Page 78 of The Heir
The pair of us falls silent as we listen to the soft conversation floating from the kitchen. Marie lovingly scolds Melody for digging into the fridge before dinner, and Helena snickers.
My home has never been a joyful place. This building has been a home base for years, but it was always a means to an end. Ruthless efficiency. Top-of-the-line furnishings placed with care exude a cold luxury. But in a few short months, it will be home to my children—our children. Twins.
I don't want them to grow up like I did. I don't want them to be extensions of me. I want them to be whole people with their own dreams, their own goals. I want them to be… happy.
As Melody turns the corner holding a platter of her latest craving—mozzarella sticks drenched in mayo and ketchup—comfort warms my heart. We can do this. Together, we can give our children everything we never had. My wife settles on the sofa next to me, tucking her feet under as she snuggles into my side. The platter of fried cheese balances precariously across my knees, but I steady it with one hand. The other arm snakes behind her back, rubbing a gentle pattern into her shoulder.
"What are you boys up to?" Melody asks around her snack.
"Boring stuff, miss." Melnyk grins. "Are those for sharing?"
"No!" she squawks. "Pregnant women only. You can have dinner with everyone else."
"Far be it from me to come between a mother and her… what are those, exactly?"
"They're fried mozzarella, and they'remine."
I can't keep the chuckle down as I watch the affectionate squabbling. Melody is… pure perfection. I adore the way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she laughs. I love the way she traps her lower lip between her teeth when she thinks hard. I'd crawl through a minefield to hear her say she loves me.
And she's mine.
Melody
2 years later
Ocean waves crash and roll in the distance. Children's joyous laughter mingles with the calls of seagulls. The gentle warmth of the sun heats my skin, and I adjust my massive, floppy hat. As I settle into the cushion of my beach chair, Dante sighs beside me. He keeps a watchful eye on our children as they dig in the sand, piling it into haphazard castles with their Auntie Helena. UncleArtem—Melnyk—instructs them on where to pour the next bucket.
Their sand castle is going to be the most fortified structure on the Melaque beach. It's not Tulum, but it's gorgeous nonetheless.
Dante sucks in a worried breath when Dahlia, our daughter, takes a tumble as she runs to collect more seawater. She's back on her quick little feet within moments, dusting herself off.
"She's fine, babe." I lay a comforting hand on his. "She's tough."
"I know," he grumbles.
Tilting my sunglasses down, I finally notice hownervoushe is. His hands tremble as he watches our children playing happily. He blinks rapidly, just like he does when he's deep in thought. His vibrant green eyes don't leave Dahlia until she returns to the little construction site, nearly splashing all the water out of her bucket on the way.
"Tell me what you're feeling, babe."
He heaves out a sigh. "I can't stop thinking about—about that dream."
The memory rushes to the surface, bringing back a fear I haven't felt in years. The dream. The dream where Roman slaughtered us—me, our children, Helena, Dante—flashes through my mind. I didn't experienceit, only Dante did, but he recounted it sovividly. As I take a wavering breath, I look to the horizon.
"You're safe, Dante. Look at the ocean. Count five things you're grateful for."
My husband—grump that he is—grunts unhappily but follows my directions. "I'm grateful for Dahlia. And Darien. That's two. Helena, three. Artem—four."
I know what he's doing. A contented smile creeps across my face. "And the fifth?"
"You, darling. It's always you. You're the light of my life. You know that, right?"
"I could stand to hear it more often." I lean over and kiss his tattooed knuckles. "I could stand to be shown it more often, too."
"Is that so?" He grips my hand tight, pulling me closer. I'm almost falling out of my beach chair, but his emerald gaze holds me steady. "I'll show youmuchmore than that later tonight."
"Do you think Auntie Helena would mind a sleepover with the twins?" I whisper, lowering my chin to look up at him through hooded eyes. The hushed groan he lets out sets my heart ablaze.
"I thought that's why we brought them on this trip, love. It's been too long."
