Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.
Beta'd by HollettLA
NOTE: Chapter 34, Chapter 35, and Chapter 36 all take place on the same day/night.
PLEASE DO NOT SKIM THIS CHAPTER. IT'S BUSY, CHOPPY, LOTS OF DIALOGUE AND CHARACTER INTERACTION. YOU MIGHT GET LOST.
"Riders on the Storm"
Chapter Thirty-Four: Dinner
Sonny POV
Looking in the mirror, I straightened my tie, which was extremely tight and uncomfortable.
It's not every day I wear one . . .
Aggravated, I loosened it and tossed it onto our bed.
"What's wrong?" Maggie asked, looking up from a book.
I huffed a breath, unbuttoning my collar. "Nothing."
She gave me a small smile, going back to her reading.
I stared at her reflection in the mirror.
God…
She was beautiful, wearing a simple wrap-around dress that trailed down to her knees. It was burgundy with a plunging neckline, allowing me a slight peek at the goods—the tiniest hint of cleavage showing.
Her hair was parted and down, swept to the side—those long, loose curls falling over her right shoulder. She wore very little makeup; she doesn't need much—if any at all. Maggie's lips were glossy and full as they moved silently, her darkly lined eyes following the words on the page.
My wife wore black stilettos. However, while one shoe was on the floor, the other dangled from her toe—her foot wiggling.
I'm sure she's none the wiser—not even aware of what she's doing—driving me crazy.
The picture I saw reflected was perfect.
We were in our new bedroom—the master suite of our new home, which is pretty fucking big as a whole. We bought a new bed, all new furniture, and I hardly recognized anything…except her, except for my beautiful wife who's been so quiet lately…since we moved in.
"Hey," I whispered.
She grinned, looking at me through her long, dark lashes.
I turned around. "I love you." Once upon a time, I'd say that too much, but now it seems we don't say it enough. I'm running around like a chicken without a head, and I can hardly remember to tell my wife I love her . . .
"Oh my God, yes!" Maggie closed her books rapidly—in a hurry—overlapping her notebooks and textbooks, pushing them away. Our bed was covered with her school stuff. "I love you, love you, love you, too!" She leaned back on her elbows, uncrossing her legs, dropping that shoe, licking her lips, and pushing her tits out.
My chest felt tight as I continued to stare at her, wanting to pounce but needing self-control. This house is so big; I couldn't smell the lasagna, yet I was sure it was done.
Our company was due to arrive at any moment . . .
I smiled, bending low to nip her lips. She fisted my jacket, moaning onto my mouth and pulling me down.
As much as I wanted to, we couldn't get carried away. "I should check on dinner." My eyes fell to her grip; she was going to wrinkle my collar.
With her eyes wide, she slowly let go of me, opening her hands. "You're kidding?"
"What?" I quirked a brow. "You okay?" Her face was flushed.
"Oh, I'm fantastic." She grabbed a book, and the look in her eyes . . . I think she was contemplating beating me with it.
"We okay?" I was confused.
Maggie stood from the bed, staring into my eyes, but she wasn't doing it with the hopes we'd kiss again . . .
"Stop," I said, blinking and looking away.
"You better go check on the food." She fanned her face. "Don't want that to burn."
Heaving a heavy sigh, I left the room and went down to the kitchen. On my way, I passed our dining room that was all set for the small dinner party were hosting tonight.
Our parents were coming, along with my grandfather, Carlisle and Alex, and Kylie. I didn't care about what my parents thought of our home. The lot—except for the Sullivans—had been here numerous times. My family helped us move in, decorate, arrange furniture, and the whole nine.
My in-laws . . . I wanted things to be perfect for them. I was to cook and Maggie was going to set everything up—something she was anxious to do. She'd also cleaned this place from top to bottom. Our home looked immaculate.
But she outdid herself, fixing the dining room. It looked amazing, like something out of a magazine. The china—the matching plate set my mother bought us—was elegant combined with the crystal glasses that were a gift from my aunt and uncle. The silverware was placed correctly. The silver candelabra added that extra…effect? She even set up a side table with different wines and beverages, leaving the ice bucket empty for the time being.
This was another heartwarming sight—the whole place was.
I've been working a lot, going back and forth, doing my best to keep up with everything, handle my responsibilities . . . I'm keeping even more off hours. I leave early in the morning, after Maggie goes to school, and then I'm coming home late.
When I'm actually home, my new favorite thing to do is marvel and revel in everything—how wonderful shit is.
I only wish I was around to enjoy it.
I'd let go of everything Katie . . . At the end of the day, I was immensely happy with my life, my new bride, our new start, and it almost felt as though I had been doing Maggie a disservice—holding a grudge, being angry at the past when my present, my future was so bright already. I thought my anger cheated Maggie in a way, so I cut my losses.
Maybe I fell in love with the idea of having a child, and letting go of that was hard, but I was okay.
In a few years, if I have any say in the matter, our children will occupy all those bedrooms upstairs . . . Toys will litter the great room that Maggie admitted she modeled after my parents' . . .
Right now, it looked great as well, all set for when we'd have coffee and dessert later.
When I finally made it into the kitchen, my smile was beaming. The lasagna was finished and the skin on the bird—the whole roasting chicken—was just beginning to brown.
After I took the lasagna out, I placed it onto the table along with the salad.
"What's up?" Maggie asked.
I turned around, furrowing my brow, confused. "Nothing."
She didn't look happy at all, turning and going back into the kitchen.
I followed, seeing her grab three bottles of salad dressing out of the fridge.
Then I waited for my wife to elaborate. Often, if she thinks there's something wrong, and I say nothing's wrong, she'll tell me what's wrong; meanwhile, I contemplated when I should put the mashed potatoes into the oven to warm. I'd made those and steamed some string beans earlier . . .
"I mean . . ." She just walked out, her arms filled with things, yet she didn't say any more.
I munched on a piece of bread, leaning back against the counter while I waited for her to come back.
Maggie arrived not a minute later, keeping her head down. "Did you do any of that stuff today?"
My shoulders dropped. "I told you—I haven't in over a week," I lied, feeling like a piece of garbage inside.
If I wasn't getting a little help from a certain substance, I'd be dead. I'd never be able to keep up the way I have been, and maybe—at the present time—Maggie is taking a backseat. But it's not as though I have a choice. Shit needs to be taken care of, and I didn't snort any yak today.
Last night, I was soaring high, and then smoked a joint to get over the lull—get two hours of sleep. This morning, I woke up feeling like crap—wanted to do some very badly—but I didn't. I went out, did what I had to do, and then I came home to make dinner.
I was fine.
It was something I needed—just until things slowed down a little—and Maggie didn't understand that.
It's still controllable.
I'm fine right now.
Well, I was until Maggie brought it up.
Somehow, she knows when I'm high—she says I'm weird, my temper gets worse, which it does—it gets a lot worse. I snap at her, and I don't know why she brings out the worst in me sometimes. She won't even talk to me, afraid to set me off.
Maggie thinks I don't know . . .
But just like I try to hide it from her, she always knows when I'm fucking flying, and then she leaves . . . makes herself scarce. She'll go meet up with Kylie, even if I'm home for seemingly the first time in fucking days.
And I couldn't hold that against her.
"I know, but . . ." She shook her head.
"Are you saying I look coked out? Strung out?" I asked.
"No . . . you act different," she whispered. "You know it scares me."
"It's not like it's a problem. I'm not getting any sleep, baby. I'm trying my best . . . it's like coffee." I shrugged. "But you don't like it, so I'm not going to do it anymore."
She swallowed loudly. "So, then…the coke that's in your drawer, I can flush it?"
"No." I snorted. "That's a lot of money you'd literally throw down the toilet—"
"If it's not important and you don't need it, why can't I get rid of it?" Her foot tapped, and she was trying to rein in that anger, just like I was.
"Because I fucking said so. We're not discussing this anymore!" My body stiffened. "Every-fucking-time you bring it up—"
"'Cause it's wrong and you know it's wrong!" She stomped her foot. "You're not you! You're a stranger. I miss you like crazy, and yet I don't wanna be around you!" She covered her mouth with her hands. "I didn't mean that."
"You did," I said, but I wasn't angry—not at her honest words. She was right. Some nights, I can come home a little earlier than I actually do . . . but by that time I've already done how many lines…? I just stay out, do what has to be done, as much as I can.
