Chapter Fourteen
Lindsay
HE’S OFF AT some gangster meeting today. That’s not actually what he called it, and I know that he would give me such a glare if I said it in front of him, but oh well.
His reaction to the ultrasound was interesting.
He wasn’t unhappy, I could tell, but it was definitely monumental, and I went to my room last night, and he didn’t come for me.
I expected him to. Particularly after the way that he was on our first day here.
But that’s fine. I don’t take it personally.
Or maybe I do. But I’m not one to sit in difficult feelings.
I think about that as I get up and walk around the apartment. It’s weird to not have him here. I know that this is my house too, but I’m still adjusting to the idea of sharing my life with someone else. Especially a life that’s so different from my own.
I already know that he doesn’t want me to go back to school.
And I’m still grappling with that. But there’s a lot to be said for this life.
And it isn’t that I don’t have resources.
It isn’t that I can’t still make things.
One thing he’s given me is the ability to spend as much money as I want, whenever I want, and I’m going to take advantage of it.
I’ve decided that I’m going to make clothes for our baby. The idea fills me with joy.
But before that, I decide that I’m going to deck the flat out for Christmas.
It’s going to take a little bit of problem-solving. I don’t know any of the places in London, and I’ve never actually had Christmas.
But, I haven’t made it this far in life without figuring out how to get information. And that’s exactly what I do. It’s how I find myself at Harrods with a personal shopper and a limitless budget. Life is pretty great when your baby daddy is a billionaire.
Well, at least, I’m hoping that it will be.
I care about him. Deeply. I care about the things that he’s been through. I care about the loss of his mother. About the ways that we are the same and the ways that we’re different. I want to make a family with him. I…
I fear that I’m falling in love with him. And it would be easy for me to write that off, to say that it’s only because we’ve had sex, that he’s my very first lover. But that isn’t it.
At least, it’s not the only thing. I admire him.
So few men in his position would’ve done what he did.
Most people would have clung to the thing that would make them money, give them power.
He didn’t do that. He was born into a world that told him power is the only currency.
The only thing that really matters. Yet, he somehow found values.
Morals. Maybe they don’t look like everyone else’s.
Maybe they’re not bright and shiny and pristine like some people’s.
I don’t care. I think that what he’s done is incredible.
He could’ve just taken the throne of his father’s empire.
He could have taken on that legacy. He chose not to.
He chose not to, and I think that matters. I think it makes him a man worthy of love. My parents were incapable of making change for me. So when I see the kind of change a man like him has made, I’m in awe of it.
He’s genuinely admirable. In contrast, I almost feel like I’m not worthy.
I don’t want to get into those kinds of thoughts. But now that I have his money, maybe I can get into some charitable causes. I would love to be able to find kids like me. To give them opportunities. The ones that I had to fight so hard for. I don’t think anyone should have to battle like I did.
It would be easy to just say that everyone should do what I did, but I know that I’m an exception.
I don’t feel prideful about it, even if I am proud.
And what I’d love to be able to do is make a difference.
Yes. Maybe I won’t be able to do all the things that I dreamed of.
But this is a dream. This is so much more than I ever hoped for. And I don’t take anything for granted.
The store is beautiful, decorated for Christmas, lovely string lights overhead, everything pretty as a picture.
The displays are ornate and fabulous, whimsical and verging on magic.
This is the kind of thing I always dreamed existed. And I feel compelled to bring it back to where we live.
I want to make something beautiful and wonderful, not just for our child, but for us.
This will be our very first Christmas.
This will be our trial run.
It makes me giddy to think about it.
Then I find myself wondering what on earth do you get for the billionaire who has whatever he wants?
A question I pose to the personal shopper, and then I am directed to some of the most glorious lingerie I’ve ever seen in my life.
I’ve never had a lover for this kind of thing.
And I admit the idea of seduction like this makes my stomach flutter with nerves.
Not because I don’t want to, just because… I’m still wrapping my head around the idea that I’m with someone who wants me. Really wants me.
And I’m afraid. Afraid that he might reject me. That he might reject all of this.
I’ve never tried with somebody before.
Connection is such a strange thing. Something I still can’t take for granted.
