“Merry Christmas.”
The excitement of an eager child dances in his eyes while I fight the tears in mine from his gloved hand wrapped tight around the trunk of a huge evergreen. Maybe he's forgotten that I know he's never had a Christmas tree before. That he's never drank hot chocolate or wrapped presents or hid behind the curtains trying to catch sight of Santa Claus in the middle of the night. Only to wake up safe and warm back in his own bed.
Instead, he had a candy cane once from his kindergarten teacher. Dropped in the crush of kids escaping out the door when the bell rang for holiday break. Rationing himself to one broken piece a day to make the treat last as long as possible. Or the year his mom promised him a real Christmas dinner and instead lost custody of him for the third time after the ham burned bad enough to set off the smoke detector while she slumped on the sofa, passed out after too much spiked eggnog. When he started hustling for Ricky and scraped together enough to buy her a real diamond necklace. That she traded to her dealer the very next day.
Horrible childhood stories related to me with a nonchalance I don't believe. For as tough and stubborn and overbearing he is, his broken psyche still aches for normalcy. That I'm thrilled to give him. That I'm determined to make new memories with him. If not perfect, that at least fill the hollowness in his heart. "When you said you were running an errand, I didn't know you meant buying a Christmas tree."
"Two errands actually." He gives the fir a gentle shake. "Come on. We don't have all day."
I set my mug down on the kitchen table next to my laptop and wave to his housekeeper, Mrs. Gibson. Who smiles yet still seems to be floating in a haze of shock as she mixes gingerbread from the list of cookies he requested this morning at breakfast. Following the trail of needles to the den, where he's already squatting on the floor assembling a rotating stand. The long sleeve tee and jeans a nice departure from his formal suit. More proof of the changes occurring within him.
"I have a present for you." Nodding toward a rolled up paper on the new desk, his huge hand wraps around mine and he leads me over to his gift. The excitement in his demeanor is contagious and my stomach swirls. "Check it out."
He sets his phone and one of my binders on the curling corners and smooths his hand across the plans, tapping on tiny letters. "This is for you."
Not quite sure what I'm looking at in the designs, I peer closer. Claw foot tub.
My eyes burn again for the second time in five minutes. But this time happiness triggers the emotion.
"I'm blowing out the wall to the guest room to the left of the master. We can expand the bathroom for the tub and give you your own walk in closet. My guy said it would take about two months to complete." He finally looks up, hopeful expectation filling his gaze. "What do you think?"
That the idea is totally unnecessary, extravagant, and amazing. "That you're wonderful."
I swear he blushes from my sentiment. My sweet, crazy, soft-hearted mobster. So eager to please me. When all I need is his love. That I finally know in this moment, with this gesture, I have.
"I meant the remodeling project."
"I know." Tucking against his chest, I breathe in the fresh pine scent he carried in with him. Relaxing in his strong arms curling around me. His lips on my head. His heart thumping under my cheek. His hands in my hair. Wrapped in perfection. "I love it, and I love you. Thank you."
"Got to keep the wife happy."
I let his comment pass. Which doesn't go unnoticed with his playful smack on my bottom when I release him. Reminding me how domineering he is too.
The clear bins I stored in the hall closet of my old apartment line the wall. Not nearly enough ornaments to cover the enormous tree he bought compared to the small ones I would lug home and decorate along with wreaths, baskets, and candles. Somehow, with the enjoyment softening his expression, I don't think he'll mind. Clicking off the lid, I lift out a long cord of old-fashioned fat red lights that I don't even think you can buy anymore, and plug in the strand to check the bulbs. Unable to keep from smiling myself when they all glow to life. We just need one more thing to make our task even better. I grab the remote, scrolling down the list on the screen to the music stations, and select holiday instrumentals. Now we're all set with O Holy Night drifting through the air.
We work well together. Easy harmony between us as we coil the strings around and around the diameter and hang every silver, gold, and iridescent ball I have on the branches. My giggle mingling with his chuckle of my lopsided snowman from second grade art class.
I rifle through the tissue paper in the last crate. "I guess that's it. They're all empty."
"You forgot one."
He points to a plain black box sitting on the sofa. No label or markings. I don't remember the small container, but the mischievous smirk curling up his lips tells me I wouldn't. He snuck one in without me realizing his scheming. Probably a baby ornament since he's so obsessed.
