Chapter 19
Cristiano
Iwake to a soft rustle of movement near my bed.
I keep my eyes half closed, watching Mina through my lashes.
She’s standing at my bedside replacing yesterday’s flowers with fresh ones from the garden.
White roses this time, their petals catching the morning light streaming through the window.
She’s wearing soft clothes—leggings and an oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder, revealing the curve of her throat—and her dark hair is loose down her back, falling in waves that make my fingers itch to touch.
I drink in every detail like a man who’s been dying of thirst. The delicate curve of her neck as she tilts her head, considering the arrangement with a small furrow between her brows.
The way her fingers move among the stems with practiced grace, coaxing the roses into place with touches so gentle I can almost feel them on my own skin.
She hums softly to herself, a melody I don’t recognize, and the sound fills my chest.
This is what I never thought I’d have again. Mina in my home, humming like she’s content to be here.
Down the hall, Leon is sleeping. My son. In my house. Our son, healing and safe under the same roof where I’m healing. We’re all together after so many years of being fractured and scattered and wrong.
I don’t deserve this, but here it is anyway, this perfect morning, and this woman who should shrink from me but is making my room beautiful instead. We’ve always been happiest together among flowers.
“Mina.”
My voice comes out rough, still thick with sleep, and she turns toward me with a startled movement. Her eyes find mine, and I see emotions flicker across her face. Worry, tenderness, and something softer that makes my heart pound against my ribs.
I reach for her hand.
She evades my fingers at first, moving to briskly tidy my bedclothes with nurse-like efficiency. But I catch her wrist before she can retreat completely, my fingers circling the delicate bones, feeling her pulse flutter against my thumb like a trapped bird trying to escape.
“Cristiano. You’re awake.”
“I’ve been awake.” I run my thumb across the delicate skin of her inner wrist, feeling the rapid beat of her heart. “Watching you.”
A flush creeps up her neck, staining her cheeks pink, and I watch it spread with fascination.
“I liked watching you.” My thumb traces small circles on her wrist. “You hum when you think no one’s listening.”
The flush deepens, spreading down to disappear beneath the collar of her sweater, and I wonder how far down it goes. She pulls away again and I let her, but slowly savoring the slide of her skin against mine.
“How are you feeling?” She slips into caretaker mode. “Any pain? Nausea?”
“I want to see Leon.”
That stops her. Her eyes search my face. “It’s early. He’s still sleeping.”
“I still want to see him.” I’m supposed to be taking daily walks to prevent blood clots and keep my strength up, and I want to do them with Mina.
I shift to sit up, moving too quickly in my eagerness, and immediately regret it.
Pain lances through my side, sharp enough to steal my breath and make spots dance across my vision.
“Don’t.” Mina’s hand flies to my shoulder, pressing me back with surprising strength for someone so small. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“I’m fine.” The words come out strained. “I want to see my son.”
Her expression softens. She understands wanting to be near your child and see him breathing and whole and safe.
She positions herself at my side, sliding an arm behind my back with careful precision.
I’ve been getting in and out of bed alone ever since I was discharged from the hospital, but I wrap my arm around her shoulders anyway, leaning into her warmth more than I need to, feeling the soft curves of her body press against mine as I swing my legs over the side of the bed.
The contact sends heat flooding through me. Her breast pressed against my ribs. Her hip against my side. The smell of her hair, floral and sweet, making me want to bury my face in it.
“Are you okay?” she asks once I’ve gotten to my feet, and I can hear genuine concern in her voice.
Having her this close, feeling her curves against me, breathing in her scent, it’s doing things to me that are entirely inappropriate for a man who just had major surgery three weeks ago. My body doesn’t seem to care about appropriate timing.
I turn my head, and whisper into her hair, letting my lips brush against the silky strands, “Perfect.”
I feel her shiver.
We move slowly down the hallway, and I let myself lean on her more than I need to, savoring every point of contact between us. Every few steps she pauses, checking my face for signs of distress, her eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes my chest tight.
“I’m fine,” I tell her each time. “Keep going.”
But I’m not thinking about the pain in my side or the weakness in my legs. I’m thinking about how perfectly she fits against me, how right it feels to have her supporting me like this, how much I want to stop in the middle of this hallway and kiss her until neither of us can breathe.
Leon’s door is half open. Mina eases it wider with her free hand, and we step inside together, still pressed against each other, still moving as one unit.
