Gemma
The Amalfi Coast is beautiful in September.
Not too hot. Not too crowded. It's perfect.
We've been here for a week. Our "honeymoon," Saint calls it. Though we've technically been married for over a year, and technically, he's here on business, so less of a honeymoon, and more of an extended couple's vacation.
But I'm not going to mention that, especially since he's been by my side the entire week, sneaking out here and there for meetings. Not that it bothers me like it had in the past.
I like a few hours of alone time here and there. It helps me resettle from his intensity. Saint and I have come a long way, but some things never change, and his moods are one of them. It is what it is though. Saint loves me for my flaws, and I for his.
Plus, I can't beat the view here.
I'm on the terrace of our villa watching the sunset paint the sky pink and orange, sipping a crisp glass of white wine, enjoying the moment. I'm at peace, maybe for the first time ever, and I'm not going to question it.
Saint comes up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, and resting his chin on my shoulder.
"You're thinking too loud." His voice tickles the shell of my ear.
I smile. "I'm thinking about school. It starts in two weeks."
"Nervous?"
"Excited." I lean back into him. "I miss being in a classroom. I loved studying art, but I'm ready to sink my teeth into something new." I breathe in deeply, taking a sip of my wine. "You know how I feel about numbers."
He laughs. It's a real laugh. A rarity to anyone but me, and I decide that it is my favorite sound in the world. "You are such a nerd," he kisses the side of my neck, taking my glass from my hand. He finishes the wine. "Brilliant, but only you would be horny from spreadsheets."
I blush. "You enjoyed me warming your cock while explaining Excel spreadsheets."
He bites the skin of my neck softly, and I moan. He's going to leave another mark on me, and I don't care.
"I didn't say anything to the contrary, wife."
He pulls me onto his lap, causing me to squeal at the change. "Saint!" He slips his hands around my inner thighs, and I can feel his fingertips against my panties.
I smack his fingers away. "Behave," I snap.
He doesn't.
Normally, I love it, but I want to talk, and I can't focus when his fingers are on me.
"Seriously," I say, squirming. "I've been thinking," I turn, so we are face-to-face. I'm straddling him, and I can feel his hardness against me. I appreciate that he takes me seriously enough not to rub it against me. "About what comes next. After school. After the businesses are running smoothly."
"And?" He waits, patiently. This is something that has changed.
Saint, a generally impatient man, has learned to wait.
To give me a moment to think and process, and I appreciate it more than I'll ever be able to express.
I'm not his equal to the outside world, but here, with him, I am.
His respect means a lot, which is why I'm sharing this.
"About babies."
He goes still. "Okay."
We haven't talked about children in months. Since I went to the doctor and learned I wasn't pregnant. I went on the pill, and though I know he's seen the blister pack in our bathroom, he's never mentioned it.
If the captains are breathing down his neck about an heir, he's kept it from me.
And while I appreciate the space to breathe, it's time to talk.
I'm ready, and this feels like the one topic we need to put to rest in order to fully be on the same page.
"I still want one." I play with the hair on his neck, scared to look into his eyes. I don't really know if Saint wants a child anymore, or if his desperation was fueled by Antonio alone. All I know is how I feel. "I want a baby with you. I want to have a family. A big one." I swallow deeply.
"But?"
I sag. I've been hoping he'll say something else, but this is fine. This is a conversation I'm driving.
"Not yet." I meet his eyes, praying I don't see disappointment. "I need to finish school, and I need time. I don't want to jump from daughter, wife, to mother. I don't—" I let out a shaky breath. "I don't think I'd be able to do it properly that way."
He's quiet. Processing.
"How long?" he asks. "Until you're ready?"
"A few years," I touch his face tenderly, praying he understands. I'm not Sera. I need to get my head on straight before I become a mother. I've never had time to breathe, to learn about myself, and I'm desperate for that level of freedom.
There's a long, tense silence between us, and it's breaking me.
"Can you say something, please?" I beg. I look past his intense green eyes, to the view behind him.
His fingertips brush a stray piece of hair behind my ear. "Can I be honest?"
"Please." I grit my teeth trying to make sure that I'm calm.
"Part of me wants to say no. Wants to argue that we've waited long enough, and that we should start now." He pulls me closer. "But the bigger part—the part that loves you, really loves you—knows you're right. You need this time. This chance to be Gemma before you're someone's mother."
Relief floods through me. "You mean it?"
"Yes. Two years. Three. However long you need.
" He kisses my forehead. "Because when we do have a baby, I want you to be ready.
Really ready. Not because it's expected or required or part of a contract, but because you want it.
Choose it." He presses a kiss to my forehead.
"I want a family with you," he admits. "I never thought I'd want to be a father, but weirdly enough.
.." He chuckles. "Who knew a psychopath could desire something so pure. "
Tears prick my eyes. "I did," I kiss him, softly. I pull away. "After all, Adrian has a whole brood."
Saint laughs. "I think the twins did it for me," he squeezes me tightly. "They are pretty fucking cute."
My nieces, Bea and Lucy, are so perfect that I'm not surprised they have wrapped two the city's most dangerous men around their little fingers.
"I don't own your body, Gemma," Saint whispers. "We are partners in this. When you're ready. I will be too."
I kiss him. Deep. Grateful. Loving.
When we break apart, he's smiling. "Besides. Three years gives me time to get used to the idea of being a father. The twins are cute, but Angelo scares the shit out of me. Sera told me he climbed the gate and got out onto the street."
I chuckle. Angelo is a wild child, and my favorite. I'm pretty sure he'll give my brother a run for his money though I keep those thoughts to myself.
"I'm serious, Gem. How the fuck does that happen? He's two."
"I'm sure you and Marcello did worse."
He looks at me with mischief in his eyes.
"Obviously." He grins. "Which is why I've decided we will only be having girls."
I laugh again. A full belly one. One full of joy. "I don't think you have too much say in that. What I can say is that either way, we'll never be bored."
"True." Saint nuzzles my neck, and I can feel him swelling against me, somehow harder than before. I stand up. "How about we practice?" I ask, untying the halter of my dress.
Saint has me in his arms in seconds.
We go inside. To the massive bedroom that overlooks the coast.
Saint makes love to me. It's slow and tender like we have all the time in the world.
Because we do.
No contracts. No obligations. No pressure.
Just us. Choosing each other. Every day.
"I love you," he whispers. "My brilliant, strategic, dangerous wife."
"I love you too." I pull him closer, inhaling his scent. "My possessive, protective, impossible husband."
"We're so fucked up."
"Extremely." I smile. "But we're figuring it out."
"Together."
"Together."