Page 21 of Wishing Stone

“Nope. Seeing those movies once was enough for me,” I said with a chuckle.

“Oh, how dumb of me. I wasn’t thinking about the time of year. It’s a Christmas movie marathon for sure.”

“Wrong again, Ally.” I glanced down at Krystina and saw her curiously eyeing me, clearly wondering what my conversation with Allyson was all about.

“So what is it then?” Allyson prompted.

“I’ve planned a date night.”

“Ooh, that definitely sounds fun! I’ll leave you to it then. Later!”

“Goodbye, Allyson.”

After hitting the end button on the phone, I handed it back to Krystina.

“We have a date tonight?” she asked.

“That’s right. Vivian made something special. Come on, angel. Let’s go change our clothes.”

“Don’t like my yoga pants and sweater?”

“I love you in anything you wear. I just have a particular thing that I want to see you dressed in tonight. Just trust me on this. You’ll see. Besides, it will feel good to get dressed up for a change. Head on up to our room and pull out your red faux leather-trimmed skirt and a white cashmere sweater.” I paused and furrowed my brow, trying to remember the rest of the outfit. “Strappy heels too. Black if I recall.”

“Alex, what in the world—”

“This is not a debate,” I stated firmly. “Go change—now. I’ll meet you upstairs in a few minutes.”

Standing at attention, she brought her hand up in a salute. “Yes, sir!”

There was no mistaking her sarcasm, and I nearly laughed as she left the room in a wildly exaggerated military march.

Shaking my head, I picked up the picture book and sat down in the chair that Krystina had vacated.

“My wife is something else, isn’t she?” I asked, taking my mother’s hand in mine.

She didn’t respond, but I didn’t expect her to. The only time Helena Russo was responsive to anything was when she wanted something, and even that was limited. Her child-like mind was driven only by things that gave her instant gratification.

A part of me was still so angry with her for allowing this to happen—for staying and giving my father the opportunity to break her. But a bigger part of me found it hard to stay mad. What little memories I had of her weren’t all bad. I knew she loved Justine and me. And even though she was now only a shell of her former self, we loved her too.

Opening the book to where Krystina had left off, I pointed to pictures of stockings hung by a fireplace and frosted holiday cutout cookies. As I turned each page, I studied my mother’s face and searched for a reaction of some kind. My childhood memories had painted her as a beautiful woman, and my recollections had served me well. Other than the horrific purplish-gray scar on the right side of her forehead—courtesy of my father—my mother was stunning. She had defined features with sharply angled cheekbones and a narrow nose. Justine and I looked so much like her, right down to her nearly black hair. Even though my mother’s hair was streaked with gray, there was no denying that the three of us shared the same ebony coloring.

After turning pages for a few moments, I set the book to the side and hit the buzzer on my mother’s wheelchair to call for her nurse. Within thirty seconds, Joanna Cleary, my mother’s live-in aid, appeared. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled up into a tiny bun, and the crow’s feet lines near her eyes deepened when she smiled at me.

“Mr. Stone. I hadn’t realized you were here. I thought she was still spending time with the Missus.”

“She was, but Krystina had to leave. I just called to let you know that I’ll be leaving now too.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied and then turned to my mother. “Come now, Miss Helena. Let’s get you washed up. Dinner will be served soon.”

Trusting that she was in good hands, I made my way up to the bedroom where Krystina was changing her clothes. Once there, I found my wife in her spacious walk-in closet. Just as I’d instructed, she was wearing the red skirt but had yet to adorn the sweater. She stood sifting through hangers in nothing but the skirt and her bra—and most importantly—the heels. My cock twitched at the sight of her. It didn’t matter what kind of heeled shoes she wore. Every one of them screamed, ‘fuck me now.’

My gaze traveled up the length of her legs and over the curve of her ass. Krystina thought she was a little too curvy, but I thought she was flawless. I loved every inch of her delectable body. If it were up to me, she’d be naked every minute of the day. Unfortunately, Krystina took issue with the suggestion that she walk around the house in the nude. My wife may submit to me in the bedroom and our playroom, but she was anythingbutsubmissive outside of that. She was a sassy warrior, never afraid to speak her mind, fiercely independent, wild, and strong—and so very beautiful.

And she’s mine. All mine.

Stepping up behind her, I slid my hands over her hips, moving around to caress the smooth skin of her abdomen.

“Alex!” she startled as she quickly turned to face me. “I didn’t hear you come in. You have to stop sneaking up on me like that!”

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