Chapter Forty-Two Larissa
Chapter Forty-Two
LARISSA
Five weeks later
GLOSSY WHITE CURTAINS billow at the open doors of my villa, where I linger just outside it. The stuttering, worthless vessel in my chest tripping over itself the second his voice reaches me.
“Oh, buddy, you wrecked this one.”
His smooth chuckle vibrates through the gossamer barrier between us as the rip of a diaper sounds while Tyler murmurs to Alexander.
The mere thought of what sight lies beyond the flimsy barricade has adrenaline spiking where it shouldn’t.
It’s my fury with that surge that has me ignoring the strengthening pound in my chest as Tyler makes more human noises.
Noises in stark contrast to those I’m familiar with.
His tone for his son—our son—gentle, reverent.
One I barely recognize and was heavily denied.
“Daddy is so tired that you’ve wrecked him too,” he coos. “How much energy do you have left, little boy? Think you can manage a visit to the sheets with me for a few minutes today?”
Fear and fury combat for dominance in remaining detached to his lilt. Because I have heard it, just not in any genuine way.
“Please don’t leave me—”
“I was never fucking with you.”
Emboldened by the recollection of his words, it’s the increasing ache that led me here, which reminds me this is not some weak woman’s curiosity—I’m here out of necessity. Armed with that truth, I toss my throbbing shoulders back before slipping through the curtains, and freeze …
My gaze latches instantly to Tyler’s widening, rusted eyes where he stands, feet away, just as motionless.
Alexander, already changed, is protectively plastered to his bare chest. I should have known he was putting on a show with words.
That truth obvious as he keeps Alexander palmed to him, the barrel of the gun in his free hand aimed at me. Because he knew he wasn’t alone.
Of course he fucking knew.
Within a second of seeing me, he drops the gun into the crib, but he might as well have fired it with what the sight of me seems to have done to him.
Ignoring the slight satisfaction it brings, I mask the effect of my first eyeful of him since the last time we squared off.
Bared from the waist up, he keeps Alexander secured by his powerful forearm to his muscular chest. His upper half insanely defined, more so than the last time I mapped it with eager fingers.
From the looks of it, he’s in the best shape of his life. Seeming not to have lost an ounce of sleep since our last exchange. Though I know that’s not the truth due to reports of his vigilant nightly walks on the grounds before dismissing his assigned night nurse in an effort to parent alone.
Even more certain of the deprivation because the tiny terrorist in his arms makes any continuous, restful sleep an Olympic feat. It’s the fact that he’s carrying off the lack of rest so flawlessly that has me bristling with added contempt.
Although thankful for the added fuel, pathetically, my eyes feed just as curiously as we soak in the differences.
His too few to be truly significant, mine far too great to garner within one look.
My body and chemical makeup altered heavily both during my pregnancy and after.
The heavy sweeps of his eyes indicate he’s attempting to spot every one of those alterations.
Each pass growing heavier as he does, as if to make sure what he’s seeing is real.
Anger from his rapt attention sets off tiny detonations along my reddening chest as he continues staring at me as though I’m an apparition.
Only a hint of the familiar, dwindling bronze to be found amongst tenderness, longing, and guilt.
Lie, lie, and fucking lie.
“You saved me,” he whispers hoarsely, as if using all his strength to get his words out. “If you don’t hear another word I say, know that you saved me by keeping our babies.”
“This time, it wasn’t intentional,” I reply, lifting my foot to take a step in, then rethinking it.
The most dangerous man I’ve ever known is holding my child, but he looks every bit that child’s father as he stares back at me.
Every bit like the man I spent weeks with, but a stranger just the same.
One I’m forever bound to, a mistake I can never erase.
“I have four more days,” he utters roughly, begging for what time he has left.
“I’m breastfeeding,” I bite out, said breasts laden with milk as the unbearable pressure continues to build.
“You’re in pain,” he deduces quickly, and I nod.
“Okay, here,” he states, gently and cautiously extending Alexander for me to take. As I stalk toward him—toward relief—I detach the neck of my dress and let it fall. The instant I’m bared, Tyler scours every inch of naked skin, heating it with absorbed attention.
Batting the awareness away, when I accept the baby from him, our fingers briefly brush.
