Page 174 of Handsome Devil
“You can touch it if you want.”
She did, rolling it between her small fingers, careful not to touch me. Her parents looked on, unsure what to make of it but perhaps rightly not wanting to cut off what looked like an innocent exchange.
“And to your question, it was my husband who found this one for me. See, I had an identical one when I was younger too. My dad and I found it, on this very beach actually. And when I lost it, I was so sad, my husband flew here all the way from New York to find one.”
“Wow.” Her eyes were as big as saucers, gaping at me. “He must really love you. Mommy gets excited when Daddy gets her surprise Sephora bags for no reason.”
I laughed, and so did her parents. I shook my head. “I don’t know what it is about this particular seashell, but it’s always been more than a pretty shell to me. It represents hope and love and…something else important. Believing in myself.” I loosened the bracelet from my wrist, unlocking it before extending my open palm to the girl. “It’s yours.”
The little girl’s mouth hung open. She looked up at me like this was a practical joke. A test her parents put me to. She whipped her head in question toward her parents.
“No.” Her mother stood up, rushing toward us. “We can’t. Thank you, but this is too much.”
“Not at all,” I said. “I want her to have it.”
“But…why?” The mother studied me.
Al mal tiempo, buena cara.
“Because.” I put a hand on my belly. “Once upon a time, I was much like her, standing on this beach, looking for something pretty, and this seashell that I found…it would be a part of my story for many years to come. It was my good luck charm, and now I no longer need it. I got my happy ending. Now I want her to have hers.”
Gingerly, the girl took the bracelet from me. The moment her skin touched mine, her fingers lifting the shell and the diamonds and the weight of the bracelet, I understood the power of giving back once your cup has been filled.
I got my happy ending.
Now it was time for another happily ever after to be written.
Four months later
“Love? Are you coming with the coriander?” My wife’s voice singsonged from the tea room of our six-hundred-fucking-year-old country mansion in Kent. It was a black-and-white Tudor-style house, sprawling over who knows how many fucking acres, and had a water garden, a meadow, stables, a servants’ house, and other old-as-shit features Gia found charming.
Me, the only thing I found delightful here was my wife’s pussy. Fortunately, that was enough to keep me content. What was the word my shrink used the other day?Happiness. I was happy. Not in a fleeting kind of way but in afuck, I’ve been doing this life thing all wrong the entire timeway.
I crouched, narrowing my eyes at our impressive vegetable garden, trying to find the…what was it?
“Did you find it?” Gia called from inside again.
“Found what?”
“The coriander.”
“Is this a fancy word for something else? Like when you call an eggplant aubergine?”
“Do you want me to send Brayden to help?” she sighed.
Eh, yes. Not only was I becoming a father, but I also adopted Brayden, the kid I won at a poker night at the Ferrantes’ casino.Ultimately, I wanted to leave him behind when I moved to the UK, but Gia said it was inhumane. So I figured I could be someone else’s Daniel.
Minus the getting killed in prison part.
“No. Just tell me,” I insisted.
“Oh, hold on. Let me google it.” She was quiet for a second. “Cilantro.”
“Ah, cilantro. Why didn’t you say ?”
I stared at the dozens of different leafy greens in front of me.
Of course I had no idea what cilantro was. Might as well stay coriander.
