Page 83 of Wild Card

Catriona’s siblings are coming too, obviously, and my grandmother. But we’re having a small ceremony and will just share photographs with fans of the show.

It’d be too difficult to share the story behind Catriona’s estrangement from her parents, anyway. The story about mine is old news—I hadn’t hidden my difficult past when we’d created the show—but even though Catriona said she doesn’t miss her parents I know not having them there will be difficult.

“Me too,” I say, wrapping her curls around my fingers. “Catriona,” I ask, kissing her hair. “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want your mother there? I promise to behave.”

She laughs quietly. “You’d try, but she’d say something cruel, even if she didn’t mean it to be cruel, and piss us both off. It’s not worth it.”

“It’s a bad idea to try to hurt my girl,” I say, pulling her close. “Sorry, my woman.”

She swats my shoulder playfully

“It’s so funny to me that the daughter James Carney stupidly wrote off is financially the most successful. What a short-sighted piece of shit…”

“We’re successful,” she interrupts my rant, resting her cheek on my chest. “But our success together as a couple is what really matters to me. Knowing we’re on the same team, that you care about me…”

“I love you,” I interrupt. “I love you so much it scares me sometimes. I never used to be able to understand how my mother could’ve done what she did, but if I ever lost you? I don’t know how I’d get through that despair.”

“You won’t lose me.”

“I know there aren’t any guarantees in life, but I know I’ll do whatever it takes not to.” I crush her against my chest. She’s my everything, and I can’t wait to pledge the rest of my life to her.

“It doesn’t feel real sometimes,” she murmurs. “I was so lonely. No one would’ve believed it. I didn’t think anyone would ever love me for who I am.”

“You’re perfection embodied, angel, and I can’t believe I get to be with you.”

She peers up at me with those beautiful eyes. I smooth a hand over her hair.

“What are you thinking?” I ask as she snuggles against me. I can always tell when she’s wrestling with some deep thought—she gets uncharacteristically quiet.

“I wonder if my mother regrets her choices. I wonder if she lets herself regret them.”

I’d only met Rose Carney once, at Siobhan’s wedding to Kieran Doyle. She’d been polite but distant. She seems deeply unhappy but hides that behind expensive clothes and plastic surgery.

“I think she regrets them in the quiet minutes before sleep,” I say, stroking Catriona’s back. “When she’s not able to put her walls up and the hidden, sad part of her mind screams at her that she wasted her life with a monster and deeply harmed her children.”

“It’s too bad,” she says, nestling closer.

“It is. But she could’ve made different choices. She should’ve been a better mother to you, my love.”

“Yeah,” Catriona says. “She should have. But I was wild and passionate, and she resented me for it. She probably still does.”

“You still are wild and passionate.” I tip her chin up and kiss her softly. “But you’re kind and generous.” I punctuate each word with a kiss. “Brilliant. Beautiful. And I can’t believe you’re mine.”

“And you’re mine.” She traces a finger over my temple, and then slides her hand into my hair. Her touch still electrifies me like nothing else. “No one’s ever taken care of me like you do. No one’s ever wanted to.”

“I love how strong and resourceful you are,” I say, “but it hasn’t been easy for you and I like to remind you when I can that you don’t need to take the world on alone. I’ll always be here for you.” I slide my hand over the soft skin of her hip. “And I love taking care of you. In whatever way you need.”

There are moments when she seems shy, and vulnerable, and this is one of them. She looks at me through those blonde lashes, and a near terrifying feeling of love surges through me. But I wouldn’t trade what Catriona and I have for the dull safety of being alone. She’s worth any risk, any fear, and I’ll cherish every single second we have together, for however long that is.

“You’re going to be my wife,” I whisper. Does she hear in the awe in my voice? I hope she does.

“I can’t wait.”

She still has that tentative smile, and I want to hold her, keep her safe forever.

“I can’t wait to have your name, Gio.”

Christ. I’d wanted that decision to be hers and hers alone—didn’t want to influence her in any way—but I’m thrilled to hear she wants to share mine.

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