Page 188 of Bad Bishop
I got out of the car and helped her take Nero out of the BabyBjörn, strapping him into his car seat. He was fast asleep, his red, thick hair dancing in the wind.
I gave Lila a long, sweet kiss on the month. “How was class?”
“Great. My teacher wants to display your portrait in a gallery. He thinks the blood is acrylic paint and praised me on how realistic it looked.” Lila looked amused.
“Always happy to be of help.” I opened the passenger door, helping her climb in.
I slipped behind the wheel, kicking the car into drive.
“Did you hear about Fintan?”
It didn’t feel great not telling her Fintan was her attacker, but she was on such a high after Gennaro was born, it felt cruel to poke in that wound one more time. As far as she was concerned, the matter was dealt with. And it was.
I nodded. “I did.”
“Why do you think Alex killed him? It sounded like you and he already buried the hatchet.”
I allowed myself one lie to her. One, white, tiny lie in the entire length of our marriage. And only to protect her and Gennaro.
“He needed to save face after what happened in Vegas, and Igor. He had my blessing.”
“Are you sad about it?”
“It is what it is,” I said vaguely. “Comes with the job.”
When we got home, Lila put Nero in his crib and took the baby monitor with her before we left his room. Imma was in the kitchen, preparing enough food for an army. Lila’s mother and brothers were coming over for dinner, but we still had an hour to burn, and I knew exactly what we’d do with it.
We walked silently side by side to the ballroom. Opened the doors and reached the center of the room. There was no needfor music. I kept my promise to her from the day of her baby shower, and we danced every evening.
We started moving to a soundless tune, our only music our heartbeats thudding against one another.
“Six weeks,” I said. She was going to get surgery for a cochlear implant. Everything was booked and ready to go. “Are you excited?”
She nodded. “It’ll be practical to hear, but I don’t feel like I need it anymore.”
“It was your dream to listen to music,” I pointed out.
Lila often wore her hearing aids, but not always. She attended speech therapy twice a week and joined the National Association of the Deaf, where she volunteered and helped with donations.
We swayed together, her arms tightening around my shoulders, her body pressing against mine, letting me know what she needed.
“I think…” She licked her lips, her eyes heavy-lidded.
“That’s always a good start,” I drawled. “What are you thinking,Gealach?”
“That I would like another dance.”
“Yeah?” I smirked.
“A horizontal one.”
“I see.”
“Without any clothes on.” She bit down on her lower lip, grinning. “It’ll help me find my muse for this next painting I’m working on.”
“Well.” I pretended to weigh her request seriously. “You’re the artist. Who am I to question your process?”
And I dove in, kissing her hard, drowning in her perfection, never coming up for air.
