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We finished breakfast and checked out. When we returned, the boys swarmed around us taking our attention from each other. It was an hour past lunch when I finally got the twins down for their nap. I crept barefoot through the silent house and stepped out onto the porch to watch my husband leave across the field with our older sons.
A twinge went through my chest. Fatherhood was hard for Lucien. He’d only ever associated it with abuse and neglect. At first he’d had no idea how to express love to his sons. I saw him clumsily act it out with Marco, imitating what he saw Peregrine and Cosimo do with their children.
Then Hugo came along and he eased up. After the twins, it was less of an effort and more natural to him.
That didn’t mean he didn’t stumble.
About a year ago, I’d been in the kitchen with Marco, cleaning and bandaging a scrape on his knee. Lucien walked in and took one look at Marco’s tears and his eyes narrowed.
“Stop crying,” he said firmly.
“Lucien,” I hissed, whirling. “Let me handle this. Get out.”
I shooed him from the kitchen and forgot about it until that evening when Lucien walked into the bathroom where I was getting ready for bed. He leaned on the counter, arms crossed over his bare chest. Watching me silently.
“What?” I asked, turning. “Why are you staring at me?”
“If we had had daughters, Liv, that would be a different story,” he said. “But we have sons.”
I blinked, confused.
“You overstep sometimes, Liv.” His jaw worked. “Don’t ever tell me how to raise my sons.”
That hurt me so badly I had no response. He left the bathroom and when I returned, he beckoned me to him. I went and he pulled me into bed and pushed me onto my stomach and took me from behind. Silently, his thrusts shaking the bedframe. I didn’t protest because despite being hurt and angry, I still wanted him.
The next morning, I caught him in the driveway before he left for work.
“Lucien,” I called.
He paused, hand on the car. “Yes.”
I crossed my arms. “They’re my sons too.”
We didn’t speak again until that night. We ate dinner in silence and he finished his work upstairs while I put the boys to bed. When I returned to our bedroom, he was standing by the dresser taking his watch off. His eyes flicked up and he lifted a hand, beckoning me with two fingers.
I went and he picked me up and set me on the edge of the bed. My chest tightened as he sank to his knees on the bedroom floor. His hard, lean fingers slid up my thighs and took my hands in his, weaving them together.
“Lucien,” I whispered.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You were right. They’re your sons too and we both get a say in how we raise them. I apologize for how I spoke to you, it was hurtful and wrong.”
I raised an eyebrow, waiting for the rest.
“I’ll apologize to Marco tomorrow,” he said.
He sighed when I kissed his mouth, forgiving him without words. Even when his words were ice cold and cut right to the heart of me, his contrition was always genuine. He was trying to undo all the damage that had been done to him and I knew sometimes toxicity seeped out in his knee-jerk reactions.
We made up between the sheets, the way we always did after a fight. I’d learned that he needed physical intimacy to feel connected again. Emotions weren’t his strong suit and they never would be.
He was better after that, he gave the boys space to be vulnerable. He would never be soft and warm, but he was doing his best. And I had to meet him where he was, to give him grace.
They brought back a pheasant and I sat on the back porch while Lucien let the boys help him dress it. They were fascinated by the guts and gore of it and they had a million questions. It warmed my chest to listen to Lucien answer them patiently.
We had the most perfect Saturday night dinner. I cooked the pheasant in the oven with potatoes, fresh rosemary from my garden, and late summer vegetables. Marco helped me make a pie from blackberries he’d gathered along the pond and Hugo watched from his perch on the countertop. Lucien minded the twins while we cooked and fed them before putting them to bed.
We ate in the dining hall. Lucien lit a fire because the evening was growing cooler and took his seat at the head of the table. The boys stayed in their seats for once and ate their food. Perhaps they were cowed by having their father watching them. Whatever it was, I was grateful everyone was in such a good mood.
We put Marco and Hugo to bed after dessert. Lucien said he had some work to do so he disappeared into his upstairs office. I cleaned up the kitchen and went upstairs to get ready for bed.
