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Tonight, he was just doing it because he enjoyed it.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” he asked.
I nodded. “I opened a bottle of white wine yesterday. It’s in the fridge.”
He brought me a glass, tasting it first. I studied him, up close, my mind going back to the first time we’d shared a drink together. I hadn’t even been twenty years old and I was terrified of the world. He’d given me a glass of champagne and I remembered looking up at him and realizing that up close, his eyes were more than just a wintery wasteland.
There was color in them. Like shattered ice catching the light. And the longer I’d loved him, the more I’d come to understand that beyond those steel gates, if I was brave enough to venture through them, was my home.
There I was safe, protected, and loved.
A surge of affection moved up my chest. I bent and kissed his mouth briefly, letting my lips linger on his so I could soak in his taste. There had been a point where I would have never initiated a kiss with him. For years I was too intimidated.
Not anymore. He’d earned my trust like he’d earned my heart.
Day by day. Night by endless night, wrapped up in the darkness of our room. Learning to trust each other with every touch.
He leaned into the kiss, his mouth gentle. I parted my lips and his tongue brushed mine, hot like fire.
I moaned, unable to hold it back. There was nothing that tasted so good as my husband. We kissed in silence, slowly, soaking in all the sensations of our mouths together. Finally I pulled back, flushed pink, to catch my breath.
His jaw twitched.
“Are you sure you’re just tired?” I whispered.
He nodded, lids fluttering as they dropped.
There was definitely something going on with him, but I also understood what he was trying to tell me. Work existed outside the four walls of his home. I was his escape and he wanted to keep it that way. I offered him a smile and took the fork from him, spearing a bit of chicken. He parted his lips and let me feed it to him. The corner of his mouth tugged up—his version of a smile.
“How were the boys today?”
I sighed. “Ettore and Atlas were fine, they’re such good babies. Marco was great, he’s getting so helpful.”
His brow twitched. “And Hugo was a terror.”
Our middle son was…lively. At any point, if there was an issue in our home, it stemmed from Hugo. He was fiery, I’d felt it even before he was born. When I was just twelve weeks pregnant, I swore I felt him bouncing in my stomach. By twenty weeks he was battering my ribs with his heels all night. By eight months I was ready for an early delivery.
He’d arrived so quickly I barely had time to wake Lucien. I woke with the burning pain of contractions in my lower body and the overwhelming need to push. Lucien called the ambulance, but it was too late. Hugo was born in Lucien’s arms less than five minutes later, screaming and bright purple with rage.
“Fuck,” Lucien had said, lifting him still slick from birth. “He’s a little fighter.”
Truer words were never spoken. Hugo burst into our lives with vengeance. He walked and talked early and used those skills to take control of the house. Often I was in tears by the end of the day, exhausted from chasing him without a break from morning to night.
“He’s just bored,” I said. “It’ll be better when school starts up again.”
We sent them to a private academy that allowed them more outdoor playtime. When they got home, we had a nanny who took the twins from me so I could spend a few hours with Marco and Hugo and help them with their homework.
“Sometimes…I wish we’d had a girl,” I mused. “I feel a little outnumbered.”
His brow crooked a minute amount. “I’d be happy to try for another baby,” he said, his eyes dragging over my body. “Toss that fucking birth control tomorrow and I’ll have you pregnant in a month.”
I narrowed my gaze. “Watch yourself, Mr. Esposito.”
He ran a hand up my waist to my left breast, cupping it through the silk of my dressing gown. “You’re really done,” he said, his voice low.
“Lucien—”
“I understand,” he said. “Your last pregnancy was hard and I don’t have a good reason to want to knock you up again.”
