Page 189 of Bad Bishop
EPILOGUE
LILA
SEVEN WEEKS LATER
My rose-gold ball gown swished along the staircase of our mansion. I stepped over the hem, almost tripping forward. A rush of giggles bubbled out of my throat, and this time, I heard it.
I plastered my palm over my mouth, shaking with laughter.
“You’re going to wake the dead,” my husband muttered next to me, before sweeping me into his arms, carrying me honeymoon-style to the second floor.
His voice was magnificent. Low, gravelly, and deep. His accent also contributed to its sexiness. I could listen to him for hours.
“And you care because…?” I pouted.
“I’m responsible for many of their deaths, and they’ll come after my ass.”
I giggled, flinging my head backward so I could get a better look at him. I no longer needed to read his lips, but it was a force of habit. The cochlear implant meant I could hear, but it was still muffled and in very low decibels. I didn’t regret going through with the operation. Not that there was anything wrong with being deaf. My decision wasn’t a product of shame or prejudice. I simply thought it would be practical.
I didn’t compose music anymore. My obsession and fascination with it diminished, now that I had a family and my art to focus on. But I still wrote my son one lullaby to remind him of the resilience of the human spirit and how obstacles were nothing but reminders you could overcome anything.
“How was your first ball with music?” Tiernan grinned down at me.
I circled my arms around his neck, knowing full well that attending balls was far from the realm of his regular hobbies. People openly stared at his eye patch, and not everybody was happy to see the princess of the Camorra and king of the Irish Mafia at swanky New York parties, but I didn’t care.
I loved dancing.
I loved dancing with my husband.
And life was too short to give a damn about what anyone who didn’t truly love you thought about you.
Let them talk. About my age. About the wrongness of us. His mysterious past. My overbearing mother.
We were happy. And that’s what mattered.
“It was wonderful,” I purred.
“Good.”
“And I want to do it all over again tomorrow.” I kicked my feet while cradled in his arms, and he rolled his eye exasperatedly, an indulgent smirk tugging at his lips.
When we got to the second floor, Tiernan cautiously helped me back to my feet. I padded toward my son’s room, peeking into his crib.
He was sleeping soundly, but began stirring as soon as I opened the door and traces of the corridor’s light seeped in.
Yawning toothlessly, he tried stretching inside his swaddle, groaning when he realized his attempts were futile. My chest flooded with warmth.
“You coming?” Tiernan kissed the back of my shoulder from behind, his erection pressing into my backside.
Glancing up, I touched his cheek gently and pressed my lips to his. “I think I’ll nurse him before we get into bed. Wait for me.”
He grunted.
“Naked,” I added.
His disgruntled expression wiped off his face. He kissed the back of my head. “If you need anything, let me know. Sleep tight, bud.” He leaned to kiss Enni’s head as I picked him up.
After Tiernan was gone, I took Gennaro to the rocking chair, settled in, and popped one shoulder of my dress off. Enni’s mouth found my nipple without opening his eyes, the scent of my milk calling to him. He latched hungrily, sucking and grunting his approval.
