MILLIE
Returning to the bedroom, I discarded my robe, my reflection awaiting me in the full-length mirror. Whispering softly, affection woven into my words, I traced the path of my gaze over my growing belly. Fourteen weeks had transformed me, this undeniable evidence of life a testament to what I carried within. Turning sideways, I marveled at the silhouette, the contours of a baby unmistakably present. My palm rested on the bump, a touch that, in its absence, I yearned for desperately. The ache for Gio’s touch, his love, resonated within me, a poignant ache that seemed to intensify with each passing day.
A faint creak sliced through the air, and his voice, laden with emotion, reached me. “Millie.” It was Gio.
Startled, I pivoted away from the mirror, my hurried movements causing the clothes stand to topple, crashing onto the floor at my feet. I winced at the sound, hastily clutching the bathrobe to my exposed form, a feeble shield against his gaze.
Gio stood in the room, a figure struck by hesitation, as his gaze shifted back and forth between the clothes rack and myself, clutching the bathrobe with a fervor that seemed to define salvation.
Within his features, a fleeting shadow of regret danced, a subtle acknowledgement of his missteps. Yet, I dared not allow hope to sprout in my chest. The question that escaped his lips was gentle, almost fragile amidst the tension that hung between us: “Millie, are you scared of me?”
Did fear truly possess me? I took a measured moment to study Gio, my thoughts traversing the labyrinth of our shared history. There had been instances, fleeting moments when doubt had gnawed at me, especially in the aftermath of his unfounded suspicions. But those moments were no more. He hadn’t harmed me even when consumed by the belief that I had perpetrated the gravest betrayal. I knew in the depths of my being that he would never inflict harm upon me.
“No,” I answered, the word carrying a profound conviction that resonated within the stillness of the room.
He edged closer, his movements orchestrated with a deliberate slowness, a conscious effort not to startle me. His hand reached out, retrieving the clothing rack as he methodically straightened it. Our eyes locked, and within the depths of his gaze, emotions stirred that tugged at the strings of my heart. His words found their way through the silence, each syllable carrying the weight of his turmoil: “I don’t fear pain. I can withstand torment. But the sight of you with Mathias, the belief that you…” His voice trailed off, the anguish etched upon his face mirroring the turmoil within him. “I wanted to annihilate you, and in the same breath, extinguish my own existence, for I knew my weakness would prevent even that.”
Such a twisted logic, born from the depths of his torment.
“I apologize for sowing seeds of mistrust within you,” I admitted, my voice a fragile tether between us. “But Gio, I love you. I would never permit another’s touch, never betray you in such a manner.”
“I know,” he responded in a hushed tone, the distance between us still unbridged. Perhaps it was my own vulnerability, my form shielded by the bathrobe, that gave him pause, a hesitance regarding what he might do with the bared vulnerability of my being.
“Does your love for me still persist?” he inquired, his countenance unveiled, stripped of the guarded facade of a Capo. In that moment, he was not the head of an underworld empire; he was my husband, the man entwined in my heart, just as I in his.
“Of course,” I affirmed, my heart’s devotion an unshakable constant. I felt incapable of severing the bond of affection that had woven itself so profoundly.
“And you?” His laughter, tinged with shadows, resounded-an unfiltered, raw sound. A tentative step brought him closer, though he arrested his own movement. “I love you beyond reason. It’s an agony that courses through me, a relentless ache that accompanies every moment apart, every instance where I must feign indifference. To witness you suffer on account of me-it tears at my very soul.”
“I’m not afflicted,” I protested, though his scrutiny of my collarbones betrayed his perception of my changed state.
“Your form has dwindled, Millie,” he gestured softly, a gesture laden with concern. “I’m not blind to the evidence.”
I shrugged, a gesture meant to downplay the issue. “It’s a challenge I can endure.”
“Grant me forgiveness,” he implored, the words so rare and foreign on his tongue. My eyes widened, for Capos were not meant to seek or give such concessions. It was a principle he had internalized from his father.
His eyes, once distant and aloof, now beckoned me in. He was here, fully present. My Gio had returned, the one who made my heart race and my emotions soar. Tears welled in my eyes, unbidden witnesses to my overwhelming relief. And then, he bridged the remaining space between us. “Millie?”
I met his gaze, absorbing the emotion laid bare within it. “Of course, I forgive you, just as I hope you can forgive me.”
“Could I ever withhold forgiveness from you?” His touch cupped my cheeks, tender and sincere. “I love you.” With a gentle inclination, his lips found mine in a soft, lingering kiss. It was a moment of exquisite tenderness, absent of possessiveness, an affirmation of the affection that bound us. My lips parted, allowing his tongue to seek the taste that had been denied for too long. In that stolen breath between us, I recognized the magnitude of my yearning. I had missed this-the depth of connection, the taste of his love.
I let the bathrobe slip from my shoulders, revealing the contours of my body. The room was dimly lit, casting a sensual glow across everything. With a mixture of anticipation and nervousness, I placed my palms gently against his chest, feeling the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips. His touch was electric, igniting a cascade of sensations within me.
His hands embarked on a journey, gliding down from the warmth of my cheeks, tracing a path over my shoulders, and finally coming to rest on the curve of my lower back. A shiver ran down my spine as his fingers delicately brushed against my ribs, sending a shuddering awareness of his proximity to the small bump that was emerging. And then, unexpectedly, he pulled away, his gaze intense.
His voice, barely more than a whisper, broke the silence. “Your ribs,” he said softly, concern lacing his words. “Millie, you need to take care of yourself. I can’t stand by and watch you neglect your well-being like this. Let me be there for you.”
A wistful smile curved my lips as I looked up at him. The tenderness in his eyes was palpable, his emotions laid bare. “You don’t understand, Gio.”
Misinterpretation flickered across his face, morphing his expression into one of raw fear. “Are you seriously unwell?”
A hurried response tumbled from my lips, accompanied by a reassuring chuckle. “No, not in that way. It’s not an illness, Gio.” Stepping back slightly, I met his gaze, the unspoken words hanging in the air between us, not directed at the barely noticeable bump that held so much significance. My hand sought his, and with a gentle touch, I guided his palm to rest over my belly.
The bewilderment that washed over his features was priceless, an intricate dance of shock and disbelief. His eyes fixed on the small swell beneath his hand, a tangible connection to the future we shared.
“What?” His voice wavered, uncertainty lacing his words.
A breath escaped my lips, carrying a mix of emotions. “I’m carrying our child, Gio.”
Slowly, almost cautiously, his gaze lifted to mine, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirling within his expressive eyes. He remained wordless, his silence heavy with the weight of realization sinking in.