"I'm not...I'm not accusing, Santino. I'm recognizing...How…" she walked closer to me, "tell me how to help you? I don't know what to do. It's like you're slipping away—literally. I'll help in any way I can. You just have to tell me how. I see you with books, the adding machine . . . I'm okay in math. I can help, um." She shook her head. "I'll do whatever will make things easier for you. But how do I help you stop doing that stuff? The coke doesn't scare me. You on it scares the crap outta me, Santino."
"I'm fine." I palmed her cheek. "No more. I've been good, I swear it."
She gave me small grin. "Okay . . . I want us to get back to normal—"
I smiled, pulling her into my arms. "We'll be better than normal. We haven't even had the chance to christen every room yet." I wiggled my brows.
She nodded. "I miss making love, too. We haven't…" Maggie looked down and away, and she was right.
Her distancing herself while I'm high actually comes as a blessing—a blessing in disguise—because I can't trust myself. The last thing I'd want to do is hurt her, and . . . I've gotten pretty fucking close, seeing red, losing it, wanting to smack that nagging shit right out of her.
When it comes to sex, the only time I'd ever had sex on coke was with the chicks from the club. It wasn't like I gave a fuck if I was too rough.
"It's been…almost a month."
"No," I said. "A month?"
She stared up, into my eyes. "You didn't do anything today, right?"
"No."
"You haven't?"
"Not for the past week." I let go of her, the persistent nagging getting on my nerves once again. "Baby, I'm fine."
She still looked upset—a mixture between sad and angry—because she knows I'm lying.
Carrying on and ignoring that face, I was about to baste the chicken when I heard the doorbell ring.
"I'll get it," I said.
Making sure I didn't have my nine in my waist—which was a change of pace—I walked to the door. Ironically, I wasn't nervous. It could have been my in-laws, but it wasn't. Carlisle and Alex were the first to arrive with a bottle of wine.
"Hey!" My aunt wore a smile, opening her arms for a hug.
We embraced in the foyer as my uncle checked the place out. "Nice." He nodded. "It came along. It almost doesn't look like the same house," he laughed; the last time he'd been here, we were eating pizza out of the box on the living room floor—the main living room.
I shook his hand. "Thanks."
"Glad you could make it!" Maggie was enthusiastic to embrace them as well, quick to take their coats, which I took from her.
That's when I saw her frown, when she thought no one was looking.
"Go 'head—get comfortable. Dinner's almost ready," I told my family, hoping for another minute alone with Maggie.
Their coats were flung over my arm, and I'd barely closed the door before I saw my parents and Kylie coming up the walkway. "Youse made it!" My phony smile fell briefly, a face missing from their group, my grandfather's.
After all, this was sort of his night. The party we were throwing in his honor—for no good reason whatsoever, just because—was tonight. And although we'd moved the venue from Midnight Sun to Eclipse, I knew he'd have a good time. It just worked out better—having practically the whole organization congregate at Eclipse. The women in my family were upset they weren't allowed to come.
By all means, the women were going to party, too. They were to convene here while we were out.
In vain, I hoped that maybe Robert—Mr. Sullivan—might be inclined to join us, and Kathy could stay here. Truth be told, I'd be happy if Maggie's mother just spoke to her.
When we all got together for Christmas, it was awkward. Even if I hate the prick for his past indiscretions—placing his hands on Maggie, I had to give him credit. He tried, conversing—albeit at a minimum—with us all, but his wife did not. Maggie would try and engage her mother into conversation to no avail. Thank God for my mother. She was a great buffer for the two—also defending us whenever a remark was uttered . . .
The Sullivans actually wore on my father's nerves. He was uncomfortable with not being able to be himself, and he wanted to kick them out of his house, but he never did.
"Where's Grandpa?" I asked.
Dad jerked his thumb. "He's coming."
I smiled again, giving my father a half-hug as I saw my grandfather come out from behind the fence, slowly following Kylie. "Mom." I kissed her cheek.
Always concerned with our well-being, I knew what my mother was going to say when she reached up to hold my jaw. "You look tired . . . but happy."
I chuckled. "I am—very happy and very tired."
Mom sighed, going inside with Dad.
"Sonny!" My sister widened her arms, sprinting the rest of the way.
"I just saw you yesterday," I said, thinking I was getting a hug.
Kylie didn't reply, quickly going around me. "Where's Maggie?"
"Inside." I waited for my grandfather, and my sister disappeared.
"I'm comin'!" Grandpa hollered, decked out in his old man gear—his cord cap and tweed coat—using the cane that my father says he doesn't need.
"Take your time." I met him halfway, linking my arm with his.
He pushed me. "I'm not dead yet—back up. When I start shitting myself and biting people—after throwing my shit at them, you'll be the first I call. You might be the only one to give a fuck." He started to drone on and on about his death, or impending decay. "No, my Lizzie—she's an angel. She'll take care of me."
The way I hear it, my Aunt Lizzie just tolerates him. He has his own apartment in London. The best was when we spoke of his woman situation, or lack thereof, on New Year's Eve. He said the females of Great Britain spoke funny, think him charming, and yet it's hard to find a good blow job.
British, American, I can't see how any chick would find him charming. Not any more. He just doesn't give a fuck in his old age, but I remember the way he used to be. That was just ten years ago. He was still old, but the women still flocked. I recall hoping I'd be as lucky as he was—being a hundred and fifty years old and still getting laid. Of course, that was when I believed I'd die a bachelor.
Although, these days, I hear he pays for most affections—finding prostitutes convenient, which is gross.
"No…my Kylie." He nodded. "She's a good egg—your sister. She's annoying as fuck, but a literal angel."
"I heard that!" Kylie had her hand on her hip.
Grandpa held his forehead. "Did I say Kylie? I meant your mother." He patted her shoulder, keeping up with Dad's charade.
"Let's hang your jacket." My sister fussed.
I laughed, feeling better, lighter, as I entered the house.
"Eh…" Dad rubbed his stomach. "If someone's cookin', I'm eatin'. Of course we're here." He widened his arms. "Thanks for having us, Maggie-Mags."
Maggie giggled, giving my father a hug—hugging him very tightly, more than what's usual for a greeting.
"Sweetheart, you okay?" He leaned back to look at her.
I loved watching them interact. Our relationship notwithstanding, I think he equates her to Kylie, a second daughter. Well, she is his daughter-in-law.
But my stomach was in knots, since my father is very observant.
And if my very honest wife is upset, all anyone has to ask is if she's okay, and then the dam breaks—the waterworks start.
"Yes." Maggie nodded. "I just . . ."
"She's excited to have you guys here." I was quick to add, holding Maggie's elbow, a silent warning.
She nodded again.
Dad smiled at us both. He was going to join Mom, but Maggie caught his attention again.
She was up to something.
"Anytime . . . You guys don't have to be like, formally invited." She rushed out. "You know that, right?" She turned, probably searching for Mom. "You're always welcome…"
"Thank you, Maggie." He palmed her cheek, throwing a wink to me.
"Just promise to make yourself at home," she told him. "I'd love it if everyone felt that way—this is their home, too." Maggie's gaze fell to her shoes.
Dad gave her a look, like she needn't tell him that. "I wouldn't say that too loud—you won't get rid of us." He went toward the living room. And anywhere he goes . . . the man doesn't even need some kind of claim, he'll act like he owns the place anyway.
Maggie faced me. "Did you see them walking over yet?" She spoke of her own parents.
I shook my head. "Not yet."
She took the coats from my grasp. "I'll . . ." My wife turned for the closet as Kylie started speaking rapidly about Gio, helping her with the simple task, but Maggie wasn't interested.
She was afraid her parents weren't coming, she was worried about me, she was angry at me, sad, upset in general—about to fucking lose it. If I hadn't intervened, Maggie would have bawled her eyes out in Dad's arms—I knew that. For whatever reason, my wife was an emotional wreck.
Ignoring my family as they moseyed into the dining room, I gently squeezed Maggie's shoulders, bending low to her ear. "They'll be here. They said they would."
"Did you not see us talking?" Kylie had the only attitude. "I need to talk to her—"
I rolled my eyes, pointing a finger. "Go sit down." My voice was stern as fuck—coming out her mouth like that . . .
My sister left us, giving me a dirty look.
