Chapter 45
HARRISON
We arrive home, and I am calmer. Calmer than I’ve been in a decade. I had no idea how wired I’d become, and enough is enough.
I am serious about our plans, and I am serious about building a family.
On the way to Texas to get Samantha back, I realized I could not control everything.
Holding on too tight, plus not loving anything new, simply because everything one day will die, was foolish.
I also realized life is a cycle, and everything is born, it grows, it ages, and then it dies.
Death will always be around, and I should not fail to embrace people or beings because of it.
I will die, and one day, we all will die.
Not getting fully involved in living or loving is wrong. The best thing I can do is love Samantha with all my heart and leave something to the world.
Spending time with Samantha is everything to me now. Creating love and creating life is my focus, and that means small feet in the house.
And it means children.
I want to see my mother and my sister again, and the only way I can kind of get close is by creating mini versions of them, from us.
Sure, the DNA won’t be exact, but we can create gentle and kind darlings.
Darling new family members, who will be themselves but have slices of our family and us within.
Creating life is the last thing I imagined doing five years back, but it now dominates my mind and my imagination.
As Samantha drives us up to the chateau steps, I am slow in climbing out. I step onto the back seat, and then carefully onto the boot of the sports car. I then look up.
“Babe, what are you doing?” Sam asks, holding arms of flowers and honey.
“We need to renovate!”
“What?”
“I still love it, but it may be stale. We need to think about the future, not just the past.”
I drop down next to my girl, and Sam rests a hand on my shoulder. I hold her close. “If we are building a family, you need to put your stamp on the place, and together, we turn it into a home. It’s as much yours now as it is mine.”
Sam raises a brow, and she kisses my cheek. “In time, dear.”
I then remember a nasty top of hers. The one with way too many patterns. “Actually, but not too many weird patterns, that top of yours with—”
“It’s kind of weird,” she says, cutting me off.
“What?”
“Just when I think you’re perfect, you say something like that. Still a bit of a dick. I really do give up!” Sam shakes her head, and I think she is serious. She then laughs loudly and runs ahead.
I sprint after her, and we race for the big door.
It is about time we renovate some of the chateau, and I am excited to build a family. Since losing my parents and Amanda, it’s been rough.
I didn’t fully realize it, but I likely did hide myself away. Even if at the time I believed I was focused on work and building the entertainment conglomerate out.
I still believe success is sacrifice, but at what cost, and where are the limits?
Samantha was right, a while back, when she said I should start living in the now. She was also right when she asked how huge a conglomerate is enough.
I had then said I want the world. But now, Sam is more important. I would rather be the King of her Heart, than the King of Global Media.
It is time to heal. Time for us, and time for now.
Also, kids and dogs. Lots of kids and dogs.
There are also several hobbies I aim to focus on. Honey Sundays being one of them, but I will rename that Honey Sin-day for Sam and me.
William is happy to see Samantha back, and they hug long and gentle.
They are the two most important people in my life, and it makes me feel good to see them share energy.
William looks better than he did when we buried Tusk. He also has news. Good news.
William tells us he has found two perfect candidates to replace him.
One is young and in his twenties. Some Italian named Sebastian. The other is in his fifties and bald.
Samantha asks William if the young one is hot and single. I growl inside, even if it’s a joke. William and I exchange a glance, and I know I need to be firm.
“The old bald one,” I say. “I know when to trust my instincts.”
There is no way I’ll have some young, dumb, and full of come guy around the roost.
“You don’t want to meet him?” William and Sam ask at the same time.
I shake my head, and Sam holds onto my shoulder. “Did I ever tell you I think bald is hot?”
She runs up the marble stairs, and I chase her fast. She squeals like a little pig. She is my hot, wicked pig.
After sliding around corners in my expensive leather shoes, I finally catch her. We are on the top floor, near our suite. I throw Sam on my shoulder, and we both pant and laugh like maniacs.
