17. Kerry
Kerry
The chipper sound of laughter echoes amongst the walls of my estate in a way they’ve never heard before. Feminine, sweet, unreserved. It’s not a sound I’ve gotten out of Amy before, but I‘m not surprised to find it exists inside of her.
But the fact that her laughter is joined by my aunt’s, as free and practically girlish as Amy’s, is surprising.
There’s something about Amy that helps people breathe again after a lifetime of suffocation.
I shouldn’t be shocked to find my aunt is also affected by Amy’s magic, but I am.
That woman has always hid herself behind a wall of snark and defensiveness.
Not that she wasn’t sweet and caring to me growing up, too.
She’s always been a nurturing soul. But she also readied me to take on a kingdom of crime, one that she’s a part of, too.
She’s always been softer with me than with others.
But with Amy? It’s something else entirely.
I check my phone one last time before jogging down the steps.
It’s been an interesting three weeks, that’s for sure.
Everyone in the Nameless has been in a flurry of motion, preparing for this damn ball and the other things we have going on.
There’s been meeting after meeting. Everyone’s in a whirlwind, getting Lily safe and protecting Amy and I.
I’ve been shocked by the level of dedication they’ve given to ensuring our safety.
Kensington especially. I don’t like to admit it, but the man is good at his job.
He’s improved my security procedures tenfold, and I feel like he’s always lurking around, just out of sight.
Their constant updates, meetings, and inquiries have kept me busy. Which is good, because I’ve needed something to occupy my mind from the sweet woman that now roams my house like a temptation in the flesh.
Three glorious weeks of Amy here with me, and it feels like I’m finally home.
Years of fighting to have Amy in my life, and now I have her.
Safe and sound, in my home, in my bed, in my heart.
She’s shattered every wall I’ve built, even the obsession itself.
I didn’t realize it, but my obsession with Amy was a defense, too.
And now? I’m obsessed in a different way.
One that’s raw and tender, one that leaves me following her around like a lost puppy, begging for scraps of attention.
I’ve always been the most powerful man in the room. I’ve prided myself on that. But I’d give up everything just to spend my afternoons with Amy, my head in her lap as she plays with my hair, talking about everything and nothing at all.
Seeing her frolic around my home, wandering in the gardens like a Victorian ghost, it’s a sweet tease that I cannot be anything but delighted by.
She has such a magnificent power over me, unlike anything I’ve felt before, but I make sure to return the favor by pampering her with luxury foods, spa visits, lots of snuggle times, and giving her as many orgasms as she can handle, morning and night.
Even with our plentiful time spent in bed together, these past weeks have been a careful dance between us.
Glances across courtyards, quiet greetings in the kitchen, slight touches in passing through hallways.
And each time, she shivers like she’s desperate for touch.
Her presence seems to steal all of the air from the room, from my very lungs.
I’ve set a hard boundary with my colleagues at the Nameless, don’t interrupt dinner with my woman.
And they haven’t batted an eye at the demand, not questioning it even once.
And now dinner has become my favorite time of day.
Well, outside of the moments I have her in my arms in the bedroom.
We discuss the wedding planning after we eat, making decisions and going over any ideas we’ve come up with.
It feels like my life is finally whole and fulfilled in a way I never expected.
My aunt’s laughter bubbles in the sunroom as I step into it. Amy kneels on the floor, giggling as she plays with my aunt’s dog, a little dachshund named Bunny, who’s all over her. My aunt’s eyes flicker up to meet mine, amusement dancing within her gaze.
But my little leannán is a different story entirely.
She doesn’t see me at first, too focused on the happy pup in her arms. But when she finally does, her humor vanishes, and her attention leaves the dog, her gaze locked on mine.
There’s relief in her eyes, the fulfillment of longing.
It makes my arms ache to hold her and abandon any future meeting so I never have to leave her side.
“Hello, Kerry. Out for a stroll?” Marjorie’s voice is still light and nearly bubbly from her earlier laughter, and the teasing in her tone unwinds some of the tight bands of anxiety that’s been strangling me as of late.
An easy grin slides onto my face. “Mm, not quite. I’m coming to see what all of the noise is about.”
Amy gives me a small, tentative smile. “Bunny’s being so silly!
” Her declaration is full of joy, but she seems to pull back, as if noticing she let some of her mask slip.
It’s something she’s still struggling with, letting the full encompassment of her excitement show, even with me.
There’s a flash of nervousness in her eyes, and she immediately grows solemn.
No humor, no heated gaze, just a withdrawn expression and shoulders that seem to shrink in on themselves.
I want to both curse and find a way to bring back the lightness that filled the room before.
“Sorry if we were making too much noise.”
Aunt Marjorie seems to open her mouth to make her own comment about Bunny, but her eyes dart to Amy, noticing the same reaction that I do. She sets her lips into a firm line and she arches a brow at me, a silent command to fix it.
“Bunny is a funny dog,” I say in agreement, not quite sure how to fix it.
I’ve gotten to know Amy well now, but these little moments keep happening, like she scares herself by being so…
emphatic about things. It can take her a while to pull herself out of it.
“It seemed like a lot of fun was happening in here and I wanted to join,” I add on, which is really what I meant in the first place.
I hope it’s enough of a reassurance that her unbridled joy is not only okay, but welcomed.
Amy’s shoulders lower a bit, her gaze rises back to meet mine.