To my surprise, Maggie shrugged out from under my hands. "I'll serve drinks…"
"They'll help themselves." I wrapped my arms around her. She wasn't getting away that easily. "Have I told you how beautiful you look?" By any means necessary, I needed to cheer her up.
"No," she whispered. "In fact, you haven't called me beautiful, sexy, or anything—nothing in a long time."
"No," I disagreed.
"Yes," she argued. "We've barely said a word to each other, and that seems to be just fine with you." She poked my chest. "Other things—" she spoke of the coke "have been more important, but I'm glad you decided—"
I chuckled without humor. "Keep that finger to yourself." There was no way we were going to have this out now with a house full of people. Whatever her problem was, she could keep it to herself for a little while longer.
"We seem to be keeping everything to ourselves these days." She scoffed, walking around me. And I think she was letting it all out because she knew I couldn't do anything—yell, or even speak of matters.
"Whoa!" I stopped her, grabbed her bicep, bringing her in front of me. "You have something you need to get off your chest…?" Worst than fighting in front of everyone, would be the grumbled, under-the-breath comments, and the animosity.
"You know why I'm upset." She furrowed her brow, studying her wedding band.
I nodded, still feeling uneasy. "Regardless of saying it or not, you know you do. You know I think so—you look stunning, gorgeous." If she needed more compliments—although I couldn't imagine why—I'd gladly give them.
Maggie's . . . Christ. To me, she's the baddest, sexiest bitch there ever was.
And she was all mine.
Suddenly feeling much better, my hands roamed down her back, trying to get her to be less rigid within my embrace. "If you're still angry with me, we'll talk it out later."
"You're going out later." She wouldn't look at me.
I turned her chin, catching her gaze. "I'll make time—before I go . . . Can we please play nice while we have company?"
"Okay," she agreed but gave me her cheek when I leaned in for a kiss.
"Kiss your husband, dammit." I feigned aggravation, trying not to laugh but also trying to make the situation lighter . . . Maggie knew I wasn't angry at the moment.
She gave me a small grin, which turned into a beaming smile. It must have mirrored my own. I know I can't help myself when I look into those eyes. "Santino…" She playfully pushed me.
I pulled her into my arms, my nose touching hers.
Maggie let out a shaky breath. "I wanna stay mad at you." Her hands ran up my shoulders, her fingers toying with the hair at the nape of my neck—shit drives me batshit crazy, made me groan.
"Tough . . . Don't stay mad at me."
"We need to talk more, but I'm happy you stopped, you know…There's other stuff—"
"Shhh." Our lips met, and right as I was about to deepen the kiss and grab me some ass, the bell rang again.
Maggie jumped out of my arms. "It's them; they're actually here—you get it." She nodded, placing her hands on my chest.
"We both will." I acquiesced, pushing my hair back and collecting myself—having caught the only hard-on during that…kiss. Shit.
When was the last time we'd fucked? Honestly, I couldn't remember.
"I know why you're pissed," I whispered. "It's sexual frustration—makes everything worse. I knew it'd been a while, but I actually just realized—"
"Well, we can't do anything about it now," she whined, gesturing to the door. "My parents are here." Her voice got all squeaky.
"You're right." I nodded, my head cloudy.
"Santino." She nudged me.
"Yeah…" Leaving my arm draped over her shoulders, I reached for the knob with my other hand, hoping the semi in my slacks wasn't noticeable.
When I opened the door, my in-laws seemed to be silently arguing—passing something back and forth, fighting over who would hold the covered pan/dish, whatever they had.
"No, you give it." Kathy—Maggie's mother—pushed the foil-wrapped dish into her husband's arms.
"Good evening," Mr. Sullivan greeted, fumbling with what now looked like a pie in his hands.
"Glad you could make it. Please, come in." I stood back, taking Maggie with me as they entered.
"Hi, Mom," Maggie said, waving. "How are you? You look nice."
A long coat covered her mother. "Margaret." She gave her a curt nod, stepping farther into the foyer.
"Wow…it's a lot bigger inside, isn't it?" Mr. Sullivan looked around, up to the cathedral ceiling, handing me the plate. "It's apple pie."
"Thank you," I said, giving my wife a slight push toward her father.
"Dad…?" She stood there expectantly, and I hated this—that it was this awkward.
The Sullivans looked out of place. Maggie didn't know what to do, and I was just as clueless. Meanwhile, the rest of them were probably drinking wine and gobbling down the lasagna already. And I bet my mother checked the chicken, put the mashed in the oven to warm.
My family, or should I say our family, would be at home because . . .
If Maggie and I live here, this was their home, too.
We're family. That's just how it is.
Robert stared down to his daughter. "Margaret Anne...don't you look marvelous—like a lady. You look all grown up." He palmed her cheeks, a slow grin appearing. "How are you?"
"I'm amazing, Dad. I'm really, really happy." Her voice was filled with emotion as her hand reached to hold mine.
Neither one of them turned to me, but I kissed her palm—to let her know I was right here.
By her tone alone, I knew she was trying to ease whichever fears her father might have had, assure him she was fine. And maybe she'd said all that for her own benefit as well.
We were going through a rough patch.
Our petty bullshit aside—hindsight, overall—we were happy, healthy, and in love. As a couple—fuck, if we could just get rid of the outside world—we were perfect.
"And I'm so happy you're here." She hugged him, letting go of my hand.
I breathed a sigh of relief, finally closing and locking the door.
We weren't waiting for anyone else. Damion was missing, said he couldn't make it, and I wasn't even sure if he was coming out later on. He'd be missed, but I know he's doing all right.
After I finished hanging their coats, I trailed into the dining room to join everyone. Just like I'd previously guessed, the rest were chowing down, laughing and conversing as the Sullivans took their seats.
I pulled out a chair for Kathy, trying to be polite, but she's always a hard sell—pulling the bottom of the seat in for herself. Then I went for Maggie's, always the gentleman, before I took the head of the table.
"Thank you all for coming," I said to them all, holding Maggie's hand.
"Do you two have an announcement…?" Carlisle had a mouthful, pouring himself some wine.
Alex gasped. "Will there be a little Santino some time soon?" She clapped, getting excited.
"Um, no." Maggie shook her head.
"Then dig in." Dad gestured to the food. "Shit's good—Mom's recipe, right?" He was tucked into his plate, didn't even look up.
"It is," Alex answered him. "It came out fantastic." She pointed to her dish with her fork. "Don't tell Bella," she told Maggie. "You could give her a run for her money."
Kylie laughed. "Sonny cooked it, right?"
Maggie giggled. "It's edible, so yeah."
"Stop." I chuckled, serving her, placing a nice big helping of lasagna onto her plate. There was a salad, too, but it didn't look like anyone was going for it. "Maggie made the salad." I put a shitload into my bowl because it looked delicious as well.
"Are there chickpeas in it?" Grandpa asked. "'Cause I'll be fartin' all fuckin' night."
"No," Maggie said. "Just…regular salad stuff…tomatoes, cucumbers, black olives…" She trailed off.
"Lettuce, too." Kylie added, piling some into her mouth.
"No!" My uncle gasped. "I can't believe she put lettuce in the salad!" Carlisle was teasing my sister.
Dad squinted, pointing his fork at her. "You're going back to school—"
My sister's expression said it was obvious. "I know..."
Dad nodded. "And you better study."
"Throw some in here." Grandpa held out his bowl.
My wife served him and, without asking, she gave some to her parents, placing salad in Mom's bowl, too, even if she wasn't occupying her chair.
My mother clapped, joining us from the kitchen. "The chicken is almost done...Oh, honey—" she looked my way "—I put the mashed in the oven." She squeezed my shoulder.
"Bella, sit down. You're off tonight. Let them serve us," my father laughed.
"I was just—" she looked to Maggie and me "—I wasn't overstepping or anything. You guys were greeting everyone…busy," she said, going to sit next to Dad.
"Oh, it's no big deal," Maggie told her. "Feel free to do what you want."
"No such thing as overstepping." I winked.
"Um…Mom, would you like some wine?" Maggie offered.
"Water is fine." Kathy replied, and the water glasses had already been filled.
"Dad?" Maggie stared at her father.
"I'm all set. Thank you, deary." He winked in her direction.
Maggie grinned, scooping a forkful into her mouth.
"Did'ju catch the game last night?" Dad asked me, which was a stupid question.