Inside our penthouse apartment, I throw her onto the four-poster bed. I yank off my clothes, thinking of all the sinful things I want to do to my girl.
The crazy vixen bites her lower lip and eye-fucks me as she pulls off her own clothes. It is time to see how good we are at making babies.
Even if I want to stretch her wide and take her hard with all I have, it’s time to make love to her.
The next day, after the deepest sleep I’ve ever had, we interview interior designers. We also walk around the old home, and we try to check on every room.
I know it will help Samantha settle in, and I know with her stamp on it, it will feel like the place is hers.
I hope she won’t ask for half the upholstery to be redone in garish colors or corduroy, but it is a risk I am willing to take.
The next day, as we walk through the lobby, I pause and look up. I am lost for words at the gesture and gift, and I hold Sam tight. As we look up at the photo of Amanda, Tusk, and me, I thank her, for being in my life.
I then kiss her head and whisper into her hair, “Baby.”
“Yes,” she says, turning in my arms.
“You have to start making babies!”
Samantha gives me a wicked look, and then she raises a brow. “The heck I do.” She then tickles me, wrestles out my grip, and runs.
I chase Sam into the grand hall, and as always, she is lightning fast. Sam stops on the far side of a long, polished oak table in the fast-moving mock hunt.
I am stuck on the other, and we pant, our eyes locked.
“Babies, now!” I demand as we face off. We already discussed it last night, and she agreed. Agreed to become pregnant, and soon.
I do, however, love this playful cat-and-mouse theater.
Suddenly, Samantha dashes around one side of the table, and I go after her. “Too young!”
“Come here, woman!”
Again, she is faster than me, and again, she is in bare feet. Just like a wicked hot peasant in the day. My formal Italian shoes are proving to be pointless. “Come here, woman.”
“Pussy will be stretched,” she yells loudly.
That idea connects, and I slow. Maybe it’s time to discuss timing and details.
“Okay, we need a deal,” I say, panting near the huge fireplace.
Sam stops nearby, a sword now in her hands.
“One at a time, and not too much stretching,” my fiancée proposes. “With lots of practice!”
Sam moves behind an antique table with a priceless Ming Dynasty vase on it. We eye each other, and I finally nod.
We shake hands, and I take the sword and put it back near the fireplace.
As we walk back for the lobby, I throw my arm over Sam’s shoulder. We then talk about dogs and getting a dog before having kids. Many kids.
A week later, after hearing a friend in media has had puppies, we travel to the Hamptons in the Jag. Over juices, poolside, Samantha and I visit the small hounds.
The pups are young, and they have only just started to give them away. They are chocolate labradors with no names yet, but they are gorgeous.
As they scamper over our feet, and we hold them up and beam, we agree to receive two of their pups. We are given a male and a female, and we are in heaven.
Before we head north, and home, we make another stop.
After driving through Troy’s Remington’s high gates and onto his classy property, Sam’s jaw drops.
I have to agree, Troy Remington’s home is a fine spread with impeccable views of the ocean.
Troy welcomes us and our pups, and we sit and talk, overlooking the Hampton beach.
While sipping the non-alcoholic version of mojitos, mojiteas, we discuss some planned media projects outside of our new business. It takes an hour, but Troy finally agrees, and we shake hands.
The deal will help us both, and it is healthy synergy.
As we leave Troy’s mansion, for lack of a better term, Sam holds the pups on her lap. She then looks back into the rear vision mirror.
“What?” I ask.
Sam exhales, and I laugh. Troy has always been a heartbreaker, and he did do some modelling in the day. The bastard really is overly good-looking.
“Look, I get it,” I say. “Gorgeous and wealthy.”
“And dark, broody, tall, and commanding,” she adds.
I don’t mind it, and I know what we have is unbreakable.
“So, why is Troy single again?”
As we exit the gates and drive beach-side, I’m slow in replying. “Likely this, I guess.”
