Page 22 of Iron Cross

I would try anything and everything to win her back, not just in body, but in heart and soul as well.

“And… what? Offer her a library and a talking wardrobe, and a foot rest that barks and wags its tail? Hope she decides to stick around?” Shiny’s eyes were dull with her doubts. “Give her a magical rose, and get all dramatic with it wilting?”

Dairo and I stared at her and blinked. The long uncomfortable silence was punctuated by Dairo’s careful, and loud, slurp of hismartini. We knew what she was talking about because we didn’t live under a rock, but we had loved to tease her about her love of fairy tales. A love that she had since disavowed, but it would never be forgotten.

“What are you on about, Shiny?” I asked.

“Seriously?” She looked between me and Dairo. “Beauty and the Beast? You haven’t… Of all the fucking books you’ve read, you don’t know Beauty and the Beast?”

Dairo and I shrugged, keeping our teasing amusement from our faces, though I felt his humor in the undercurrent of the room, and the invisible ties that bound the three of us together.

“Probably hits too close to home,” Dairo chuckled, giving Shiny a wink as he nodded his head to me.

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

As much as the conversation had been completely derailed, I knew that Shiny had given her approval. She hadn’t stamped her foot, or tried to block the plan. She would play along, and I very much needed her on my side.

She had Kira’s trust, when I didn’t.

I’d need to use that influence sparingly, but use it I would.

“I won’t need to resort to a magic library, or talking furniture,” I said, tapping on the photo of my Muse, under a covered bridge, where her own paintings stood on easels, selling for a pittance. A fraction of what they were truly worth. “See here?”

I tapped on the painting that was as familiar as any one I had created with my own hand.

She had never painted in front of me. She hadn’t so much as doodled on a napkin. But I would know the work of my beloved, regardless of the medium she used. I could feel it in the image, the brush strokes. In the sheer talent of it. Of course, my wife was talented. She was the embodiment of all perfection, and more. I knew our son would be the same.

“She loves me,” I said with a smile on my lips, secure in knowing that my two childhood friends would understand.

“How do you know?” Shiny asked.

“Because I know,” I said, cryptically, not caring to answer her question any more than I already had.

My reason for knowing was something between me and my raven-haired beauty. A secret for us, and only us.

Yesterday, I had given Morelli the cross he’d requested, and his eyes had lit up as the cold metal dangled from his fingers.

“It was a gift from my Cosima,” he said with a small smile. “See? She had her name hidden in the engraving.”

He held it out, back towards me, and there indeed was the name Cosima, hidden in the engraving of the intricate cross.

The joy he got from that totem was immense.

It made my heart sick to know that other than a closet of clothes that I had bought, nothing remained of my Kira. Even the wedding band I wore had been purchased by me. There was nosentimental gift from my wife that I could cherish. There had not been time.

All I had were the orchid blossoms that I had gifted her, still alive and decorating the halls, offices and rooms that marked my daily existence. From my nightstand, to my bathroom sink, to the offices here and in New York City.

I touched the new white blossoms on my desk, feeling the softness of the rounded petal.

You’re so close, my love…

“I’ll stay back here and keep a handle on things.” Dairo swirled his glass. “And if I must pretend to be you, I’ll just pop in some contacts and put on sunglasses.” He placed a hand on Shiny’s shoulder and smirked, giving it a fraternal squeeze. “And if you two should die on your fun little excursion, be comforted in the knowledge that I will not give a damn.”

Shiny punched him in the arm.

I rolled my eyes. “Please, you English prat, we both know you’ll be the one weeping over our graves with the bouquet of flowers in your flimsy little arms.”

And he’d make sure we had enough coins for the boatman.

---