My son is curled on his side in the massive bed, dark curls spread across the pillow like a halo. His stuffed T-rex is tucked under one arm, its fabric worn soft from constant holding. His small chest rises and falls with perfect rhythm.
He looks so small in that bed. So fragile. So impossibly precious.
I can’t move. Can’t speak. Can’t do anything except stand there, leaning on Mina, staring at this perfect little person we made together. This miracle that shouldn’t exist but does anyway, sleeping peacefully in my house, under my protection, safe and healing and alive.
“He’s getting stronger every day,” Mina whispers beside me, her voice soft and warm against my ear. “The jaundice is almost gone. You can barely see the yellow anymore. Dr. Silva says his recovery is ahead of schedule.”
“Because of you.” I turn my head to look at her, and she’s so close our noses almost touch. “You’re taking such good care of him. Of both of us.”
Her smile is tremulous, uncertain, like she’s not sure if she’s allowed to be happy about my praise. “I’m trying.”
God, I want to kiss her. I want to pull her close and show her exactly what it means to me that she’s here, that our son is healing, that for the first time in my life I have something worth protecting. A family.
“He’s so strong,” I whisper, and I want to freeze this whole perfect moment in amber. “Like his mama.”
Mina’s hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining with a naturalness that makes my heart ache.
“When are we going to tell Leon?” I ask quietly, not wanting to break this perfect moment but needing to know.
“Tell Leon what?”
“That I’m his father.” I keep my voice soft. “He’s calling me Cristiano like I’m a stranger.”
She tenses further, and I can feel her building walls even though her hand is still in mine. “He’s four years old. He just had major surgery. It’s too much too fast.”
I know what she’s really saying. That as long as Leon calls me Cristiano, she can pretend this is temporary. That we’re just two people sharing space while Leon heals, and she hasn’t made any decisions or commitments.
But the moment Leon calls me Papa, everything changes. It becomes real and permanent and impossible to take back.
I brush the blade of my nose across her temple. “I’ve missed four years, Mina. I don’t want to miss any more.”
She looks away, and I can see the panic rising in her eyes. “I just— I need—”
Leon stirs, his eyes blinking open slowly, adjusting to the light filtering through the curtains.
“Mama?” His voice is sleepy and small and so trusting.
Mina hurries toward him, grateful for the interruption, and I have to shift my weight to compensate for the sudden loss of her warmth against my side. The cold rushes in where she was.
“I’m here, baby.” She sits on the edge of his bed, smoothing his curls back from his forehead with such tenderness it makes me ache. “Look who came to see you.”
Leon’s gaze finds me, and his face brightens with a smile that hits me square in the chest. “Cristiano!”
Not Papa. Not yet. But there’s affection in the way he says my name, like he’s happy to see me.
“Hey, buddy.” I ease myself down to sit on the edge of his bed, moving carefully so I don’t jar my incision, and Mina hovers anxiously beside me, ready to catch me if I wobble. “How are you feeling?”
“Good!” Leon is animated now that he’s fully awake. “Look, Mama bought me new dinosaurs yesterday. This one’s a velociraptor, and this one’s a—”
“Leon, baby, be careful.” Mina’s hand flies to his shoulder, gently pressing him back against the pillows with practiced efficiency. “You need to move slowly, remember? Your tummy is still healing.”
“But I feel better.” He squirms under her touch. Then his eyes land on my side, on the place where my shirt is stretched over my bandage. “Does yours hurt?”
“A little. But I’m tough. Just like you.”
“Can I see?”
I lift the hem of my shirt to show him the bandage that covers my incision, the white gauze stark against my skin.
Leon’s eyes go wide with fascination. “Whoa. That’s so big.”
“Yours is bigger,” I tell him, letting my shirt fall back into place. “You’re braver than me.”
“Really?” His whole face lights up, and he pulls up his own pajama shirt with eager hands, revealing the bandage across his small abdomen. “Mama says I’m brave too.”
“She’s right.” I meet his eyes, amber to amber, the unmistakable proof of our connection that anyone with eyes can see. “The bravest.”
“Mama makes me rest all the time even though I’m not tired anymore.”
I lean in slightly, conspiratorial. “She makes me do that too.” Leon giggles.
Mina huffs softly behind us. “I’m standing right here, you know.”