I rub my chin to think as Sam adjusts her flapping red scarf.
“To build a media empire, you need guts, drive, and ambition. You also need this. Time. That means little to no time for relationships, hobbies, or time wasting. It’s likely why so many pals at the top of media are single, or are until they meet the one.”
We share a look as we stop at the Hampton lights. I raise a brow. “Sound familiar?”
Sam winks and holds our two pups up. “Isn’t daddy clever when he’s asked a simple question?”
We both laugh as we turn right and head north. I love the Hamptons and NYC, but it’s nice to head away from the masses, and get home.
As we drive north, we debate the pups’ names. Samantha says we should name one each, and I agree. Before I can say anything, Sam says the word, “Tusk.”
I nod, long and slow.
I’m the least emotional guy I know, but it hits me, and hard.
Sam pulls me close as she keeps the pups warm in her Burberry coat. I kiss her head and point the Jag towards the estate.
“Now you,” Sam says as the small pups whine like seals.
“What was your mom’s mother’s name again? The one she never got to meet.”
Samantha smiles sweetly. “Jessie. It was Jessie.”
“Then Tusk and Jessie it is,” I say.
We laugh loud at the madness. “Not exactly a matching sounding pair,” I say.
“Well, they will have their own personalities.”
“You’re not wrong,” I say, looking over as Sam studies the smallest. Sam looks at them side by side. They are only handfuls, and they yap happily. We both laugh, and I take a side road towards home. It is an old road few know of.
It will take us through some of the most amazing countryside in upstate New York and bypass most people, cars, and buildings. We will also get to see rivers, forests, and classy old homes.
Like the one we are building together.
Tusk and Jessie are goofy little hounds, but they fit in fast. During their first week in the chateau, they keep getting lost, and we have trouble finding them in the twenty-bedroom home.
We also have to lift them up the odd high marble step.
During the second week, they find flow, and they have better direction.
They also scamper faster up the steps, down the long passages, around the halls, and in our quarters.
Things move fast, and within a month of being home, we have a small family building.
William’s replacement, Edward, is starting to work out too.
He is extremely formal, extremely bald, and he is always overdressed. He is also from England, and there, he was a professional butler to some royals.
Sam tries to loosen him up, and finally, Edward caves and comes to work without a tie.
He tells Sam he thinks it is frightfully wrong, but then adds, “but you are after all, the lady of the house.”
He is not wrong, and Sam indeed is. It is her home now, and not so much mine.
William moves into the small, classy lake house in the far corner of the estate as planned. He is a mile from us, now, but it is somewhat comforting, knowing he is safe and we have his back. And to some extent, he has ours, if ever needed, like family.
It is also nice to see him take up his hobbies and to do so in more detail.
He is a civil war historian, and he is also into rare bird watching. We are also sure we have seen a few ladies leave his place late in the evening. The sly old fox may have been pacing himself, after all.
One thing does, however, disturb me.
After William and I discuss various complex estate duties, and as I walk back to the Jag that is outside his place, he mentions flowers. He then says, “I am glad they worked.”
It is then that I think back a few months. To when I likely needed a nudge to claim Samantha as mine.
It then becomes crystal clear.
The crafty old bugger arranged the flower delivery and card for Samantha. No one else! Naturally, the aim being I get jealous of whoever sent them, and I take her more seriously.
I eye William and shake my head. “You crafty old devil.”
“Thank you, Master Harry, but with all due respect, I think it’s 'You Crafty Old Bastard.'”
As I climb into the Jag and start the engine, I laugh. “It’s good to see I still have a few things to learn.”
“And one day to teach your kids,” William says, walking up and looking over the lake.
“Indeed,” I say, thinking.
“Good. Now, keep things moving along,” William says, losing his formal side. “The old home needs the pitter-patter of feet on the floorboards.”
William smiles, then he taps the side of the car as I pull away. He is the closest man I have to a father, and I love him for it.
He is also right!