Chapter Sixty-two
Ciro
T he meeting is taking longer than I’d planned, the old men sitting across from me are taking their time in dissecting every last detail, confirming schedules, rerouting shipments, ensuring the movement of “art” from Greece goes off without a hitch. It’s all necessary, but my patience is wearing thin. I was convinced that I missed work, but after being back for a month, all I want to do is run back into my wife’s arms and snuggle till the sun sets and Monarch starts crying for dinner. I miss her, it’s only been six hours, twenty minutes and forty three seconds since I kissed her goodbye, but it’s beginning to feel like a lifetime.
After I sign off on the final document, I give out some final instructions, before standing up, already too eager to take out my phone and call her.
“That’s all for today,” I say, cutting off any lingering discussions.
If I spend a second longer here than I have to, I will definitely kill either someone or myself, and my wife wouldn’t approve of me killing myself. So, I give a brief nod and walk out, pulling my phone from my pocket to call her.
“Miss me already?” she teases, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
She knows better than to ask me that, I’ve called her six times in six hours, of course I obviously miss her. With the way she giggles every time she picks up, it’s obvious she’s enjoying how miserable I am without her.
“I left something for you,” I chuckle.
“Where?” she asks, her interest clear in her beautiful voice, and I know she’s in the kitchen from the slight clang of dishes in the background. But what is she doing? I need to know, to feel close to her, so I quickly head to my office and turn on my computer, and of course, there she is, moving around the kitchen with Monarch tailing her as she takes out something from the microwave.
The cameras are for her safety, I always tell myself. Of course, it’s for more than that, but that isn’t why I’m here, almost getting hard as I watch her move in the brown satin shorts she’s wearing.
“In your library,” I say, clearing my throat as I shake the thoughts of me bending her over the island from my head, and bring my attention back to the present.
I hear her sharp intake of breath and I watch as she turns to the kitchen door. I can hear her footsteps pick up pace through the phone and it almost feels like I’m right there.
“Wait! What did you do?” She’s excited, and fuck if that doesn’t make my chest tighten and my cock throb.
“Go to your Avatar section,” I tell her, watching her move quicker.
I hear her light and sweet giggle through the phone, and it makes my chest ache in the best way. The sound of her bare feet padding down the hall fills my ears, and I swear, I’m sitting here being jealous of our damn dog. He gets to follow her everywhere, every damn step, and I can’t.
The camera angle was a brilliant fucking choice, my cock straining for freedom as I now have the perfect view of her ass bouncing in those tiny shorts as she sprints into the library. Fuck. I need to grab it, to press her up against the nearest shelf, and feel every inch of her perfect butt in my palms.
“Okay, I’m here,” she whispers, and I focus back on watching her.
“Check the shelf,” I say, waiting as she scans through her neatly arranged comics. Heaven knows I mostly got them for me, but when I saw her face light up the moment she saw them, who was I to dare say that they weren’t for her? Can a man be blamed for being so obsessed with the things his wife loves that he begins to love them too? Absolutely not.
“Ciro,” she breathes. I can already see she’s tearing up from the way she wipes her cheeks and the sniffing sound I hear.
“What does it say, chaos?” I ask, even though I wrote it after binge watching the series again in one week, going through online comments, finding quotes on Pinterest, randomly asking her to tell me what she loves about the characters, and of course, bribing Lisa for some more help.
Her voice is soft as she reads the note aloud:
“Can I call you Aang? Because you are air . . . my element of freedom. I’d detach from anything and everything just to find peace in your arms.” Her first laugh comes in, almost making me laugh louder. She is fully crying now, I can see it as she wipes her face even more, but I don’t interrupt, I let her go on.
“Can I call you Katara? Because you are water . . . my element of change, my constant. You remind me that I have a home, a community within you, and that our love will hold us through anything.
Can I call you Toph? Because you are earth . . . my element of strength. You make me firm, unshakable, and I will never waver for you. Even if you were blind, I will trust you and follow you to the end of time.
