Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107643 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
I guess I’ll just have to die.
17
Valentina
Every day Gabriel visits us at the hospital. Kris, Charlie, Rhett, and Quincy are frequent visitors, too, but no one is as caring and considerate as Gabriel. I only have to mention thirsty, and I have a bar fridge in my room stocked with every imaginable brand of mineral water and fruit juice. Even when I don’t say anything, he spoils me with gourmet meals from my favorite Italian delicatessen and raspberry scented bath products. He massages my back and rubs my feet. When he’s not with me, he’s kangarooing Connor and changing his diaper. I see the good father who loved––still loves––Carly, and get a glimpse of how life can be.
On the day of my discharge, Gabriel waits for me with a bunch of blue and white balloons. Such thoughtful and kind actions, but I want him to stop these exaggerated efforts to make up for the past and simply be himself. I just want us to be. In time, things will fall into place, and we’ll find our measure of normality. I have to hold onto this belief.
To Gabriel’s protest, I decline the wheelchair. I started walking a bit every day, eager to gain back my strength. Rhett and Quincy help cart everything from the room to a pickup Rhett organized for this purpose. With the gifts I accumulated, it’s not a light task. Even if I’m happy to go home, it’s hard for me to leave without my baby. Clutching Gabriel’s hand, I pull back when we reach the main doors of the clinic. Being as in tune with my emotions as he is, he understands the reason for my panic.
Strong arms fold me into a safe and warm cocoon. “He’ll be fine.” He kisses my lips. “He’s a fighter, like his mother.”
That evokes a smile, which seems to please Gabriel, but his own is weak in return. I wish I knew what’s going through his head. Magda’s suicide and the knowledge of what his father did must be excruciatingly tough on him. It’s going to be hard to work our way to happiness, but I have a truckload full of determination and endless love in my heart.
I intertwine our fingers. “Shall we go home?” I want him to know I’m ready, that I’m taking this next step willingly.
He swallows and nods, but doesn’t move toward the door.
“Gabriel?” I loosen his arms so I can step back and look up at him.
His expression shifts. His scars scrunch up with the narrowing of his eyes, as if he’s studying a portrait to commit it to memory. His beautiful, disfigured face softens, and the set of his jaw slackens as his translucent blue gaze drifts over me. This is huge. I don’t know what this sudden look of sad affection means, but I know it’s the kind that can rip your feet from under you. Just as I’m about to speak, a smile wipes the dooming sorrow from his face.
His voice is unfaltering and strong, washing away my fear. “After you, beautiful.”
During the drive he tells me about the changes he made at home.
“I know you want to breastfeed, but I got an electric steam sterilizer, just in case Connor has to drink from a bottle for a while longer.” He glances at me. “And a food processor for later when you want to make puree. If you want to, of course. There’s nothing wrong with buying ready-made baby food. I just thought––”
I cup his knee. “Thank you, Gabriel. Everything will be perfect.”
At home, he takes me on a tour to show me what he mentioned in the car, insisting on carrying me up and down the stairs. It’s as if he’s lecturing me before going on a long trip. Despite my earlier burst of energy, I’m tired by the time we finish and happy to take a short nap.
The men prepare a welcoming dinner of burnt lamb chops and lumpy mashed potatoes. I feel cherished and something I haven’t felt in a long time––welcome. This is home. This is our home.
After dinner, Gabriel carries me to the shower and washes my hair and body. He takes extra care with drying me, careful not to press on my stitches. Kneeling at my feet, he stares at me with a molten look in his eyes.
He plants a trail of kisses up my legs to my thighs, his palms following the path. “God, you’re beautiful.”
“I have a lot of flab to get rid of.”
“There’s nothing to get rid of.” His hands glide over my hips. “You’re perfect.”
I brush my fingers through his thick hair. “You’re a liar.”
“Not about this. Not about you.” He places a gentle kiss under my incision. “This amazing body gave me a beautiful son.” His eyes fill with regret. “I’m sorry, Valentina, but I’d do it all over again to keep you safe.”