Page 137 of Devil's Tulip

He adjusts the tattoo gun so he’s holding it with one hand and places his free hand on my belly. Like magic—or perhaps like the tiny traitors they’re proving to be—the kids immediately calm down, and I blow out a shaky breath of relief.

“Thank you,amore.” I cover his hand with mine, and we sit quietly while he finishes up my tattoo with a flourish. “Wow, you’ve outdone yourself this time, Michael.”

The design mirrors my new ring but with a twist. Two intertwined tulips form a perfect heart, and nestled in the center is the first ultrasound we ever got, when we still thought the glob of tissues would develop into one baby. Beneath the black and white image is the date Michael and I got married the second time. My due date is Monday, and I hope to add my babies’ birth dates next to the first date very soon, completing our bloody, beautiful love story in permanent ink.

“I want this too,” Michael murmurs as he studies the tattoo that winds up my wrist to just below my pulse point. He kisses the skin, then carefully covers it with a bandage.

“In your inner thigh?” I wince. “How are we going to explain it to the kids when they grow up? ‘Sorry, darlings, Daddy has your birth dates tattooed where only Mommy can see them’?”

“No, smartass.” He presses the bandage on my skin harder than necessary, but the numbing cream is yet to wear off, so I don’t feel any pain. I poke my tongue out at him, and he leans forward quickly to try catch it with his mouth.

I squeal, pushing at his chest. “Michael!”

His expression shifts from playful to devastatingly serious in an instant. “I’m going to have a tattoo lasered right here.” He places a hand over the space between the swell of my breast. Making my breath hitch. “Your name and our children’s names—carved right over my heart where you all belong.”

“Michael…” I say softly, leaning forward to kiss him, but my eyes snag on the digital clock on his worktable, and I pull back with a gasp.

“Oh God, we’re late!” I nearly topple as I struggle to heave myself off the leather chair, inelegantly pulling my dress down and shimmying my hips to force the fabric over my enormous belly. I glance at Michael to see him still on the stool with his eyes closed like he’s mourning the interruption. “Come on, we can continue this later. Wehaveto go.”

“Promise?” he asks unrepentantly, eyes now open and burning with heat.

“Yes, yes, I promise. Now come!”

Finally, he drags himself up, tugging on his shirt sleeves and snapping on his cufflinks. I snatch his tux jacket in one hand and my gold heels in the other, then practically waddle-run through the house. It’s more like rolling, honestly, with this baby bump weighing me down. Michael’s deep laughter chases behind me the whole way.

“Elira is going to have a conniption,” I tell him as we get into the back of the limo we’re taking to Rafael’s tonight.

“It’s Thanksgiving. She should be thankful we’re coming at all with how far along you are,” he replies in a bored tone, but I know he has a soft spot for Elira now. They got quite close while I was away, and sometimes I like to tease them both about being besties now—which Maximo absolutely hates to hear.

“Just think—next Thanksgiving, we’ll have our kids running underfoot.” I sigh wistfully, sliding to his side and resting my head on his chest.

“I can’t wait.” He wraps his arms around me, pulling me even closer just as his phone starts ringing in his pocket. He fishes it out and sighs, silencing the call.

“Who was that?” I glance up at him, and he gazes down at me with the softest blue eyes. Sometimes, I think he’s gone softand then I hear him discussing with Lorenzo and his men and I realize he’s only this soft with me.

“Romero. Probably wants to rip into me for being late,” Michael huffs, leaning forward to tell Marco to hit the gas. The whole ride to Rafael’s penthouse, Michael’s phone keeps blowing up. His brothers take turns calling, one after the other, like it’s some unspoken competition to see who can yell at him first.

“Don’t you think you should pick up?” I ask when Rafael’s name flashes on the screen for the second time in a row.

“We’re almost there,” he dismisses as we turn onto Rafael’s street, the imposing penthouse looming ahead. “They can say whatever they want to my face.” His jaw sets stubbornly, and I know there’s no persuading him.Stubborn, beautiful man.

I shake my head with a slight tsk, still convinced he should have answered when Romero first called as we were leaving. What if something truly urgent has come up? He insisted they had all agreed to take tonight off from work, but their line of business isn’t exactly one you can just turn off. Danger doesn’t take holidays, and neither do enemies.

We drive down into Rafael’s underground parking lot, and I shift away from Michael’s chest, running a hand up to my hair to make sure the bun I had painstakingly done is still intact.

Lorenzo slips out of the front seat and opens Michael’s door. After my husband climbs out, he leans down to offer me his hand. I hold it tightly as I sort of just roll to the end of the seat and struggle to get down, heels still in hand.

My belly is so big now I can’t even see my feet anymore, so Michael usually puts my shoes on for me. We were too rushed to do it before we left home, but he can help me once we get to Rafael’s.

Michael’s brows draw together in concern as he watches me struggle, then he moves his hands beneath my armpits and liftsme out. I grunt, hands slapping to his chest to grip his shirt for support. “Maybe, we should have stayed back home tonight. You need all the rest you can get.”

“No fucking way. I would’ve fought you tooth and nail if you had even suggested that,” I inform him, tucking my hand into the crook of his arm. He doesn’t smile like I wanted, so I roll my eyes dramatically. “Oh, cheer up. You put me in this condition, Michael, so suck it up.”

Behind us Lorenzo snickers, earning a glacial glare from Michael. We proceed towards the elevators at a maddeningly slow pace, entirely because of my new penguin-like gait?—

It would be utterly humiliating with all the stone-faced guards outside watching us approach, but I’m in a shimmery, silver ball dress. So I guess I’m a sparkly, waddling penguin. Still beats the pajama-clad version I’ve been rocking for the past month.

I barely leave the house anymore, so I was quick to nag Michael into accepting Rafael’s invite to spend Thanksgiving at his place.

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