A smile slides onto my aunt’s face, a knowing gleam in her eye that feels dangerous. She knows that I would never backtrack to remedy most anyone else’s feelings. Just Amy’s. “Yes, it’s been a lovely time. Amy is truly a joy. You’ve chosen well for your wife.”
The words make me inhale as she expresses her approval. I can see Amy’s cheeks are turning pink out of the corner of my eye. But she clears her throat. “Well, I’m not his wife yet.”
An ugly reminder. I take in a full breath to keep my possessiveness down.
I don’t want to snap and scare her more when she’s in a tender state, like let’s fix that right now.
My need for her rivals my need for air. But that doesn’t mean I can’t control myself.
We’ve been making good progress on the wedding planning, slowly but surely, and the big day will happen in a couple months, just as we decided with Alessandro.
Aunt Marjorie’s cunning gaze shifts to pry at Amy instead.
“Well, you’re engaged and planning your wedding.
Which means he’s already chosen you to be his wife.
Unless you know something that I don’t?” Her voice is softer than it would be for anyone else, nor does it have the mocking quality that it usually would, but I’m sure to Amy it still feels a little sharp.
I watch Amy’s throat bob as she swallows. She shakes her head, relaxing a bit. I can tell there’s still a part of her that wonders when I’ll change my mind about her. It’s like the more time I spend with her, the more she’s convinced that I won’t like her anymore.
I shove my hands in my pockets, trying to control any emotional impulses to grab Amy and hold her close.
Patience. She needs a gentle touch, and I’d carve off my own arm with a toothpick if it gave Amy what she needs.
And maybe, right now, she needs a topic change.
"Are you two making good progress with the wedding planning?”
There’s an awkward pause. I can tell Marjorie is giving Amy space to speak, but Amy’s not taking it. I’m not sure why, but if I had to guess, she’s nervous to talk again after her excited ‘outburst’, as I’m sure she views it.
When she realizes Marjorie isn’t going to answer for her, Amy clears her throat. “Yes. I think so.” Her voice is soft, breathy, like the softest gust of wind could steal it away from her lips.
I sit on the loveseat across from both women, Marjorie sitting on an armchair and Amy on the floor by my aunt’s feet.
Bunny is still dancing around her playfully.
I take in the sight before me for a moment, struck by how it almost looks like it’s a scene straight out of a painting.
The matriarch, hands folded neatly in her lap, looking fondly upon the younger woman at her feet.
The dog, excited and playful. The young woman, shackled by her own thoughts, cannot give in to the dog’s waggish ways, nor can she see the affection in the older woman’s eyes.
She doesn’t know the viewer looks upon her as an art piece, as she’s too caught up in what she deems her own inadequacies.
The viewer in this situation, of course, being me.
Maybe if I can just get Amy out of her own head, she’ll be able to see the actual world around her for what it is.
I don’t want her to be blinded by the insecurities that were drilled into her.
But she has to let me. She has to want that.
I know what it’s like to be addicted to the feeling of pain, of grief, of sorrow.
The need for control, even by indulging in our own sicknesses, is a wicked cycle.
“Could I see what you’ve been working on?” I tilt my head, asking in a softness that I hope might coax Amy out of her head again.
She looks up at me, searching my face. For what, I’m not sure.
But it reminds me of a prey animal looking for any sign of predators nearby, and I don’t like it.
I thought we’d worked past this sort of fear of me, but I’m fairly sure it’s more nuanced than that.
It’s not fear that I’ll hurt her physically, we’ve built enough trust for that.
No, it’s fear that she’ll say something wrong and I won’t like her anymore.
It’s not trauma from her family’s ties to the mafia world, or fear of a man who does crime. It’s fear of people and their reaction to her mind.
Amy finally nods and pushes a small booklet towards me on the coffee table.
There’s cut-outs of wedding magazines glued to the booklet’s pages.
Wedding dresses, cakes, decorations, color swatches.
I round the table and sit on the floor next to Amy, having to deal with the yappy little dog climbing all over me and trying to lick my face.
Thankfully, it doesn’t last long as Bunny seems much more interested in Amy than me.
“I was a bit overwhelmed by all of the choices we were seeing online for things. So Marjorie suggested that we start small with some magazines. The limited options and it being tactile would hopefully help me to start somewhere, get some things narrowed down. It’s been very helpful.
” Amy flips through the pages, showing me all of the things she likes.
Things we’ve been discussing over the past few weeks over dinner.
“I didn’t want to make any real choices until I’ve talked it through with you, of course.
Which is another reason why Marjorie suggested doing this book, so I’d have something more… concrete to present to you.”
Marjorie sighs like she does when she’s upset with me and is about to start giving out. “Yes, and you’ve been so busy with your dealings that you haven’t been able to join us while we were doing all of this.”
I glance over at my aunt. Even though she’s scolding me, there’s a sparkle of fondness and joy in her eyes that’s been rare to see in the past decade or so. There’s life back in her eyes, a hope that had been drained out of her. Amy brought it back.
I wonder if she feared I’d die alone, unhappy and emotionally unattached to the world, just like my father before me. It’s a valid fear, as I was on that path before Amy came into my life.
But Amy’s joy and brightness is life-changing. It’s changed me for the better, and now it’s helping Marjorie, too.
Now if Amy could only see that her unrestrained joy isn’t too much. It’s a gift. And it’s changing the world for the better.
It’s just a matter of helping her see that.