Can I call you Zuko? Because you are fire . . . my element of power. There is no taming you. You are my strong will, my drive to achieve anything and fucking everything, just to see you smile. I will search for you in all lifetimes, ‘cause you are my honor.” She laughs even harder. I knew the last line would crack her up, I was having a fit when the thought crossed my mind.
“And Chaos . . . you are my true Avatar. And me? I’m just like Sokka . . . the guy with the boomerang. No bending, no powers, but I’d fight the whole damn world for you. Because you? You are my purpose.”
“When and how? This is so beautiful.” She sniffs, before letting out a choke-filled laugh.
“I hate you,” she whispers. “I hate you so much for making me love you this much, Ciro.”
She cries even harder and I watch as she presses the letter to her chest, hugging it, and damn, here I am again, jealous of the damn thing.
“I’m glad my weeks of brainstorming paid off.” I smirk, feeling utterly proud of myself
“Now take the box off the shelf and open it,” I order, too eager to see her reaction.
I hear the rustling as she reaches for it, then the faint scrape of a lid being lifted. A moment of stillness follows as she begins to pull the clothes out of the bag. I’m tempted to have the whole company come and watch just how happy I make my wife, but I want to keep this moment for just us, so I relish in the moment alone.
As she lifts up the crimson and black-wrapped cropped jacket, I watch her jump and scream.
“Easy now, I still need my hearing to hear you moan my name, Mama,” I tease and I can practically feel her rolling her eyes at me.
She picks up the next item, holding up a sleeveless high neck top made of icy blue silk. She holds it against her body, likely imagining how she’d look in it, and I hear a full, breathless, unrestrained scream of excitement pierce through my ears.
I knew she’d love them, but this sheer, raw, unfiltered excitement makes me almost want to cry. God! I love this woman!
“Baby!” she yells, jumping up and down with just the two items in her hands. She still has a few more to take out, and I hope she doesn’t faint out of excess joy. “I love them, I love them, I love them! Oh God! I love you so much!”
“I love you too, there’s still more,” I say, relaxing in my chair as I continue watching her.
She drops the jacket and shirt, then goes in for item number three. This one is a pair of dark green high waisted cargo pants with a symbol of a white lotus on the pockets. I watch as she lifts the fabric to her face, and know the tears won’t be stopping now. Once she’s done looking it over, she picks out the accessories that hold meaning from each nation; the air twirling earrings, a hair clip with the blue spirit, a replica of Kya’s necklace, Toph’s armband, and of course, a bangle that matched Sokka’s neckpiece.
“I take it you like them?” I chuckle, pleased with myself as her silence stretches on.
“Are you kidding me?!” She’s laughing now, her voice breaking with disbelief. “Ciro, this is . . . Oh Lord! Where did you even find these?!”
I can hear her crying, and watch her pick up her phone again from where she placed it.
“I love you, please come home, please,” she begs and her wish is my command.
I glance at my watch before straightening. “I’ll be there before you’re ready, but I’m taking you for a tattoo date. And after that, a surprise.”
“Ciro, my heart can’t take any more surprises,” she says, laughing loudly.
“Too late, Mama,” I laugh, watching her sink into the couch. I want to be that couch so bad.
“I will die for you, Ciro Ballera, that’s how much I love you,” she whispers and I can tell I did good with her gift.
“And I will kill for you, Vida Ballera.” I smile, watching her pick up and snuggle all the things I got her.
“You know, if you just tell me now, it’ll save us both time,” she says. Her legs are tucked under her on the passenger seat, her fingers tapping against the dashboard as she glances at me.
“You think I’m that easy?” I smirk, keeping my eyes on the road.
“Maybe. What if I ask nicely?” she huffs, crossing her arms.
“No,” I chuckle at her attempt.
“Or maybe with the right motivation?” Her voice turns sultry, her hands finding their way to my cock, and I take in a sharp breath.
“Chaos,” I shamelessly moan. “You will regret doing that if I stop this car.”
“But you’ll tell me,” she breathes, grabbing me tighter and making me lose focus for a split second.
