During the media coverage of the high-profile case, the person who kept coming up in the news as an example for good morals was my husband, who married into The Outfit yet made sure not to have anything to do with my father or his business.
I felt my husband’s thumb swiping across my upper cheek as he wiped away a tear of joy from my eye. He chucked me under the chin, then grinned. He’d made his way over to me without my even noticing. I was too wrapped up in how fortunate we were. Joshua fussed in my arms, and the priest took a step back and smoothed back his thin and velvety dark hair.
“He was made with God’s love,” Father Spina commented.
My husband scoffed beside me. He wasn’t big on God. Or people. He was big on me and our family. The priest stepped away, and my husband plastered his lips to my ear. “While you did call me god, he was not present during the conception.”
I chuckled, holding Josh to my chest and breathing in his pure scent of new life, shuddering with intense joy coursing through my veins.
“Are you ready to take the little ones home? I think they need their sleep.” My husband put a hand on my shoulder, our daughter fast asleep in the crook of his other arm. We decided to refrain from a big party after the baptism, seeing as our family was constantly in the news because of the trial.
“They’re not the only ones. I could use some sleep, too,” I murmured into my son’s temple.
“Sterling and Clara can take care of Emmie and Josh while I ruin what’s left of your innocence.”
“I think you did a thorough job the first week we met.” I wiggled my brows, and he burst out laughing, something he’d learned how to do slowly after we got back together. “Besides, don’t you need to fly out to DC this evening?”
“Cancelled it.”
“How come?”
“I’m in the mood for spending time with my family.”
“Your country needs you,” I teased.
“And I need you.” He drew me into a hug, kids and all.
Ms. Sterling still lived with us even though she was given strict instructions to stop eavesdropping—a rule she was surprisingly good at following. Clara lived across the city in my mother’s new house, but the two often helped with babysitting the kids together. Despite the fact my father was out of my life, I’d never felt more loved and protected by the people I cared about. And Wolfe was entering an important stage in his career. His time as senator would come to an end in less than two years.
“There’s somewhere I want to take you tonight. Your pump is already packed and in the car.” He chucked my chin. This was my life now. From cheating and fighting and tearing each other apart, we moved to a ritual that was so domestically blissful, I was sometimes terrified of how happy I was.
I am pink cotton candy at a fair, happy and bubbly and sweet. All fluff.
“Nothing says romance more than your husband packing your breast pump for you.”
“There’s always the alternative if you just keep your mind open.” He was referring to our last visit to a restaurant, when I was so engorged, I had to lock myself in the bathroom to pump myself manually into the toilet. He very kindly offered to drink the wasted milk. I wasn’t even sure he was entirely kidding.
“Our plan sounds cryptic.” I arched an eyebrow.
“Perhaps, but it’s fun.” He took Joshua from me, securing him in his baby seat before opening the car door for me. I got my driver’s license shortly after I’d moved back in with Wolfe. He was not the happiest to have me behind the wheel, or in a vehicle at all for that matter, while pregnant and at odds with my father. Too worried about the baby and me. But he also knew I needed my freedom.
After taking a lengthy nap, I slipped into an elegant red dress. Wolfe drove us to Little Italy with Clara and Sterling staying with the kids. I wore matching matte red lipstick and a smile that didn’t waver. Despite supporting my husband’s ambitions, I couldn’t deny my delight to hear he’d canceled his flight to DC to spend more time with us.
We stopped in front of our Italian restaurant, Pasta Bella, and I unbuckled, about to get out. My husband had purchased Mama’s Pizza not too long after my father had been convicted of attempted murder. He gutted and refurbished it, liquidating the dark memories the walls and cracks inside it harbored. It was just another dinner date, then. Nice and cozy. A chance to unwind and maybe drink a glass of wine. Wolfe put a hand on my thigh.