“You’re welcome. I’m sure we’ll be formally introduced later on. It seems your boss is hell bent on being a stubborn ass.” Marco covers his chuckle with his hand but leaves us.
“I don’t want to know, do I?” Massimo is looking down at me, reluctantly taking the cane, but I can also see the relief in his body now that he’s using it.
“I deserved it. We’ll talk more once we’re inside. Dante is at school, so that will give us some time before he’s home.” I walk beside him, taking my time, knowing him if I move too fast, he’ll try to keep up with me, and then he really will be on the ground.
“You might have deserved something; maybe not what you received, though.” I shake my head.
“I’m okay, and once we clear the air, maybe we both will be?” It’s more of a question than a statement.
“I hope so,” I admit. We make it to the doors. Massimo is out of breath; my own is practically non-existent. That’s because the doors are triple the size of my body, huge and stately. The foyer is even more grand than I’ve ever seen in real life. I mean, sure, I’ve seen gleaming marble floors, tall ceilings, and magnificent chandeliers in television shows, but not before my eyes.
“It’s just a house, Henley.” He squeezes my hip with the hand he isn’t using for the cane.
“Maybe to you, but, Massimo, this is a castle. I kind of think we need to talk, as in now.” I’m so far in over my head it’s not even funny.
“We’re getting there, impatient one.” He kisses the side of my head. His hand goes to mine, and we walk through the house. I take in the beauty of it all. It’s then I realize while yes, this house is huge, it also has a lived-in feel—a few toys are left here and there, a blanket is draped over the couch, throw pillows aren’t where you’d expect them to be, not tufted, looking pristine.
“We may as well get this started. Hopefully, I don’t butcher it up like last time.” Massimo uses his cane.
“What happened, Massimo? And don’t give me the watered-down version.” I don’t sit until he does, choosing to sit on the fabric-covered ottoman so I can see his eyes.
“You know about Sailor. I never wanted to kidnap you or her. Lorenzo, who I’m assuming Sailor called Scarface, didn’t realize it was her walking out of the club instead of you, even though you don’t work at a club. He was a colossal fuck-up. After everything was brought up, the club finding out who was behind it, even if I didn’t sanction it, it’s still my men, my family behind it, so inadvertently, it was me. It was a shit situation for everyone.” He takes a deep breath. This is the part I already know.
“Yeah, I don’t know if that gives me the warm and fuzzy feeling you might be expecting I’d have.” I note to myself that if I ever come back to his house, I’ll most definitely need way more clothes than what I’ve got on.
“Think of my business like the club. The less you know, the better. Anyways, I met with Shovel, Razor, and your father. I apologized, helped them with a situation they needed resolved, came back with a what I more than deserved, and here we are.”
“Take your shirt and pants off,” I demand.
“Henley, relax. I’m fine, plus we only have about an hour until Dante is back, and if I’m getting naked, so are you.” The flash of desire in his eyes tells me he’s not joking.
“I can’t have kids, ever,” I blurt out, then cover my face with my hands, like a child who’s in trouble.
“Okay, care to elaborate?” Massimo moves closer. His hands touches mine, and I open up, telling him everything, how the last six months have been going, the hysterectomy, the chemo treatments, how I’m barely in remission but have to go every three months for the next year, then six months, and so on and so forth.
“And you think because you can’t have children or that you’ve had cancer, that I would want you less than I did before?” Massimo asks, somehow managing to place me on his lap, carefully, so as not to hurt himself or me in the process.
“It’s a lot. I come with a whole smorgasbord of baggage. Not the tiny overnight bag, but the whole freaking enchilada.”
“And I come with my nephew, a family that’s got its hands in a few different things, and if things go how I think they will, we can always adopt later on down the road, too, Henley. You’re not a stigma, but what I want you to be is mine.” My insides melt, literally turn to mush. His lips graze mine, and without any more hesitation, I open for him, tasting everything that is Massimo, knowing somehow, between the two of us, we can make this work.