It was the fucking Pro Bowl, and before that, the playoffs. Maybe I didn't sit through the games and enjoy them, but I knew the scores. I've been busy with that shit along with everything else—keeping up with my bookies, making sure people pay—pay me, get paid.
"Yeah…" I nodded, chewing, realizing I wasn't even hungry.
"Those motherfucking Cowboys!" Carlisle shouted. "Do you know how much money I lost?" It was hypothetical; he placed his bet with me. I knew exactly how much he lost.
"How much?" Dad asked. "Just tell us and shut the fuck up about it already."
I laughed my ass off.
My uncle was still shaking his head. "Why do I bet on New York? Fuck them! Enough. I won't tell you how much. Know I lost enough fucking money—"
"Carlisle." Alex warned, placing her hand on his forearm.
"What? The kids aren't here," he defended.
"Well..." My aunt was staring at Kathy and Robert. All of which made the whole table turn to them.
Here we were—talking, profanities falling from careless lips—and they had their heads bowed in prayer.
My uncle winced, going back to his food.
I looked to Maggie. She was staring at her parents, too, only because—at the same time—she'd reached for my wine glass to steal a sip while they weren't paying attention. No, not a sip. She guzzled the whole glass, and I think the last time she had alcohol was New Year's Eve, which was a while ago.
"Thirsty?" I whispered.
Her cheeks were flushed as she slightly shook her head—nervous as fuck. I could feel the anxiety rolling off her in waves, and there was something else going on with her, or us as a couple.
She was about to speak before our guests arrived . . . She never had the chance, but my thoughts went back to the coke, or maybe us not fucking—losing touch. We spoke about those issues already, though. Usually, she's upset, I talk, and then we're okay.
I had a feeling it wasn't the lack of sex. I think she's feeling the brunt of just how busy I've been. We've barely so much as cuddled or even watched a fucking movie since we moved into this house—weeks now—a month.
Personally, I felt the loss—knew I missed her—I just figured I'd make up for it before she noticed or bitched.
The same with the blow…
It was too late. Now there was officially a problem—she had a problem, and I no longer had the opportunity to intervene.
We spoke about the coke. So, if it's not my absence that's troubling her, then I probably did something else to tick her off; I just have no idea what else I might have done.
I kissed her cheek. "Everything's great—the food's good, everyone's eating." If I couldn't fix that other shit at the moment, I could help alleviate her immediate concerns.
Maggie nodded, and then we all did the Sign of the Cross when Mr. Sullivan said "Amen".
"You guys must think us a bunch of evil heathens, huh?" Kylie asked.
My in-laws had blank expressions.
"Dig in!" Mom exclaimed. "Please…" She gestured to the food, giving my sister a side-glance.
Maggie and Kylie giggled at each other, likely sharing the awkward humor.
/=/=/=/=/
The first course of the evening dragged. Conversations stayed at a minimum because…I think everyone was unsure of what they could talk about. Mom and Alex actually kept their husbands civilized. Grandpa was another story, just speaking his mind along with my sister, which was good for the occasional chuckle. They were great at keeping the silence and those uncomfortable pregnant pauses at bay.
It was all an act for the Sullivans—us being polite and shit.
Otherwise . . . it'd be loud, fun, and easygoing—manners non-existent.
"You have another son, don't you?" Mr. Sullivan stared across the table at Dad. By now, all that was left of the chicken was the carcass, bowls and plates empty, everyone ready for dessert. "He didn't make it for Christmas either."
Dad nodded, leaning far back in his chair. "Yeah, he's busy with school." He placed his fist to his mouth, silently belching. "'cuse me."
"This one will be joining Maggie at NYU, too." Carlisle squeezed Kylie's shoulder.
My sister smiled, eyes dancing about the table and stopping at Maggie. "We're gonna do it up in the fall—you and me, sista!"
Maggie laughed, nodding. "I can't wait to look at the course catalog—"
"Excuse me?" Kathy turned to her daughter. "You were accepted at NYU?"
"Well—" Maggie paused.
"She got a full ride to Saint Mary's—she's a shoe-in for acceptance," Kylie said. "Flying colors!" She reached to give Maggie a high-five. "I'm the worried one." She smiled at Kathy.
"Sister Cecilia gave me a great recommendation. All my ducks are in a row—" Maggie went on.
Kathy stared at me and then to her daughter. "And how will you balance it all? You're married…I'm sure you'll be starting a family soon."
"I'm not pregnant!" Maggie shouted.
Kathy and Robert faced each other.
"I'm not," Maggie said again. "For the last time, I am not with child. Why do you think that? You kept asking on Christmas—"
Robert crinkled his brows. "Ya got married—"
"Because we were in love," my wife said.
"Were?" I asked.
"Were. Are. Same thing." She winced. "You know what I mean."
"Yeah, she got the birth control shot. She's good," Kylie defended. "No worries, Mr. Sullivan." She winked, nudging his elbow with her own.
"A shot? Like an injection?" Robert seemed confused. "Are you not well, my dear?" He grasped Maggie's shoulder.
"Uh…" I spoke up, wondering how he drew that conclusion. Kylie was trying to help, but she was so straightforward.
"Margaret, you're a married woman now." Kathy wore a frown. "I apologize. I'm not quite sure how to elaborate."
"No, please do." Mom nodded. "She's married now. So, what?"
"Stay out of this," Dad whispered, but I was able to hear him.
"While this house is beautiful, it won't keep itself." Kathy sat back, her lips drawing a tight line. "How are you going to help your husband if you're all wrapped up in school? Marriage is fifty-fifty. If Santino is doing the right thing, then by all means, so should you."
"You said you'd take care of her," Robert stared at me.
I smiled. "I am…I'm doing so to the best of my ability, and Maggie going to college won't hinder anything we've got going on around here." I wasn't sure what else I should say. "She's wants to go to college, I'm sending her."
"Oh, you say it like you're doing me some favor." Maggie practically spat that shit at me. "You're sending me?"
"Baby, I didn't mean it that way," I whispered, squeezing her thigh. "You want to go—you're going, it's your choice—and I'm making sure you're able to."
My wife palmed her face in frustration. "I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean to snap at you."
"It's okay." I rubbed her back. After all, she's been nothing but patient with me, and this . . . I could understand.
"NYU…that's a pretty penny," Robert commented. "Did you apply for scholarships?" When Maggie nodded, he looked to my parents. "Margaret is very smart. She's got the potential to be anything—"
Kathy faced us, cutting off her husband. "I just figured you'd want to start a family right away. He's not getting any younger." She gestured to me, and I suddenly felt ancient at twenty-eight. "Margaret, while it's taken me a bit to accept your choices, this is what you signed up for. You're a wife. You'll be a mother. Maybe there will be time for college later, but your plate will be too full—you'll spread yourself too thin."
"No." I chuckled without humor. "I'm sorry if you were misinformed—if you think I married your daughter so she'd clean my house and cook me dinner—that's not the situation. I love Maggie. We love each other, and we wanted to be together. She goes to school now. I work, keep long hours, and yet we're still able to love and support one another—we're able to be together."
Sadly, that shit was a lie . . . but Maggie's balancing everything great. She loves and supports me just fine, more than I deserve. It's me. I'm failing at being a good husband, getting fucking high to stay awake . . .
I was disgusted with myself.
Suddenly queasy, I sat back and shut my mouth, afraid I'd have to run and vomit.
"Yeah." Maggie sniffled. "You don't respect me or my-my decision to get married, or my house, or my husband, or his family!" Her voice continued to rise.
The both of them—just like Kylie and my mother when there's a problem—seemed like they were just waiting for the right opportunity to jump at each other.
"Shhhh." I rubbed her back, but her problem wasn't just with her mother . . . Maggie knew all that bullshit I spewed was a lie, too—except for the part where I said I loved her, loved her to death was more like it. "I'm sorry," I whispered.
She turned her watery gaze to me. "Don't go out tonight."
I barely heard her, her tone was so low, but I read her lips.
"Please." She squeezed my hand tightly.
I leaned over to kiss her cheek. "We'll talk—no worries," I breathed into her ear.
Maggie stiffened, cringed but didn't say anything, and maybe nobody noticed.
But I did.
And I was stuck . . . 'cause there was so much that needed to be said, especially before Maggie blew up and made a scene.
