Page 78 of Monstrosity
"She's not wrong," Rio says from the kitchen, where he's wrapping my dishes in newspaper with the kind of precision usually reserved for loading weapons. "Why do you have seventeen coffee mugs?"
"Because they're all special!" I protest, rescuing my favorite one from his efficient packing. "This one's from that trip to Savannah, and this one Meghan gave me for my birthday, and this one?—"
"And they're all coming home with us," he says, kissing my temple as he passes. "Every single one."
Home. Not his house. Home. Our home.
The past two weeks have been a whirlwind of adjustments.
After that terrible night when Bembe threatened everything we held dear, Rio eliminated him and the threat he posed.
The bruises on my throat faded from purple to yellow to nothing, but the memory of that desperation—and Rio's absolute ruthlessness in protecting us—remains.
Some nights I still dream about it.
The feeling of hands on my throat, the moment I thought I might not see my girls again.
But then I wake up in Rio's arms, in our bed, safe and protected, and the fear fades.
Now we're here, packing up my old life to start our new one properly.
"Can I have this for my room?" Cali holds up a sequined throw pillow that's definitely seen better days.
"Of course, baby."
"Yay! Our house is gonna be so pretty with your stuff in it!" She adds it to her personal pile, which has grown to include two blankets, a ceramic elephant, and inexplicably, my colander.
"Why do you need a colander?" Florencia asks her sister with the exasperated tone only an older sibling can achieve.
"For things," Cali says mysteriously.
Rio catches my eye and winks.
God, I love this man. Two weeks of waking up next to him every morning, of being an official family unit, and I still can't believe this is my life.
"Mija, that's enough claiming Dasha's things," he tells Cali gently. "She needs some of them for the kitchen."
"But Daddy, our kitchen is boring. It needs pretty things!"
"My kitchen is not boring," he protests.
"It's a little boring," I stage-whisper to Cali, who giggles.
"I heard that." But he's smiling as he says it. "What's wrong with my kitchen?"
"It's very... masculine," I say diplomatically. "Lots of black and stainless steel."
"That's called modern."
"That's called bachelor pad," Florencia chimes in, not looking up from the book she's carefully packing. "Meghan said so."
"Meghan says a lot of things," Rio grumbles, but he's fighting a smile.
The apartment looks strange half-empty.
I've lived here for three years, my safe little space away from the world.
The walls still show faint outlines where pictures hung, little ghosts of the life I built here.