Feeling his eyes instantly jump to my profile at the touch, I detest all recognition of the contact before hastily taking a seat on the velvet couch.
Further lowering the material to release my leaking nipple, and after a few rogue passes, Alexander latches.
Within a few long pulls, relief begins to flood me.
Muting my groan, I glance up to see Tyler enthralled by the act.
As the air starts to thicken toward suffocation, I lower my eyes back to the baby, cursing the situation altogether.
“Do you want”—he rushes his words out—“do you want me to go?”
“I want you to have never been,” I counter, keeping my eyes on Alexander. “… But then I look at him and forgive myself.”
When I lift my eyes back to Tyler’s, I catch the end of a nod. As the tension continually mounts, I decide I need it to remain this way, watching his Adam’s apple bob before he speaks. “Lariss—”
“What is there to say?” I reason, and the pain that summoned me here subsides to a dull ache as Alexander relieves me of it.
The babies have relieved me of so many aches, physical and otherwise, since before their arrival.
Even while Alexander feeds—taking from me—he fuels my resignation.
“If you’re thinking I wanted some excuse to see you, think again.
I could have pumped, but Tula is fucking her husband in the kitchen, and I couldn’t get to it. ”
“Oh, shit,” he chuckles before glancing around. “And I’m in your quarters.”
“My home,” I state. “This is my home.”
He bites his lip before sighing out his response. “It’s beautiful here. Truly.”
I wet my lips as Alexander eagerly drinks.
The man standing feet away soaking up every second as I harden myself against his captivation.
Attention that I once humiliated myself for.
In the wake of that stupidity and its consequences, I resent what weakness remains, suggesting I missed his presence.
Presence and attention I vied for in my teens and through half of my twenties, and have now earned in a way that repulses me.
Pity.
Regret.
Obligation now because of the ties that bind us—that forever bind us—and my decision to allow it.
Furious that was my only decided allowance as my fucking treacherous skin heats beneath the weight of his stare.
Running a finger along Alexander’s plump cheek, I force myself to speak for the distraction alone. “I admire them … Tula and Capo.”
He tilts his head. “How so?”
“They know and accept their place with one another. Capo is so quiet, you wouldn’t think he has a personality, but when he speaks, he’s so damn intelligent, charming, and funny.
Ironically, he’s no less dominant or powerful than Tula.
Years ago, it was technically Capo who got the position as boss.
Tula had the ambition to reign, wanted it.
But Capo? He could take it or leave it. He chose to be her silent partner because that’s who he is.
She didn’t force him to heel, didn’t have to, and there’s no resentment.
” When Alexander makes a muddled noise of contentment, I grin down at him.
“Twenty-five years together, nine children,” I continue, “and they’re still fucking like rabbits in the middle of the day? I would say it’s a marriage to admire.”
A long, heavy silence follows before his voice comes out in a hoarse whisper. “Seven months.”
My eyes snap to his.
“For seven agonizing months, I kept you in my head to survive,” he emits breathlessly. “And now, standing here, feet away, Jesus … fuck, you’re more breathtaking than any memory I could conjure.”
His gentle brown eyes stroke my face, my hair, and all my exposed skin that he threatens to set alight with his lying eyes and lips as I rebuke every single one.
As he continues to unabashedly feast, my brain dissects and discards his words, forcing them to fall away from my flesh.
Even as I will it away, my rapidly pulsing heart continually pumps vibrant red.
This blood reserved for my children and the handful of people I trust. Not him. Not him.
As it turns out, being a mother has made it impossible for me to detach from the useless vessel fully.
My capacity for love has weakened me more so now than I was beneath his gaze then.
Which is why I never wanted to lay eyes on him again.
In his presence now, I realize I’m still capable of that damning weakness.
A vulnerability I can’t afford. It’s the resolve in my blackened mind that I trust to keep me.
It’s within the rush of that resolve that his eyes dim at whatever he sees before he pulls on a T-shirt and takes a seat on the couch adjacent to me.
Just after, the curtains next to us heave, depositing a few crisp leaves in their wake, and the burst of cool air carrying his scent threatens to surround me.
The instant I shiver, he stands. “I’ll close the doors. ”