She knows the effect she has on me, and now, she’s playing with fire at this point. But no, I won’t let her win, even though I’m just seconds away from stopping the car.
“I will fuck you till you won’t be able to get out of the car, and I still won’t tell you anything,” I say, my words enough for her to loosen her grip around me.
“But what if I hate it?” she groans dramatically, shifting back into her seat.
“You won’t.”
“What if I do?”
“Then I’ll rip it off my skin.” I glance at her, amused.
“You’re a psychopath.” She smacks my arm, laughing.
“I’m aware, chaos.” I chuckle, reaching for her hand and bringing it to my lips. ”Just trust me.”
When we finally pull into the shop’s parking lot, she unbuckles herself and practically bounces out of the car. We meet Aria inside, finding her already waiting for us. I figured she would be the best fit for today’s tattoo, after all, she was the one to give Vida her first tattoo. She greets me with a nod before asking if we have changed our minds on the tattoo art, which I shake my head to.
“I don’t get to see what I’m putting on my body?” Vida raises a brow.
“Do you trust me?” I turn to her, holding her gaze.
She nods, her lips parting slightly before curling into a small smile. “I do.”
She does well with pain as Aria gets to work, just like she always has. I remember when she got her scorpion tattoo on the back of her neck. She was tense at first, her hands gripping mine so tight I swore she’d break my fingers. But she never winced, never whined, just pressed her lips together and took it while occasionally bantering with me.
I smile as I remember how I was the one who held her hand through it, felt every moment of her strength, every shiver in her body. It was one of those moments I knew she was the right woman for me.
Now, she does the same, holding my hand as the needle presses against her skin, steady breaths leaving her lips. I watch her, every blink, every clench of her jaw, every moment that makes me love her more.
And an hour later, the artist wipes her skin clean, and I watch as Vida stands to face the mirror. She pulls her hair up, tilting her head to see the ink sitting just beneath her scorpion, a single delicate wing. A match to the one on my shoulder.
Her breathing stutters. She turns to me, her eyes glossy.
“Ciro . . .” she calls, her voice barely above a whisper, looking at me like she’s unsure what to say next.
“For our angel baby.” I breathe, stepping forward and cupping her face, my thumb brushing away the tear that falls.
A single tear escapes me too before she leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my shoulder, right where my wing is inked into my skin. Without another word, I pull her into my arms, holding her close as we grieve and love in silence.
The drive is silent now as she stares out of the window, her fingers tracing absent patterns on her thigh. I can tell she’s lost in thought, but I don’t say anything. I let her sit with it, let her feel whatever she needs to feel. All I can think about is the look she’ll have on her face when she sees where we’re going.
When we finally pull up, I cut the engine and step out to open her door. She follows, her brows knitting together in curiosity, and just as she’s about to ask her where I brought her, she stops as she sees it. The grave sits between the warm green of the cemetery, right beside my mother’s. But it’s not just a headstone anymore.
A marble sculpture of a single wing stands over it, delicate, and detailed, as if caught in mid-flight. It casts a soft shadow over the grave, the name carved into the stone below it. It matches the ones we now both have, and is the last surprise I had for her.
Vida’s breath catches as she takes another step, then another, her eyes locked on the grave while her lips part slightly, as if in awe.
But, to my surprise, she doesn’t cry, she just stands there, smiling. A small, soft smile, a smile that tells me I did the right thing, graces her perfect lips. This means something to her, just as I’d hoped.
She turns to me, her eyes shining, and when she speaks, her voice is thick and raw with emotion. “Thank you. Thank you for doing this, for giving us a place to come visit.”
“I live to make you happy, Vida Ballera.” I swallow, stepping closer and brushing my knuckles against her cheek.
Her lips curve, and her fingers find mine as she lets out a soft giggle before she presses her forehead against mine.
“And I will love you over everything,” she whispers. “Choose you till the last day we both draw our last breath.”
I close my eyes, inhaling her. I let her words settle deep inside me as we stand here in the quiet, in the presence of everything we lost, as we still choose each other, over and over again.