Stifling an eye roll, I flip up the lid and my heart flip flops before jumping into my throat. The ring he showed me. The ring he bought for me. The ring he carried with him for six months to remind him of me.
My ring.
Before I can manage to speak, he’s on one knee in front of me. Overwhelming me with the emotions swirling on his face. Engulfing us in our own perfect Christmas fantasy. The soft lights flickering on his shirt. The hymns wafting in the background. The scent of cinnamon and cloves permeating the air. All for us. For our future.
I had a speech prepared. Not eloquent or fancy like she is. But the words I wanted to say and the words I want her to hear. Fuck me if my mind goes blank from the exhilaration radiating from her smile. The drops glistening as they roll down her smooth rosy skin. The joy pulsing through her small frame. All for the question I should have asked her so damn long ago. Somehow, some crazy way, I’ve earned her forgiveness. Received a second chance I sure as hell don’t deserve. And, I refuse to fuck it up. “I know for too fucking long I let you think I didn't want you. That I didn't want to be with you. That's why I keep coming on too strong and moving too damn fast. Because I don’t want to wait anymore.”
Trembling hands grasp the tiny box. I stroke over her fingers, encouraging her to loosen her grip. A small laugh mingles with a sob, escaping from her grinning lips while tears shine in her huge eyes. Allowing me to lift the lid, I hold up the platinum band. The enormous diamond sparkling between my thumb and finger to remind her how fucking deadly serious I am about her. "I’m fucking desperate for you to know I want you here. All the time. In my bed. On my sofa. At the table. In your tub. Please Books, marry me and let me give you everything you want.”
Another whimper bubbles out and she drops down with me, cupping her trembling hands around mine. Together holding the symbol of my promise to her. "You already have. Being with you is all I’ve ever wanted. I love you."
Fuck me if my own eyes don’t burn like the fucking pussy ass bitch that I am from the confidence in her tone. "How do you do that?"
Deep lines furrow her brow. Attempting to understand my meaning. "What?"
"Own me. You’re the only person who makes me so weak.”
"You have the same power over me." Her stunning smile returns as she gazes at me. "But I decided I’d rather be scared with you, than in hell without you.”
I have to squash that hint of uncertainty. I clutch the back of her neck and haul her closer. My forehead pushed against hers. “No fear angel. For either of us. No one doubts. No one gives up. No one leaves.”
She shudders from my ferocity, but thankfully nods in agreement. “Okay.”
Good girl. “Then is that a ‘yes’?”
“I have nothing else to give as my Christmas gift to you.” Her head tilts, cheeks pink with a shy innocence I fucking love. “So yes, I’ll marry you Giovanni."
Fuck me. She’s going to be my wife. I cup her lifted cheeks and give her a chaste kiss despite the fact I want to fuck her. Right here right now. Under the tree with the colorful lights dancing across her gorgeous naked body. But, I can’t ruin the moment because of my insatiable cock. Unwilling to tarnish the romantic memory she deserves. “Then that's when we should make it official. A Christmas wedding."
Huge eyes meet mine as she pulls away, shaking her head. "It's official that you are certifiable. That's four days from now! How am I supposed to–?"
An exaggerated throat clearing vibrates from the doorway. "Your champagne, Mr. Trivoli."
Mrs. Gibson holds a small tray with two tall flutes. Golden bubbles float to the rim in one; the other filled with less than an ounce. Impossible not to chuckle from the confusion on Books' face. Well aware of the questions filling her expression. "I told her to bring in the champagne when she heard you yelling. That would be the sign you said yes."
Waving the housekeeper inside the den, I accept the glasses she offers, and hold out the almost empty drink to my beautiful fiancée. Adorable in her bewilderment.
“Congratulations Mr. Trivoli, Miss Anderson. I'm so happy for you." Her smile beams even brighter as she bows her head toward Chryseis. "I would be honored to assist you in your planning, if you would like my help."
Always gracious and elegant despite her shock, Chryseis grasps the older woman's free hand. "Yes, please. I would love that. Thank you."
I can’t help but kiss her flushed temple and tuck her against me while they chat. Chryseis lamenting the madness consuming me. Interesting that Mrs. Gibson doesn't refute her arguments. I thought the woman liked me. Finally, they move on to mulling over locations and timing. Whatever it costs. Whatever she wants. Regardless of how rushed or crazy or expensive the wedding will be. Because for the first time ever, I'm genuinely at true peace. Content in the fact that she wants me and we'll always be together.