Page 13 of His Wife

There’s a flash of warmth in his eyes, affection, as he stares at her as if she’s the oxygen he had been breathing his entire life. “Amore mio, as Mira said, it’s a surprise.”

Worry fills the lines on her forehead as she frowns at my father. “You need to get some rest. Let me help you get settled.”

“There’s no need. Nicoli and Alexius are here to take care of me. Go with Mira.”

“Vincenzo—”

“Amore mio,please,” my father pleads with an edge of command, and my mother squares her shoulders, knowing there will be no arguing with Vincenzo Del Rossa tonight.

There’s a hint of a smile on her pink lips as she turns to face us, but I can see it hardly reaches her eyes. “Where do you want me, Mira child?”

Mira claps her hands with excitement. “Come on. We have lots in store tonight. Leandra,” Mira calls, and I notice how my wife’s eyes light up when she realizes Mira has just asked her to go with her and my mother—like she’s a part of it. A part of this family.

I kiss her cheek and squeeze her hip. “I’ll see you at the marquees.”

Leandra nods and follows Mira up the stairs. For those few seconds, I keep my eyes on her, not giving a fuck if the world comes to an end during the time I admire her, allowing myself to be swept away by the warmth that fills my chest and thaws my heart.

Nicoli slaps a hand on my shoulder, squeezing. “Make sure your fly is closed, man.”

“What? Why?” I look down.

“Your dick is about to dart up these stairs. Keep that thing leashed.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“She is a beautiful woman, Alexius.” Both Nicoli and I turn to face my father. I’m taken aback by how weak and frail he looks. They’ve only been gone a few days, and he seems to have aged ten years.

“Yes, she is.”

“I bet she’d be a great mother to your children someday.”

“Dad,” I groan.

“What? Surely you would like to have an heir? A son to carry your legacy?”

I roll my eyes. “Not tonight, Dad.”

“Micah,” he says absentmindedly. “I’ve always wanted a son with the name Micah.”

“Well, Dad,” Nicoli chimes in with a drawl of sarcasm, “you literally had four sons, four chances to name one of us Micah, but thank God you didn’t because that name is terrible.”

“And Nicoli is any better?” I challenge.

“Fuck, yeah, it is.”

“Micah would make a fine name for an heir,” my dad continues, his eyes heavy and sad, a reflection of the life that’s slowly draining out of him.

“What do you know, Alexius.” Nicoli grins at me. “You were almost a Micah. I don’t know which name is worse, and if you should be thankful or not.”

“Fuck you.”

Nicoli’s rumbling laugh fills the foyer, but it’s the look in my dad’s eyes that keeps my attention—their soft gleam, as if, for a moment, he’s not here but somewhere else entirely.

“Dad, you okay?”

He shakes his head lightly as if stealing himself from a dream or memory, then looks at me with a soft gleam in his eyes. “Yes…yes, I’m fine. Just…treat your wife well, Alexius. There will come a time when you need her more than anything. A time when you realize your life courses through her veins.”

How do I respond to that when I’m convinced that time will come sooner rather than later?

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