"You people for real?" Grandpa asked the Sullivans. "I get the religious thing…but instead of focusing on the birth control aspect, look at it as smart family planning. Margaret isn't ready to start a family. She wants to go to school, learn, make something of herself. And I see no reason why she can't love my grandson while doing so...Fuck...They can hire a maid. I always had one. The wives I had never cooked or cleaned worth a damn—"
"What?" Carlisle asked. "You better watch it, old man!"
"Except your mother. My Elizabeth—God rest her soul." He did the Sign of the Cross.
"Here we go!" Dad threw his hands up.
Grandpa continued, hopping to a different subject. "Sonny does all the woman stuff. His mother taught him well—he can care for the house better than Maggie anyway. He made this meal, didn't he?" He ranted, reaching to give me a fist pound. "Whenever they choose to bless us with a child…they will." He shrugged. "I just hope I'm alive to see it…that's all. So, whenever you're ready…"
"Well, let's just clear the table and he can knock her up right here!" Dad banged his fist down, being a sarcastic fuck.
"No pressure." Kylie snorted, but then she covered her mouth and leaned into the Sullivans. "My grandpa doesn't know what he's saying, and my dad was kidding."
"Yeah, I'm crazy!" Grandpa waved his hands in the air. "Take away my knife. I might cut a fucker." He laughed his ass off.
Kathy pulled her chair farther away from him.
"Ed, take it easy." Alex stole his silverware. "Finish your wine." She pushed his glass to him.
"I have to pace myself. The night's still young and I got a pocket full of Viagra!" he exclaimed.
"That's disgusting!" My sister shrieked.
"But Kylie…sex is such a beautiful thing," Dad said sweetly. "In sixty years, that's what Gio's going to be like—saggy ass, balls, and Viagra."
"Mom, make him stop!" Kylie shouted.
"Who's got a saggy ass? Not me!" Grandpa hollered across the table. "And you're not that far behind me, Skip . . . I'll be sure to leave it in my will. When I die or twenty years from now, I'll pay for your ball lift!"
Dad and Carlisle cracked up, and Mom hummed. "Babies are a blessing. But when they have one…that's up to Maggie," she said. "Furthermore, having a child and attending college will be difficult, but it's not impossible. I'd babysit—my husband and I will be behind them 100%."
"Mom…" I gave her a look.
Although her words were meant to be supportive, they sounded more than encouraging, almost persuasive. Trust me; I still want a fucking kid very badly, but not at Maggie's expense—not if it'll make her miserable and resent me. She means too much to me. We can have as many babies as we want when she's ready. I only have one Maggie; I only have one life that I am sharing with Maggie . . . and I was blowing it already.
Carlisle raised his glass. "To Sonny and Maggie…may they have healthy, beautiful babies when they're ready."
"And I hope that their first child will be a masculine child!" Kylie kissed the tips of her fingers.
"Oh!" Carlisle shouted. "Someone's been watching The Godfather—"
Robert was suddenly having a coughing fit, and Kathy patted his back.
"Did I say something wrong?" My sister stared at Maggie's parents.
"No." Dad stood up and reached for her face. "You're so fucking cute. Gimme a kiss." He planted a smooch on her cheek.
"To Sonny and Maggie!" Alex said.
"My handsome boy." Mom held my jaw.
I smiled and lifted my glass along with everyone else, which was a nice gesture. But it did nothing to take away the tension in the room. "Come here, you," I told Maggie.
She giggled and kissed my lips before turning to the table. "We're also going to be planning a wedding, so you all can come."
"Yeah, we are." I shared another smile with my wife, leaning to kiss those pouty lips again. "Relax."
"I'm trying."
"Planning a wedding? You're already married." Kathy shook her head. "I just can't imagine how you'll manage your time…" She genuinely seemed concerned, though.
"You know what, Mom? Everyone has problems with time management." Maggie was about to blow a fuse—at her mother or at me—and I was still smiley, thinking about our wedding. Only now I was aggravated because that time management comment was directed at me; I know it was.
"Don't get your knickers in a knot, Agnes," Grandpa laughed, coming out from left field with that one. "With all due respect, as I'm not sure if you got the memo, there's such a thing as having sex for pleasure—"
"What?" Mr. Sullivan shouted. "What'd'ju go and say that'fer?" His accent came out. "To my wife, no less? Speaking of sex. What the devil's—"
Grandpa put his hands up. "All this holy-roller bullshit…They're a young, healthy, very attractive, married couple. And sex isn't just . . ." He was trying to be polite, although he sucked at it, and he was at a loss for words.
"Whatta ya talkin' about?" Dad spoke with his hands. "We're not talking about that anymore."
"Sex ain't always about babies!" Kylie nodded. "That's what Grandpa's trying to say. Sometimes…you just need to get it. Maggie and Sonny have a lot of sex. But they don't wanna baby right now."
"Kylie…" Dad sighed.
"Dude, you're not helping." Carlisle gave my sister a nudge.
"Actually, she is helping," Mom mused. "'Cause she's right, but I can also understand your concerns." She looked to Kathy, who turned to my grandfather.
"You called me Agnes. My name is Kathleen," she corrected him.
Grandpa finished his wine. "It was a joke—Agnes of God. Maybe if I threw a lamp at you people, you'd lighten up."
Kathy hummed, ignoring him and facing my mother. "When we were first married, we wanted a child right away." She grabbed Robert's hand. "As it turned out, we weren't granted a child until later on in life. But that was the Lord's decision . . . When God—"
Maggie groaned. "You know what, Mom? Dad? You don't have to worry about any of that—don't argue—because everyone is correct. People actually need to have sex—whether they enjoy it or not—to get pregnant, so . . ." She'd said it slow, smiling sweetly at her parents.
And now everyone knew there was nothing going on in our bedroom.
My fucking blood boiled—forks clanked against plates, the room went silent, and not even Kylie had a smart-ass remark—and I swore to Christ . . .
I grabbed Maggie's bicep. "Help me make coffee?"
"You guys stay here." Mom shot up. "I'll make the coffee."
I yanked Maggie out of her chair.
"Sonny!" Mom exclaimed, nearly flying across the table at me, but Dad caught her.
I looked to my wife, my chest heaving, my anger nowhere near ready to subside. How she could embarrass me like that . . .
My wife stared at my hand . . . and that's all she did as tears trickled down her cheeks.
"Sonny!" My father banged his fist down onto the table, which caught my attention. "Sit down!"
My eyes refused to leave hers, but I did let her go.
Maggie turned from me, her entire body shaking . . . my Shaky, but her body wasn't quaking in a good way. "Everyone finished?" she asked.
Briefly, I glanced at Mr. Sullivan, having forgotten he was here, and now wondering why he didn't take a swing at me. He was acting none the wiser, staring down at the table.
I was taking deep breaths, calming down just a little. Of course, I had to make a bad situation worse. Maggie was in tears, the room was quiet . . . I wanted to leave, grab my fucking keys, and just go—afraid I'd lose it if we talked about it right now.
My wife swallowed, trying to hold back tears, and picking up her plate along with a few others and mine, stacking them loudly—otherwise, you could have heard a pin drop in that dining room.
"Espresso, right?" I asked my father and uncle.
Neither said a word, just sitting there.
"We'll make both." I faked a smile, clearing some more dishes.
"Could you put on a pot for tea?" Robert asked.
"You got it." I practically ran into the fucking kitchen.
Maggie had her back to me, leaning her hands on the sink. I pulled her around to face me, not deterred by her tears. "What the fuck was that?" I kept my tone hushed.
"I don't know."
"What kind of answer is that? You don't know?" I asked, thinking she sounded child-like.
"No one's on my side," she cried.
"What?" I had no idea what she was talking about. "I defended you. My grandfather pled your case very well—"
"No." Her lip quivered. "Not that."
"Then what? Help me out here." I wiped her tears away with my thumbs and took a quick look around us. "Come here." Taking her hand into mine, I ushered her out the second entrance to our kitchen—no one could see us or hear us. I thought we'd talk in the hall, but Maggie pulled me into the downstairs bathroom.
"Things are changing—they've changed. You said they wouldn't," she whispered. "I wanna go back to the apartment. If having this house means you have to work more…" Her words broke my heart.
"And then I'm scared out of my mind…you have a drug problem." She was hysterical, trying to hold it together.
