Page 87 of City of Wind and Lies

Bowie’s absolutely beaming with pride right now. That same stupidly handsome smirk that got us into this situation splits his face as his father slaps his back in congratulations. He may not be my biggest fan, but he at least seems pleased by this news.

I can’t say I hate all this attention. As much as I prefer to blend into the background, the outpouring of love and support from these people- who don’t even know me- has tears pricking at the backs of my eyes.

Over the years, I’ve spent a lot of time focusing on all the things I didn’t have and how my life never seemed to measure up to other kids’. It’s stupid, I know that, but I’m fucking human, and that empty gap in my heart- the piece missing from my soul- never stopped aching. I just got better at forcing down the pain.

I’m not going to sit here and say how this was just meant to be, or part of a bigger plan because it wasn’t. It was an accident; a beautiful, wonderful accident. And I refuse to believe that you have to go through something bad in order to reap the rewards.

Excusing myself, I head toward the kitchen, needing a minute to breathe and a glass of water. I take a sip, staring out at the twinkle lights strung around the pergola. Thick, corded forearms circle my waist, Bowie’s heady scent overwhelming my senses as the warmth of his body seeps into mine.

“I think you’re Ma’s favorite now,” Bowie says as he gently sways us side to side.

Maybe I’m being a sappy bitch or the pregnancy hormones are just messing with my mind, but his words have a tear slipping out the corner of my eye. It hardly makes it to the crest of my cheek before Bowie’s lips intercept it, branding me with a kiss that sears me to my core.

I fell hard and fast for this man, and though I still won’t buy into the idea he’s some consolation prize for a shitty childhood, he heals my broken pieces every time he holds me, spreading light into the darkest corners of my self deprecating soul.

It’s an intoxicating sensation to feel deserving of love, and after tonight, I might just be addicted to it.

26

"Good Evening, boss," Rhodes greets me as I enter the 708 club on Friday night.

It's been a few weeks since I've been to one of the poker games, and I'm pleased to see that attendance is up tonight. I've had Rocco or Dallas managing them lately, finding myself preoccupied with the one person who can bring me to my knees. The meeting with Volkov was finalized this morning- we'll head to New York a week from now- which means Belluci has to be handled this week.

Rocco and I head straight to my office where tonight, I'm hosting a special game with key players who will be helping me serve Belluci his retribution in spades.

The bar's been fully stocked, and bottles of top-shelf liquors and plenty of lowball glasses are set out on the glossy counter. One of the solid wood poker tables has been moved in here along with a set of cards and chips, and Rhodes is on strict orders to ensure that no one outside of my guest list makes it into this room tonight.

My old man is the first to arrive, which is perfect because I'm entrusting him with the most important part of the plan- protecting Wren.

"Boys," he calls out, coming straight to the bar where I'm pouring drinks. "I'll take one of those."

Grabbing another glass, I add two fingers of whiskey to it and slide it across the bar. Picking it up, he takes a generous sip before setting it down and turning toward Rocco beside him. "How's Isa?"

"She's glad that she left when she did. Her grandma passed that night. She’s gonna stay out there a while longer, help with the funeral arrangements," Rocco answers.

"If you or her need anything, you let me know," my dad offers, patting him on the back.

"Thanks, Uncle."

Swiveling back to face me, Dad asks, "How 'bout you, Bowie. How's the wife?"

"Don't have one," I scoff, throwing back my glass, the ripple of heat it offers quelling the smile that tugs at my lips. The thought of marrying Wren has already crossed my mind at least a dozen times since she said she loved me, but the old man doesn't need to know he's right all the time.

He runs his hand through his hair, pinning me with an obstinate look. "She should be, she's carrying your child."

I heave a sigh. "I'm aware, but I'm not going to rush her, we've only been together a short time."

"Didn't stop you from acting on the other requirements to keep your title," he remarks, swirling the liquor in his glass.

Rocco chokes on his drink and I slam my glass down hard enough on the counter that it's a goddamn miracle it doesn't shatter.

"Let me make myself very clear," I growl. "The bullshit hoops you wanted me to jump through to keep my title, were nothing more than that- bullshit. I wasn't trying for any of this, but I'm sure fucking glad it happened. I love her and I'm excited about having a wife and kid for once in my life, because it happened with Wren. So either keep those shit comments to yourself or I'll make sure you swallow your tongue. I won't let you ever make Wren feel like she's nothing more than a means to secure my title."

"Easy, Bowie," he chuckles, lifting his hands in surrender. "I was pushing your buttons on purpose."

Unimpressed with his response, I arch a brow, waiting to hear why he's grinding my gears tonight of all nights.

"The way she came about, the timing and everything…" he waves a hand. "I needed to hear that you're with her for the right reasons and not you just knocking up a girl fourteen years younger than you to meet my demands." He swallows back the rest of his drink, continuing. "Believe it or not Bowie, I want you to have the same love your mom and I share."

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