Something I’m still figuring out.
But I buy it anyway. All the lingerie. Along with a truckload of Christmas decorations and a pre-decorated tree. All of which is going to be delivered to the flat directly. Before my gangster finishes with his meeting.
I’m ecstatic when the decorations arrive, and even though there’s an entire team of people helping get them put up, I participate. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never really engaged in whimsy, if I’m honest. And I feel a desperate need to do it now.
To make us both into this beautiful vision of a family that I have.
After everyone leaves, I go into the bedroom and change.
I want to be ready for when he walks in the door.
The lingerie is honestly shocking. The bodysuit all straps that give just right around my stomach so that it fits, but it’s essentially nothing but strings covering my body.
And then I also procured a red robe with feather trim on the sleeves and the hemline.
It’s like a lovely vintage housewife style, but infinitely more racy, and I like that.
There are white lights wrapped around everything.
Garlands on the kitchen cabinets, above the doorways.
The tree is gigantic with big velvet red ribbons on it.
There’s a furry rug on the floor, designed to look cozy, and there are golden candelabras throughout, and I take my time lighting a candle in each and every one of them.
I turn the lights off, and the entire house is bathed in a warm glow.
I close my eyes, and I imagine. I imagine what it would be like to have our very first Christmas with our baby. Our little girl.
Tears fill my eyes.
I’m going to have a daughter.
I’m going to take care of her.
I cradle my belly, and I pray that Ciro appreciates this magic.
I need him to. I need him to want this vision of what our future could be. To want this life with our child.
I push the button for the fireplace, and the flames ignite, then I go and sit on the couch, my robe spread out around me.
And I wait.
When the doors open, I don’t move. I want to listen, to hear his response before I see it. Because I’m almost afraid.
“What the fuck is all this?”
He doesn’t sound angry, just mystified.
I put my hand over my mouth, but I don’t say anything.
“Lindsay?”
There’s something about his voice saying my name. Calling for me, it makes my heart burn bright. Makes me feel warm all over.
He walks into the living room, and I look at him over the back of the couch. “Surprise.”
“What is all this?”
“Our first Christmas,” I say.
“This is…extravagant.”
“It should be. For all the Christmases we’ve missed. I’ve missed twenty-one. How about you?”
“Thirty-five.”
There’s such a disparity in that. And I know so many people think that in an age-gap relationship it’s the one that’s older that has all the power.
But in this moment, I feel just slightly more powerful.
Because he’s lived more years of this barren sort of existence.
More time without finding someone to care for him.
It’s only been twenty-one years for me. And I love him. I can admit that in my own heart. I love him, and this house is ours. This holiday is ours. And I have that sooner than him. It’s a gift.
And I’m filled with a profound sense of sorrow for everything that he’s lost.
I get up off the couch, my robe billowing around me as I move toward him. “Would you like a drink?”
“Minx. What are you playing at?”
“Nothing. This is a preview. Of what our life can be.”
I can’t read the expression on his face. But it’s something like longing, with a hard edge to it that I can’t put words to. So I cup his face with my hands and smooth my thumbs over his cheekbones. “Darling, don’t look terrified of the holiday decorations.”
“Darling?” He grips my hand, turns my palm over and kisses it, and then he bites my wrist. “What happened to gangster?”
“I suppose I can’t call you that in front of our child.”
We both feel sadness in that moment. I can feel it. Arcing between us.
“At some point, she’ll have to know the family history. She’ll know exactly what I am.”
“What she’ll know is that you’re her father. And that you love her. I could see it on your face when we did the ultrasound. You love her. And you will love her. Exactly as she needs to be loved.”
He pulls me up against him, kissing me deep, hard. His hands working the belt on my robe. He’s going fast. The way that he always does.
But I don’t want fast. I want to luxuriate in him. I also love it when he takes control, so I find those two opposing desires difficult to contend with. My robe slithers away from my body, leaving me in those red straps that barely cover anything.
“What is this?” he asks, sliding his fingers beneath the strap over my breast, his expression filled with keen interest. “Your birthday gift,” I say.
“I’ve never gotten a gift before.”
My heart is so wounded at hearing this.