Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 48709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 244(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
“There was a girl called Kira, and she really could cry,” I sing in her ear, giggling. “And Mommy just said, Kira, why? Why?”
She stops crying as I rock her from side to side, then I keep going, singing whatever comes to my mind. It’s a game she seems to enjoy. Or, at least, sometimes it will stop her crying.
But her crying doesn’t bother me.
That’s just another of the amazing things about motherhood, about this life, a house in the suburbs, culinary school, and plans to open my own restaurant one day. It’s all about raising a daughter with a loving father and husband.
Everything has some good to it. Everything glows.
As I carry Kira to the window, rocking her softly, I think about her crying. It means she feels comfortable letting her voice be heard. It means she knows her mommy will come for her.
This Saturday afternoon is bright, the sun shining down on our cul-de-sac. A big round road with three houses surrounding it. Ours is the biggest, but it’s not a point of pride. It’s not about being better than anybody.
It’s the home, the rooms we can fill with our children. It’s the space we can flood with our happiness.
“I can’t wait for you to live your life, Kira, and experience all this happiness. But at the same time, sweet baby, I wish you could stay like this forever.”
She cries for a moment, then stops, pawing at my face.
I grin and cuddle her close.
“That’s better, huh?”
“Do I smell dinner?”
I turn to find Damien standing there, sweaty from our home gym. His T-shirt sticks to his hulking form as if he’s getting more muscular with each day. He seems happy as usual these days, his wolfish eyes always bright.
But there’s always intensity, bubbling under the surface like the beast could emerge again if life forced him to.
“I was in the middle of it when this one started to cry.”
He grins and walks over, taking her gently. He always handles her with so much kindness. She looks heart-shatteringly cute in his big hands, cradled to his chest.
“Did Mommy try to take your picture?”
I giggle. “Busted.”
“When will you learn?”
“I swear, our daughter is psychic.”
Damien chuckles, kissing her on the forehead. “Is that it, sweetness? Are you magic?”
I laugh as I return to the counter, picking up the knife, the smell of the sauce filling the air.
Damien stands on the other side, gently rocking our daughter. A tear threatens to touch my eye, to slide down my cheek, clinging there as I stare at them.
It happens like this sometimes, this sudden realization of how beautiful our lives are. Sunlight slants in, framing them, making them as bright as my heart. I’m floating with joy with each and every second.
“Are we going to tell her how we met?” I ask.
“Of course,” Damien says fiercely. “We’ll write a story about it. The Bratva badass and the cute Cartel chick.”
I laugh, then glance down at the half-faded tattoo. In a few more sessions, it will be gone completely. I couldn’t do it when I was pregnant, but now it’s going as if I was never marked, never inked for life.
“I don’t think I want another tattoo ever again,” I say.
Damien smiles over Kira’s head. “That’s fine, Liliana. You don’t have to. You never have to do anything you don’t want to. I’ll never let that happen.”
Our eyes lock, my husband is even more handsome than on our wedding day.
Love flows through me.
Sweet and pure, perfect love.
TEN YEARS LATER
Damien
“Uncle Nick, I got ya!”
I stand in the doorway, chuckling as Gregory leaps up at Nick. Gregory is filled with the bluster and energy of a five-year-old boy.
He knows Uncle Nick is really his grandfather's brother, and he does call him grandpa sometimes, he’s earned that title, but he likes calling him Uncle Nick, probably because Liliana does.
Nick chuckles and scoops Gregory up, wincing slightly as he stands to his full height. He’s grown frailer as the years have worn on, but there’s still a strength to him.
Gregory laughs and wraps his arms around his grandfather. Liliana sits on the other side of the room, next to Kira, both of them going over the new menus for the restaurant.
It’s so nice to see them sitting side by side, Kira with the same eyes but dark hair – the color mine was once – long down to her shoulders. She mimics her mother in so many ways, even tucking her hair behind her ear at the same time.
Their bond makes my heart ache.
Liliana sits with her legs tucked beneath her, her summer dress flowing down, outlining her thighs. I stare at her, my body stirring even now when I know it shouldn’t.
It’s never faded, this pulse-shattering desire.
Leo tugs on my sleeve, drawing my attention.
Our eight-year-old is tall for his age, wide, with a mop of brown hair and mature eyes. “I changed the brat.”