"No…that's—" I hugged her to my side tightly. "I messed up. I did something, and the repercussions…I'm busier. There are ten other—new things I'm in charge of. But it has nothing to do with the house. And yes, I was . . ." I huffed a breath. "I was using but that's over now—I swear it. You don't have to be scared of me. I'd never—"
"You're lying," she sobbed.
"I'm not!" I nearly shouted.
She sucked in a hallow breath. "I miss you."
"I miss you, too, baby." She had no idea. "But we need to be on the same side—show a united front, especially when we're around other people."
"You don't understand. When I say I miss you, I mean I miss the old you." She wouldn't look at me.
"I'm the same. I haven't changed. I've just been busy."
"You talk about being on the same side, yet you agree with all of them." Maggie grabbed some tissues to wipe her nose. "Maybe we should make lists . . . But my biggest problem is the coke, and I'm sorry . . . I don't believe you when you say you're done. I know—in my gut—you're lying."
I groaned. "I'm only saying this one more time. The blow isn't a problem. You dislike it? I'm finished with it." I wiped my hands clean, serious about that shit. "We're not talking about that anymore—don't make me repeat myself."
"Okay . . ." She cringed, pulling her own hair.
"Now…what do I agree with them about? What...? What are you talking about?" I sat on the closed lid of the toilet, pulling her down to my lap.
"Everyone keeps bringing up the baby thing…they act all friendly, but it's like they're trying to sway me—want me to be pregnant. Even my parents, and I don't understand it. You said nothing would change."
"I…" I was stuck for words for a second. "You know I want a child, but I'm content to wait for you. Who cares what anyone thinks? I'm not married to them. You're my wife. What you think—how you feel—that's what's important to me."
"You're doing it again—saying you respect my decision, and yet I'm left feeling badly for denying you," she sobbed. "Then I feel like we're losing touch, and I think it's because of this issue and you using drugs. All these things run through my mind…"
"Shhh." I rocked us. "Just relax."
"Even Bella and Kylie, too." Her face crumbled again. "They have this passive, manipulative way of…making suggestions…I don't know if I'm saying this right. They're on my side, being my friend, but they're pushing in a way that—to anyone else—wouldn't seem so."
I nodded, pushing her hair away from her shoulder. "Everyone was excited when they thought Katie and I were expecting. Then Damion and Amelia…and now all those…baby dreams, aspirations to expand the family, are falling on us. They come—all of them come from different generations. Their mindsets…children come after marriage. Do you understand?"
"Yeah," she whispered, calming down some. "Things just got crazy out there."
I smiled, nuzzling my nose to her jaw. "They're insane. Keep that in mind whenever they start talking."
She giggled but frowned again just as fast. "Don't go out tonight. We'll have dessert and send everyone home. We can watch a movie, hang out, just you and me." She grabbed my collar. "Please, don't go out. Please. You say you're not doing coke anymore—"
"Maggie…" The word itself was threatening to push me over the edge—the fact that she wouldn't let it go.
"You don't have to work tonight, so . . . you don't have to go out. Don't be . . . Don't put yourself in that atmosphere. Stay with me. Be with me. We can make love as many times as you want, watch a movie. We can do whatever you want." She was a blubbering mess.
I squeezed her tighter, rocking her until she quieted, calmed down.
"Just stay with me," she whispered.
"It's a party for my grandfather…I have to show my face." I wiped under her eyes.
She wiggled out of my embrace. "Fine."
"Baby, come here." I reached for her hand.
"No…let's just get this over with." She left the bathroom.
"You're just going to walk away?" I called out to her. "You're not letting me finish."
She whipped around. "What's the point? You'll be home early? We'll hang out at three a.m., or you'll nudge me awake with your dick?" Her voice was loud. "Oh, no. To do that, you'd actually have to wanna fuck your wife! Some white powder is more important."
"Get over here." I pointed to the ground.
Maggie gave me the finger.
I clamped my eyes closed, hoping to keep my feet where they were, but that didn't happen. In three long strides, I caught up to her, and then pulled her back into the bathroom. "Again…what is this?" I held her jaw, making her look at me. "Why are you hell-bent on embarrassing me? Embarrassing yourself?"
"'Cause I can't help you by myself…and I can't tell anyone," she cried. "And you won't—"
Angry, I pushed her back into the wall. "Shut your fucking mouth about that shit already."
"Let go…I'll scream."
I chuckled. "You're my wife. Mine. Or do you not understand what that entails just yet?"
She hit my shoulders while I tried to catch her hands, but then she slapped my cheek—really fucking hard. Believe it or not, I no longer saw red. She smacked some sense into me.
"Why did you do this to me?" she wailed.
"Calm the fuck down—"
"Why? Answer me, dammit! Why?" She pulled her rings off. "Everything was wonderful until you gave me these." She threw them. "I never see you, which is perfect. It makes hating you that much easier!"
"Hate me?" I asked.
She turned for the door.
I kept it closed, leaning my back against it. "You want out?" Wounded, gutted, heated to high heaven, I needed to keep myself together. "You want your wings? Want me to show you the door—what?"
She shook her head, crying and staring up to the ceiling.
"Maggie…open your mouth. Fucking say it." I gave her a little push to grab her attention.
She blew out a breath, keeping her head low but looking right at me. The gleam in her eyes was one I'd never seen before. Studying her face, I saw something—something different. Whatever innocence she had, it was gone. Her eyes showed me just how much she'd grown up the past four months.
"You'd never let me go." Her voice was raspy and emotional, yet tears no longer fell.
I nodded because she was correct.
No matter how much I loved her, no matter how much I yearned to make her happy, I'd never—not in a million years—grant her a divorce or let her leave me. That wasn't an option, not with how much I loved her, not with how much I needed her.
But then I thought about that . . . that I'd keep her, be semi-content having her with me even if she was miserable.
"What's going on, Maggie? What's happening to us?" I stepped around her to grab her rings from the floor. "I thought we had a good thing—" I studied the diamond "—a couple of rough weeks go by, and you're ready to throw it all away. I'm trying not to lose my temper. I'm trying to be understanding, but these tantrums…I want a child—I want to have one with you. I didn't marry you so I could be a father to you."
"You're turning this around on me again—making everything my fault." She cried into her hands.
"Hey…"
"You all do that. Maybe I'm immature…but I'm eighteen, Santino. Honestly…what did you expect? I fell in love with you...You said we'd be happy, that we'd stay the same. I trusted you...I believed you, and I feel so stupid."
"You're not stupid," I whispered.
"And getting angry, throwing tantrums is the only way to get your attention." She was correct again. I don't listen unless she makes a stink. "And imagine living in fear because—"
"Fear? You fear me?"
"When you're on that stuff, I can't say anything. You might kill me."
"You're exaggerating," I said.
"I don't think I am." Her lip quivered.
"Well, that doesn't matter anymore. Maggie, I'm done with that. You hate it; I'm not doing it anymore. You may not believe me. You may not understand the whole…thing, and that's what scares you. You fear the worst, exaggerating, thinking I need help . . . But I'd use when I had to, to stay awake, to function sometimes. It's not a habit, nor am I some junkie. It's recreational at best . . . You have my word, and if that's not good enough now . . . Give me time. I'll prove it to you. You'll see." I blew out a breath.
"I'm not even gonna be supplying fuckers anymore—selling it. I spoke to my father . . . He hated that I was doing that in the first place, but…it'd make us a lot of money. I'm done, though. The whole operation is over, and that's—that whole mess is one less thing I gotta worry about." It actually felt like a relief—telling her all that, letting go of it all.
"You promise? You swear? 'Cause…I mean, you could die. Your heart could—"
"Baby…" I swallowed down my own tears. "My heart is fine…as long we're together, my heart'll be fine. I am so sorry."
"I know you are." Her face crumbled.
"You can do the honors—flush it down the toilet."
She nodded. "Good."
"Just give me some more time to sort a few other things out. Soon, I'll be all yours again. You can still trust me. I'm yours." I went to pull her in for a hug, but she didn't budge.
"You do think I'm stupid."
"No way." I spat.
"Last night—well, it was early this morning—I tried talking to you…You always said if I heard something fishy to bring it up. You told me I was dumb and to go back to sleep."
I honestly had no recollection of what she was speaking of. "What? I was exhausted—was probably half-asleep." Or high, I thought. "Talk to me now." I yanked her hand, feeling as though I might crumble, cry—beg her to stay with me and be happy with me.
