GIO
“I can still walk,” Millie’s words were accompanied by a tender smile, her eyes dancing with a mixture of amusement and affection. Despite her protest, I carried her, my arms cradling her form, across the threshold of the bathroom and into our intimate haven. The bedroom’s golden light painted her skin in a soft glow, and I settled her on the bench by the foot of our bed. Droplets of water clung to her, like transient jewels, and I relished the tactile sensation of drying her with the towel, each stroke a reverent exploration of her being. It was a luxury I’d denied myself for far too long, a tactile intimacy that now seemed like a missed treasure.
Curiosity tugged at my tongue, a question wanting to break free. “Do you know the gender?” I managed to ask, striving to maintain a casual tone despite the pang of insecurity that gnawed at my heart. The thought that she might have learned something so profound without me, standing by her side, struck a chord of unease.
Her response was a gentle shake of her head, her fingers finding their way into my damp hair. “Not yet,” her voice held a wistful note, the sound a fragile melody of hope. “It might still be too early, and I didn’t want to know without you. I’d hoped we could share that moment together.” Her fingers threaded through my hair, a soothing rhythm that anchored me to the present. And yet, despite the serenity of the moment, there was an underlying vulnerability in her words that resonated deeply.
“We will,” the words tumbled from my lips, earnest and sincere. Leaning in, I pressed my forehead against her bare thigh, inhaling the delicate intermingling of vanilla and her unique essence. “I’ll be here for every step from now on, I promise.”
Her nod was a silent affirmation, and as my gaze met hers once more, I saw the glistening evidence of tears. “Millie,” the word left my lips in a mix of concern and pain, my heart aching at the sight of her tears. “Why are you crying again?”
The anguish of witnessing her tears was a weight upon me, a constant reminder of the role I played in her distress.
“It’s just the hormones, Gio,” her voice held a tremor, a fragile veneer of composure. Her attempt at a smile wavered, like a fragile flame in a breeze. “The due date is set for July.”
July. The word hung in the air, carrying with it a realization that sent ripples of introspection through my thoughts. Five and a half months stretched ahead-a journey into the unknown. It was a canvas on which the brushstrokes of my own past were starting to paint shadows.
As I helped Millie into her clothes, I grappled with the specter of my own father, memories of him invading my thoughts uninvited, each one a bitter reminder of what he had been to me and my brother. Our relationship had been strained at best, a broken connection tainted by his choices. Sebastian and I had never held any affection for him. He was far from what anyone might consider a good father, even within the complex hierarchy of our world. How could I dare to embrace fatherhood when I was steeped in a legacy of destruction and violence?
Millie’s questioning gaze caught mine, reading my mood like an open book. Insecurity threaded through her expression, a question she hesitated to voice. “Are you alright?”
The weight of her concern was both a comfort and a burden. I squeezed her hand, our fingers intertwined, as if seeking an anchor in the storm of my thoughts.
“Don’t worry about me, my princess,” the words left my lips in a reassuring murmur, my tone gentle but resolute.
Her nod held a hesitant acquiescence, but her eyes remained searching, determined to unravel the layers of my emotions. “You don’t seem happy.”
The mask of casual indifference I had tried to wear slipped momentarily, exposing the raw edges of my conflicted emotions. “I am happy about this, Millie,” I spoke with conviction, lifting our joined hands to my lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “How could I not be, when it means a part of you?”
Her features softened, her tension easing like the unfurling of petals. “Perhaps it will be a boy, a small version of you.”
The words stirred something within me, a mixture of anticipation and anxiety that I struggled to contain. A son, an heir-the expectation weighed heavily, the specter of my father’s image looming like a storm cloud.
“I want a girl,” my admission came swift, unfiltered. There was no point in feigning indifference when the truth was so clear.
Her gaze held mine, her scrutiny unyielding. “Is it because you fear you won’t know how to love a son as you would a daughter?”
The question hit like an arrow, piercing through the armor I had constructed. I exhaled, my breath carrying the weight of my uncertainties. “I will love our child, regardless of their gender,” the words were a vow, a solemn promise. “But with a son, I can’t help but think of the future.”
I left the thought hanging, the unsaid words a dark specter that lingered between us. We were still in the realm of the unknown, the gender yet to be revealed, and here I was, grappling with the shadows of my own history.
“We should really step out now,” I asserted, gently pulling her along. Concern etched my features as I felt her sway once more, causing my hold on her to tighten. Drawing her closer, I guided her out of our bedroom and down the stairs. The first floor loomed empty and quiet; Sebastian must have gone off to find Harper, I mused.
As we descended, I seized the opportunity to breach a topic that had been looming between us. “Has Harper been informed about your pregnancy?” My strides were measured, thoughtful, as I led Millie toward the sleek silhouette of my new black Mercedes G-Class resting in the driveway. It was a vain attempt at distraction, an endeavor to quell the brewing storm of emotions within me.
A trace of uncertainty clouded Millie’s eyes as she answered, her voice tentative. “Harper and Sienna…” Her sentence hung unfinished, her lip caught between her teeth in nervous contemplation.
I supplied the missing link, my tone acknowledging and weary. “And Dario.”
The worry etched upon her features deepened, and she admitted, “I needed him, needed Dario to accompany me to the gynecologist. I knew it was something you wouldn’t have been comfortable with, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask Gabriele. He would have divulged everything to you immediately.”
A conceding nod accompanied my silent comprehension. As we approached the waiting car, I paused, holding the door open for her. It struck me that a conversation with Dario was now necessary. With Millie safely seated, a flicker of anxiety crossed her expression, those eyes laden with worry once more. “Please don’t hold it against him. He helped me tremendously. I can’t imagine how I would’ve managed without him.”
I suppressed my simmering frustration, redirecting it away from Millie or even Dario. It wasn’t their fault, it was the circumstances that had forced Millie to lean on Dario. The door clicked shut, and I rounded the car’s front, slipping into the driver’s seat.
The drive back to New York took on a quiet cadence, and I permitted Millie to find respite in slumber. Fatigue hung heavily on her, a weight she could no longer bear. Her pregnancy was concealed beneath the casual drape of her shirtdress, but my gaze involuntarily gravitated to that subtle curve.
Once the car was parked in a designated loading zone, I roused Millie gently. Her awakening was swift, marked by a momentary disorientation that swiftly gave way to awareness. Eyes scanned our surroundings, and she inquired, “Have we reached Manhattan already?”
“You slept through the journey,” I replied softly, offering her a reassuring smile.
“Apologies.” Her gaze shifted out the window, and concern marred her features. “Do you think we might be towed?”
“Rest assured,” I confirmed. Stepping out of the car, I caught the gaze of the restaurant owner whose loading zone I was monopolizing. Recognition dawned in his eyes; he paid us for protection.
Assisting Millie out of the car, I clasped her hand firmly. She straightened her posture, summoning a demeanor of strength. This was the world of public scrutiny, a realm where Millie and I had well-defined roles. Paparazzi were a constant shadow, and although my connections typically provided a buffer, I preferred to avoid any potential scandals altogether. The Mathias and Millie debacle had been harrowing enough; its memory still ignited a smoldering anger within me.
Millie’s thoughts echoed audibly as she remarked, “I hope Dr. Lee is available for us.” Following her lead, I strode alongside her toward a building housing a multitude of medical practices, effectively concealing the purpose of our visit. Preventing the news of Millie’s pregnancy from spreading prematurely was imperative. In the midst of our ongoing conflicts, our child was too vulnerable. Mathias’s knowledge was worrisome enough; keeping it from other adversaries demanded utmost discretion. I was resolute in shielding them from harm, sparing no effort.