifts, even though he insists.
These days the scariest thing about him is just how many babies he wants me to have.
I don’t ask him the question because I already know the answer.
Beyond infinity, just like his love for me.
“Madonna. Cristo. Dios. How I love you, it’s…impossible to love someone more,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief as his eyes narrow while making quick work of his clothes before joining me on the bed.
“You forgot to lock the door,” I remind him as he kisses me and starts ripping my clothes from my body.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“What about the kids?”
“Only kids we need to worry about are the ones we’re about to create. The ones we have know not to come into our room, little girl.”
“Oh, is that so Mr. Terror of Tuscany?” I provoke.
He flips me over, slaps my ass and slides his thick inches inside.
“You’re damn right it is, Mrs. Terror of Tuscany.”
My top teeth bite down on my bottom lip, suppressing a giggle. It’s a funny thing for him to say, but it’s real..because I’m terrified of just how much we love each other here under the Tuscan sun.
