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What do you mean you don’t know what you’re supposed to do? You'll man the fuck up and love all six of them, you fucking crybaby.
Do you hear me Enzo?
Yes, Boss.
I glance at Nico with a mix of shock and amusement. “Oh wow. What an empathetic boss you are, babe. Now I get why you were so relieved the same thing didn’t happen to you.”
He playfully tugs on my ponytail. “I’m not the only one who was relieved here. Were you expecting me to freak out about this?”
“A little bit. We never talked about kids, Nico.”
“Of course, I want children. And miniatures of you?” He runs his hand over my flat belly. “I can’t think of anything I’d want more.”
Oh, the poor guy doesn’t know what’s in store for him.
I scoff, “You might say that now, but you should talk to my dad and Grease about what I was like as a child. Seriously, I was hell on wheels.”
He leans in closer. “You still are, amore. And I wouldn’t want you—or our children—any other way.”
His arms come around me and he splays one big palm just under the curve of my breast and the other over my lower belly in an unmistakably possessive gesture.
Oh wow. Maybe I’m being self-conscious right now, but I feel like anyone who happens to glance through this window could tell from a mile away that I’m carrying his child—children.
“So that’s why you’ve seemed on edge lately,” he muses.
“Yeah. Was it that obvious?”
“Very. I didn’t say anything because I assumed you were working up the nerve to ask me to marry you,” he teases with a straight face.
“Nico! You are so projecting onto me right now, it’s not even funny.”
His rumbling laughter vibrates around me, making me shiver. “A little, maybe. But you’ve been thinking it, too. How many times have you caught yourself doodling hearts and little ‘Dr. Vitellis’ on the legal pads you take clients’ notes on?”
It’s maddening when your criminal boyfriend knows how to profile you. Even if we got married, I could never openly use his name at work, but that doesn’t stop me from daydreaming.
I reply with a mock-serious tone, “I don’t doodle, Nico. I sketch.”
“Ah, just as I thought,” he declares in triumph, then bends to kiss my temple and cheek. I turn my head to offer my mouth to his seeking lips. The kiss starts off sweet but suddenly turns decadent as Nico takes over, devouring my mouth like the man and the innate animal inside him are constantly at war for dominion.
Moaning, I push my fingers into the hair at his nape and lose myself in the bold lashes of his tongue and his teasing little bites. I love it when this wild side of him comes out to play like this.
By the time Nico breaks the kiss, I’m panting. And sure enough when I turn back, I find Grease and my dad by the dozens of motorcycles parked in the yard, just opposite our window. Grease is crouching low to examine a motorbike, but my dad’s face is scrunched up like he’s just sucked on a lemon.
Ugh, for fuck’s sake. We’re in a room with a closed door. A large open window, but still indoors. My dad calls Mud Nights without batting an eyelash, but seeing his daughter making out with the boyfriend he approves of is suddenly too much for him.
Nico’s gaze follows mine. “You think if I told your father you’re carrying my twins, he’d stop grinding his teeth every time I put my hands on you?”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “Nah. He’ll be excited at the thought of having grandkids, but I don’t think that other part will change.”
“Not even if we tell him we’re getting married next month?”
“Nico!”
“Two months then. We can have it here in Harmony. God knows I can’t wait to get the Vitellis down here,” he muses. “I know Dante would fucking love it, and he might even get Sal to lose his virginity.”
He’s actually serious about this. “Hey, hold your horses on the wedding planning, Romeo. Aren’t you forgetting something here?”
“What, the bride? Last time I checked, she was on the same page with me.”