"This woman called my phone looking for you—said you weren't answering, that you were supposed to meet her at two and you never showed." She shrugged. "You said there was no woman, and that I was stupid, that I should go back to sleep."
"What woman?" I asked.
"You tell me…but I'm stupid." She started crying again.
"You're not stupid…I probably meant the concept was dumb or something. There's no other woman . . ." I pushed my hair back. "Go get me your phone."
"The number was blocked—doesn't matter."
"Do you trust me?" I asked. "'Cause there's no one else."
She nodded. "I do . . ."
"Good." I grabbed her hand. "Can I put these back on?" I was referring to her rings.
She sniffled, nodding.
I sighed, gazing into those watery eyes. "I'll stay home tonight, or I'll go for an hour, and then come home."
She smiled. "You mean it? This house is big and I get so lonely, and…"
"I promise," I said. "And…I'll call AT&T, my friend there. I wanna know who called you."
"Okay."
I touched her chin, lifting her head. "I love you…and you drive me crazy," I laughed, which made her giggle-snort.
"I love you, too, and you can always nudge me awake . . . it's when you don't—'cause you haven't." She was talking about the sex thing.
I hummed, pulling her against me.
"I'm sorry for being a brat; I guess you spoiled me."
I grinned. "I can't wait…I can't fucking wait to spoil you rotten again—with love, affection . . . the cock."
"I'm yours, too." She wrapped her arms around my neck, and that was an invitation to claim what's already mine. "Do I always have to initiate?" She kissed me gently, softly nibbling my bottom lip. "You still want me, right? Or, do you think like them—sex is pointless since I can't get pregnant?"
"Now, that…that's the dumbest shit you've ever said." I was standing at a precipice, afraid I'd fall and be lost forever. When she starts talking like she is now, sending me those vibes . . . and my head was cloudy again, my body alive with excitement. Fuck. Maybe if Maggie rolled with me, I wouldn't need the coke. She gets me higher than a motherfucker.
"I crave you—I always want you, and you're never home," she whispered. "Things have changed since we moved in here, and I'd rather be back in the apartment…where things between us were amazing."
I cleared my throat. "It's not the house. It's paid for. I'm not working to…to pay for it. Besides, it was a gift…You were patient with me after that shit went down with Katie, and I have no right to ask…but I need more—I need more time to set some things right."
"I'm not going anywhere."
I nodded, but I didn't want to seem arrogant and confirm—since I already knew that. "You can do things, too." My hands roamed down the outside of her thighs. "You were going to get back into volunteering, feeding the bums or whatever, host a Girl Scout Troop."
"You told me not to—you said it was best I stay low-key because of the F.B.I., you want me out of sight." She stepped closer. "The only places I go are school, your parents', and the supermarket with your mom. Or Kylie and Ed come over." She grimaced. "They drive me crazy when they're together. They come over and they don't leave, and I feel horrible because I'd rather be lonely, but don't tell Kylie I said that. If it was just Kylie…"
"I won't tell her, but I'll tell my grandfather to get a hobby," I laughed. "But things are looking up. You don't have to hide anymore." Since the Feds haven't haunted anyone but my father—and that was the last interference—I figured we were in the clear.
"You did such a good job with this place, though." I was proud of her. Even if she felt like a prisoner here for the last few weeks, she turned this house into a home—my dream home—although I haven't been around to see it through or enjoy it.
"Thank you . . . I was thinking about taking cooking lessons."
I sucked my teeth. "Fuck that. Do something you think is fun."
She grinned. "Cooking and making a mess is fun. So far, it's all trial and error, and your grandfather and Kylie are my taste testers."
I furrowed my brow, disappointment setting in, 'cause that did sound fun, wishing I was around more often. "We need to talk more. It doesn't matter what time…I wanna know what you're into, what's going on, and how you're feeling. You only seem to tell me what you think I should know…I'm jealous. They get to cook and eat with you…"
I hung my head in shame. I hated the way things were. I was jealous of those Maggie shared her time with, and . . . I felt guilty. Maggie deserved someone better than me—someone smarter, someone more considerate, just someone better.
"Don't look down." Maggie lifted my chin, and I loved her even more for doing that.
"I love you." I squeezed her, wishing I could crawl inside her—be that close—consume her, wishing she fit in my pocket. "The world can be shit but you and me—we need to be okay."
"The baby thing—"
I shook my head, stopping her. "You realize—that when it's you and me talking—you always bring that up. I'm not pressuring you whatsoever."
"I'm scared and on the fence." She had tears in her eyes again. "I want one." My heart stopped for a second. "I think about the rooms upstairs…getting fat, which actually doesn't upset me—"
"That'd just—there'd be more of you to love." I blurted, licking my lips, sun filling my gray skies.
"Right…I think about deferring for a year…You said we could get a nanny, but I doubt your mother would let us," she giggled. "I mean, am I crazy for thinking of those things? That's why I get angry, 'cause I'm scared. I want it, and the more people push it—the idea—I don't know. Then . . ." She stared into my eyes. "You say you're done with that stuff—"
"I am…please trust me."
"I hate that I doubt myself, and I'm so unsure," she whispered.
"You're confused, and the more people push, the more confused you get. I understand." I nodded. "That's okay. But like I said before, I'd be behind you every step of the way. Besides, what we do—what you decide—is no one's business. We're set. I worked my ass off, and…baby, we're golden financially. It's not like I'm making you go to college and then eventually support us. But regardless of what you do, you have to be sure—want what you want—or else you'll regret it."
"We'd do it together…?"
I nodded. "Together . . . but even if I'm older, we're both still young." A selfish part of me wanted my wife to myself for a little while longer before I'd have to share. "I'm content just knowing that someday we'll have a kid . . . We've made our own rules so far."
"Yeah, I don't think we should talk about it anymore, not for a little while." She shook her head. "We worry about things we don't have to. The baby issue really isn't an issue since we both agree. If everyone could just keep their noses out of our business—"
"Pipe dream," I sighed. "You're one of us now."
"I like being one of youse."
I beamed, swaying us. "You make me so happy. Don't change—bitch me out, throw tantrums, yell at me—that's you, and I don't want you changing." She challenges me in ways . . . that are rewarding and refreshing.
"We've both done some changing." She blew out a breath. "We've been in here forever."
I blinked, stopped moving, remembering our families were here.
"I should go serve dessert." She turned in my arms.
I didn't want her leaving yet. "I still have to go out."
She nodded. "I know…but you'll be home early."
"I will." I kissed her neck.
She squealed, pulling away. "You make me tingle."
"Yeah? Can I make you come?" My hand spanned her stomach, trailing down. She had needs—ones I've been neglecting for too long.
"Not now…" Her body told me differently, melting back against me.
"Real quick," I whispered.
"Quick." She reached to rub me over my slacks.
I turned her around to claim her mouth, my hands fumbling to push her panties down.
Maggie moaned into my mouth, undoing my pants.
I stopped her. "No…" I dropped down to my knees.
My wife panted, reaching up to hold the towel rack. "Oh God, yes!"
"Shhhh." I pulled her thong down, enjoying the softness of her thighs.
"Just—" She yanked my hair, practically pushing my head into her pussy, and I went with it—fucking thrilled, diving in under her dress and bring her leg over my shoulder. "Yes." With no finesse, she rubbed herself into my face.
I groaned, about to suffocate, lapping the tangy sweetness of her arousal, nibbling her clit. When I felt her thighs start to shake, I kept at it—munching that clit—which made her stiffen, her thighs clamping my head, and that was the fastest—ever—orgasm I'd seen my wife have. It was almost instantaneous.
My hands stayed on her waist to keep her steady, my head coming up from under her dress—welcoming the cool air.
"Thank you." She dropped to her knees, mewling and sticking her tongue down my throat. "I love that more than anything else you do. So, if you could do that a few times a week—"
I laughed my ass off, resting my forehead to hers. "You could have said that a long time ago."
"A long time ago, that never needed to be said."
"Touché." I wiped my mouth and chin.
My wife was still shaky as she reached for a washcloth.
"Don't—I'm good." I loved having her scent on me.
She paused, staring down to me. "I don't wanna go back out there."
"Tough." I grabbed her panties, holding them out for her to step into them.
She placed her hands on mine, staring into my eyes. "You could give me the world…I know you could, but all I want is you."
