Page 67 of Wes

When I’m done, I lean to plant a chaste kiss on her lips. “Later.”

She plops back on the bed with a grin to rival the Pacific on her face and I stroll out of her bedroom and down the stairs.

* * *

As we savor the fettuccine with chicken Alfredo sauce that the cook prepared for us, we sip a full-bodied red Bordeaux. Its ripe fruity aftertaste pairs perfectly with the creamy flavors of the pasta.

Despite the fact that the dining room table seats ten people without cramming anyone, I asked Leni to set up two places at the head. She outdid herself bringing out the finest tableware in the house. She arranged two sets of porcelain plates, silver knives, forks, and spoons, as well as crystal glasses for water and wine. She’s put together a sprawling floral arrangement and put in the perfect spot in the center of the table. It shields us from the empty seats and is far enough from us that it doesn’t get in the way.

I press an index finger to the rim of my glass and spin it as I observe Maria delight herself with the meal. A familiar warmth tingles my chest from within as my heart swells.

“God, I love you,” I murmur.

She smiles back and nods, munching on a mouthful of pasta. Her contagious glee makes me grin.

My mind searches for other things that would make her happy. I remember that back when we were still on the road, she often mentioned how much she missed her mother. A few years ago, a psychiatrist diagnosed Rita Augusto as suffering from borderline personality disorder. Something she had struggled with for years without having a label to put on. All the ups and downs that had marked her mother’s life began to make sense after that diagnosis. It improved their relationship, even though Rita’s road to healing hasn’t been without hitches.

I wait until she swallows the food to ask, “Have you managed to get through to your mom?”

“Not yet. Since I convinced her to check herself into that clinic in the beginning of the year, we haven’t spoken. The doctors don’t allow visits, but I receive weekly updates. And they promise to call in case of an emergency.”

“That’s good, then. It means she’s doing well if they haven’t called, right?”

“Always the optimistic. I love that about you.” She pats the back of my hand resting beside my plate.

I bring her hand to my lips. “I love everything about you.”

With a wink, and a cocky tilt of her head, she replies, “I didn’t know this was a competition. In this case, I win.” She throws her arms up in the air. “It doesn’t matter what the score is, I’m on top. And wherever the race happens, I cross that finish line first.”

Seeing her this happy makes my soul soar, but my kinky self never rests.

I burst out laughing and lean to kiss her temple. “I’ll always make sure you finish first, on top, beneath me, or by my side.”

She rolls her eyes at me, but the telltale blush beaming on her cheeks and neck puts a smile on my face.

In an obvious attempt to stir the conversation back to safer topics, she says, “Despite the problems I had with my mom growing up and as a teenager, she stood by my side after Ken was murder. She literally held my hand and walked with me through my rehabilitation. I’m sometimes get frustrated I haven’t been able to do the same for her, you know?”

“I do,” I whisper and stuff my mouth with food to gain time to think.

The fact that she’s just mentioned Ken’s murder and her brutal attack without wincing, or even a fleeting heave, means the world to me.

“What?” She asks, scoffing, when I stare too long.

“I’m in awe of you and your resilience.”

With her blushing cheeks turning raging red, she hangs her head. “Thank you, but I’m not all that.”

I cup her chin and lift her eyes to mine. “You are the most remarkable woman I know.” When she tries to escape, I pin her with a serious stare. “Don’t sell yourself short, Maria. I don’t know anyone who’s been through an ordeal like yours and has come out a better person on the other side. Hell, look at what you do at Welcoming Hills for the kids! I couldn’t be prouder of you for that alone.”

“I just do my job to the best of my ability.”

I scoot my chair to the side of the table where she’s at and pull her to sit astride my lap.

“After you lost your baby and found out you couldn’t have others, you didn’t wallow in self-pity. You went ahead and started a nonprofit to help kids in need of a home, tons of them. But you don’t just pay for the bills and dust your hands off. You give yourself, all your motherly love, to these children without asking anything in return. If that’s not the definition of remarkable, then they need to change the dictionaries.” When she pulls my head down for a kiss, I resist. “Wait. There’s more. You’re brave, smart, driven and I love you to the moon and back.”

We lock our lips in a long, deep, and fiery kiss that leaves us breathless.

Pulling back, I grin. “Oh, and have I mentioned that I love you?”

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