Page 33 of Older Hotter Grumpier
“I’m too lucky,” I gasp as his hand goes to my clit.
“Marry me.”
“W-what?” My mind is blurry with the pleasure that’s still echoing in my limbs.
“You heard. You have my ring on your finger, my seed in your womb. You’re going to have my child. I think I’ve proved that I can fix that issue with my not telling you how much I appreciate you, and I promise you’ll never feel overlooked again. You’re the centre of my world, and I’m going to ensure you know that, every day.” He reaches and strokes my cheek tenderly. “You have my love. Marry me and be my wife.”
That was, I have to admit, a speech worthy of a sexy blue alien. And who could possibly refuse Rafe when his blue eyes are full of so much affection? Plus, he gave me four orgasms. So there’s nothing else to say, but…
“Yes.”
EPILOGUE
RAFE
6 years later
“Happy birthday, Daddy!” My eldest child and only son—so far—throws himself across the kitchen.
“Hey champ!” Turning and dropping the spatula I’m using to spread pancakes, my heart stops. “Watch the—!” I wince as Giovanni’s head misses the sharp corner of the big oak table by a hair’s breadth. Unconcerned, my son launches himself into my waiting arms.
I hoist him up and he grips onto me. Five years old, and a total cuddle monster, my boy. I know I’m supposed to be a tough mafia boss, etc. etc. But the uninhibited way my children love—they learned from their mother—puts a lump in my throat.
We’ve broken the cycle. Where Sev, Vito, and I are still prone to being wary and cynical, and more than a bit grumpy, all of our kids are full of zest for life. Safe. Cherished. Loved. They have all the support and care that we lacked.
“Daddy,” Giovanni says into my shoulder. He’s clinging on like a koala bear, so I go back to tending the pancakes, and he giggles. “Do we all have to eat pancakes because they’re your favourite and it’s your birthday?”
“It’s Uncle Severino and Uncle Vito’s birthdays, too,” I point out.
“But they love pancakes even more than you do! Is that a being-identical thing?”
“You’ll have to ask your sisters.”
“Is what an identical thing?” Sev asks as he enters the kitchen, hair mussed.
“Pancakes!” Giovanni wriggles and I let him down to repeat his ridiculously affectionate small animal act with my brother.
Our gazes meet over Giovanni’s head, and I read in Sev’s face what I’m sure is on my face too. Bemusement. Love. Disbelief that we’re this lucky.
Sev, Vito, and I bought this chalet a few years ago and have spent nearly every holiday here since. Christmas, birthdays, summer holidays. There’s always an excuse to get together.
“The girls are watching cartoons in the snug,” Sev tells Giovanni as he puts him down. “Why don’t you go and join them?”
My son rushes off and I flip a pancake onto the stack, before pouring a new one.
“Those girls,” I say. “Might need to check on them.” Because Ella and my twin daughters and their cousins are thick as thieves. Trouble. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks. You look old. You seen Vito?” Sev pours coffee from the pot I’ve made into two mugs. Still makes me smile when I make a cafetiere of coffee. Every day.
“He’s still in bed with his wife, as far as I know.”
Sev rolls his eyes. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
That’s about as demonstrative as he gets, but I don’t care. We’re still brothers, and rivals, and our families get on brilliantly. I see how he is with his wife and all the kids, and I know he doesn’t need to be huggy with me. He has lots of physical touch and emotional connection with his wife and all the kids.
Sev is stupidly in love with his wife. Waits on her hand and foot, so I know without asking that when he leaves the kitchen, he’s going to take her coffee. Then he might return to help me, or more likely go and check in with the kids.
The cosy domesticity of it all is charming and yet, if you’d told me before that fateful day that I discovered Ella in the office that I’d be this happy, and have a big secure, happy family, and my kids would have cousins to play with? Pah. I’d have never believed you.