I felt like the biggest pussy in the world—that after rocking that shit, after eating her out, and giving her that orgasm—she says some shit like that. "What?" I bit my quivering lip, refusing to cry, surprised she elicited such emotions at the present time.
"I don't care where we live, or what you do for money—I don't care about anything when I think—know I should." She nodded. "As long as I'd have you, I'd have everything I need." She wiped under my eyes. "Don't cry." She started up again. "I'm sorry for being a brat, but when all I want is you…I don't wanna share you with other people or . . . you know."
I chuckled through my tears, pulling her into my arms.
/=/=/=/=/
Leaving the bathroom was a mind-fuck and a half. My mother and Alex had made coffee, served dessert, and the scene in the dining room was peaceful. I just wished I was still in the bathroom—high off my wife. Sitting with my family and knowing I'd be leaving soon killed that buzz.
Yet, as our family continued to speak—not about anything heavy—my mind wandered, wondering who called my wife's phone. One person came to mind. It was a feeling, a gut instinct that told me it was Layla. But wouldn't Maggie know her voice? Katie wouldn't call, and Maggie would recognize her voice, too.
"It's almost eight." Grandpa pointed to his watch.
I sighed, giving Maggie's hand a squeeze and looking to her father. "We're having a Welcome Home party—"
"I don't think it's his thing," Dad said, giving me a wary look. "Not your scene. No offense."
"None taken," Robert said.
"We'll be here…playing cards, watching movies." Alex smiled at Kathy, stirring her coffee. "You're more than welcome to stay—"
"Oh, well, thank you. But we really should be going." Kathy stood from her chair, and everyone bid their farewells.
"Right." Maggie rose, too. "I'll walk you guys out."
I went with them, helping Mrs. Sullivan into her coat. "Thank you for coming."
"Dinner was lovely." Kathy's gaze fell on Maggie, and I'd never met a colder woman in my entire life. "Will I see you in church tomorrow morning?"
Maggie nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
"You'll be accompanying her." Robert looked to me, and it wasn't a question. "Maybe a nightclub isn't my thing, but we could have pints during the week."
I shook his hand. "I look forward to it," I lied, 'cause chillin' with Mr. Sullivan is as enjoyable as a root canal.
Neither kissed or embraced Maggie before they trailed down the walkway. We watched them leave—me, with immense relief. To my surprise, my wife didn't look upset, though.
"If my dad did what you did in the bathroom every once in a while—to my mother—I think they'd be happier."
I smiled, kissing her hair. "Possibly."
"I wonder if she's ever had an orgasm."
"Ask her," I said, closing the door.
"Are you crazy?" She snorted, going back into the dining room. "If it wasn't for me—proof that she's gotten laid—I bet she'd say she was a virgin."
"Who's a virgin?" Kylie caught that.
Maggie didn't elaborate, taking her previous chair.
"We should head out," Grandpa said.
My father and Carlisle agreed, eyes falling on me, as the women started to clean up and speak amongst themselves.
"But why can't I go?" Kylie asked.
"Because I said so," Dad answered.
"Come on. We'll have a good time." Mom hugged her.
Kylie rolled her eyes. "I'm sure we'll have a wild time."
Little did she know, I bet they would. My mother, Alex, wine, Kylie, Maggie, more wine—I bet they have a better time than we will. They'll goof around and play cards. Maggie's told me about what they do, and all conversations come full circle—back to sex. They dish and gossip, although my wife won't share what's been said the morning after.
"Have fun," I told Maggie.
"You, too—not too much, though." She got on her toes to peck my lips.
"I'll be home—"
"Have fun," she whispered. "Don't work, just relax with your dad and stuff." She shrugged. "I don't want you to feel you have a leash." That didn't really sound like her, but it sounded like something my mother or Alex would say.
I nodded. "Text me."
"As long as you're home before she wakes up in the morning, you're good." Grandpa patted my back, but Maggie heard all that. "I'll keep an eye on him." He winked, pulling me away. "Can we leave already?"
"Shut up," Dad spat, kissing up on Mom. "What the fuck?"
"Go." Mom pushed Dad out the door.
From there, we all filed out to the limo that'd been waiting. I waved at Maggie as I left, not wanting to leave but succumbing to the inevitable.
"Everything's good?" Dad asked once we were seated in the car.
"I need to slow down—" I blurted "—just a little. All this stuff on my plate…I know I made my bed—"
"I'm selling Twilight—putting it on the market." My father unbuttoned his coat. "It's more a hassle than it should be, and it's hot—marked. Feds were running in and out of there. Who the fuck knows?"
"It's a smart move." Carlisle nodded.
"Besides Twilight—" I started again, really and truly just asking for some help. "I need—"
"Can we not talk shop this evening?" My grandfather interrupted. "Have any of you spoken to Damion? Is he coming tonight?"
"No," Dad sighed. "He sent me a text—he's studying."
"Bullshit!" Grandpa turned, knocking on the glass partition. "Take us to NYU."
"Dad, leave the kid alone. Chillin' at Eclipse isn't his thing, and I don't want him getting mixed—"
"What are you talking about?" Senior shouted at Junior. "Music, drinks, beautiful women—he's not a fanook, is he?"
I chuckled where I sat. "He's not."
"And where's that fruit, Anthony?" Grandpa dug his cell phone out. "If youse won't invite them, I will. I'm not prejudice—"
"Fruit?" Carlisle asked.
"I'm old, not fucking blind, but Ant can chill too." Grandpa nodded. "Didn't he suck off Andino's kid at Eclipse? Fucking tits and pussy galore, and Ant sucks a dick—"
"Enough!" Dad hollered. "There's shit we just don't talk about. All right?"
I palmed my face.
"Regardless . . . I want all my boys there tonight. You, call Anthony." He pointed to my uncle. "You…well, we can all run up and grab Dame. You, too." Now he kicked at Carlisle. "I don't give a fuck—put all petty bullshit aside." I guess someone briefed my grandfather on all the fuckery.
Carlisle nodded, turning to my father. "He's right. Maybe if I . . . show an effort, maybe Dame and Ant can get back to normal."
Dad patted his back. "Sounds good. I just . . . Dame's doing well, taking care of himself, studying, just being him. I'd hate to drag him away."
I nudged my grandfather. "There's a lot of shit we don't discuss openly." I'd hate for him to air personal family issues while we're at the club or something. He still has his wits, but he's so far removed from everything now.
"Like…your gay cousin, your lunatic brother, and the fact that you married a baby?" he asked.
"Oh!" Dad shouted. "Cool it."
Grandpa put his palms up, sitting back. "There's some shit I could say to you, too."
"And those who live in glass whorehouses shouldn't throw stones," Dad said, and his meaning was lost on me. "You, with the hookers and…" He grimaced, and I understood.
"I'm rollin' with you tonight. I'm not paying for shit," Grandpa sighed. "Women flock when the Skip's around, but you can't be bothered. I'll reap the benefits. They can come to me!" He clapped.
Carlisle started laughing. "Vicki was younger than Maggie when you brought her home—to raise us."
"Word." Dad nodded. "Then you shipped me off to Nanny's…"
"We going to drag up the past?" Grandpa asked. "I made mistakes, but you all turned out just fine. Before you judge my parenting—"
"What parenting?" Carlisle chuckled but composed himself. "You better not get on Ant's ass tonight—"
"You need to watch others getting on his ass," Grandpa laughed.
Carlisle gritted his teeth. "I mean it. We'll have problems. For whatever reason, he respects and loves you—"
"I love him, too." Grandpa spat. "I love youse all. I bust balls, speak of the things we usually don't to ease the tension. If it's all out in the open, there's no awkwardness."
"Look, we're having the party. There'll be women, drinks flowing, all your old friends, and some new ones. Just relax. Have fun—"
"Be seen and not heard?" Grandpa stared at Dad.
"Basically," I said.
Grandpa reached into his pocket, taking out a prescription bottle. "I went for a ride with the kid Gino the other day . . ." He poured the pills into his palm. "Now, which ones are the ecstasy and which are the Viagra?"
We all turned to my grandfather, staring blankly as the car pulled up to the curb. We were at Alumni Hall, Dame's dorm.
Carlisle sucked his teeth. "Give me that." There was a struggle as my uncle forcibly stole the all the pills from Grandpa.
Dad and I left them to it, getting out of the limo, and walking up to Dame's room.
Thank you for reading.
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Damion is up next!