“I…my God. That’s…a lot to take in. I’m sorry for your loss, Mason. Or, should I call you Mario now?”

“Nah. Call me Mason. Mario is a guy from another life.”

We head out to the patio and take a seat, where Mason talks for the next hour, solid. I let him, just listening, letting him unburden himself as he so apparently needs to do.

The sequence of events is roughly as follows:

After the highly-publicized death of his parents, Mason, or, then-Mario…as the sole heir of the Grimmetti fortune, was nearly hounded to death himself; by the press, by hangers-on, by inundations of every sort, including offers of business partnerships, sponsorships, marriage, friendship, guardianship and more.

Worse, he spiralled into the kind of depression, despair and loneliness any person would feel when they are orphaned in this vast world with not a single human being to really, truly care for them.

Money is no substitute for love.

In that state of mind, at just seventeen years old, Mario then had to begin the battle of his life against a child-protection arm of the government of Italy, which tried to impose a state-appointed guardianship upon him and have him brought back to Europe, where they would have access to his money until he reached the age of majority.

However, Mario, raised in a business family intimately familiar with such things, feared that the Italian government agency would find innumerable excuses to never return his fortune to his control. And thankfully, the state of California and the US government didn’t roll over so easily to the demands of a foreign nation. They refused to deport the young heir.

Mason was able to find a lawyer in California who helped him emancipate himself and legally change his name.

So Mario Grimmetti became Mason Grimmell, and vanished from the sight of the press, the Italian government and all the other bloodhounds sniffing after his every move.

Afterwards, he fled eastward, to Columbus, where one of his few friends from boarding school lived, and whose parents let him bunk in their spare room, paying rent while he attended college at OSU. He soon bought a small condo downtown, in which his own son was to be conceived years later.

In college, Mason honed his inherited talent with high-tech mechanics into a degree in engineering, specializing in robotics, and began working for tech firms.

He soon tired of being an employee and started MG Works. While hiring a business lawyer, he met my father at a lunch with the firm. They hit it off, became friendly, and eventually Mason would use my dad’s services for his divorce, and then, the custodial arrangement for Drew.

In the meanwhile, he dated as much as he could, trying to find someone to fill the hole in his heart, someone with whom to start a family of his own.

His prior marriage had been with a girl from an old, wealthy Italian dynasty, whose family had known his for years. Unfortunately, she was demanding, difficult, eventually informing him that she’d never have children for fear of ruining her figure.

“Geez,” I say sympathetically, “maybe you really were a poor little rich boy.”

He shrugs. “But maybe the Grimmetti curse is gone now. I have a child, a family of my own.” He smiles. “You see why I’m so happy to have my son, mother or no mother. And… yes, it is sad that his own mother won’t be raising him but, maybe these things happen for a reason.”

He clasps one of my hands between both of his.

“Because, now…I have you, baby.”

* * *

The next month rolls around. I’m still here.

There’s been no more talk about hiring a nanny. No more talk about paying me, either. We’re both coasting along, letting our growing feelings for each other and sweet baby Drew take their own direction. It feels so right, so natural.

It’s a family kind-of direction, and that’s okay with me.

I have another month before I start school again anyway. Neither one of us is in a rush.

The baby’s growing so fast, it’s astonishing. He’s taking a full eight ounces per feeding at this point, and will soon be ready for pablum.

He’s awake and alert throughout the day now, his eyes following us where ever we go, his chubby fingers always seeking his toes and his head turning at the sound of his name.

His vocalizations are so cute and angelic; the sweetest chirping sounds emerge from little mouth as he learns to use his voice.

He’s so sweet and pure. Mother Nature sure knew her stuff when she made babies look and sound so adorable.

However, he’s still waking up once or twice through the night...which is the one thing about babies that Mother Nature could’ve put some more thought into…if you ask me.

We’ve been getting lots of photos and video. We were both there for his first smile, which happened when Daddy was tickling his tummy. I got the whole thing on video on my iPhone.

Mason’s been over his Poop Pukies for a while now. Which is a good thing, since the baby’s diapers are not getting any less stinky as time goes on. And he’s finding humor in it now, too, even developing his own Poop Grading System, announcing loudly into which category each diaper falls when he opens it.

Because, as he told me one day when dealing with a Defcon Six Toxic Explosion, “When life gives you baby poop, there’s fuck-all you can do, so you might as well have a laugh.”

* * *

One night, when the baby’s asleep, Mason shows me some plans that he’s been mulling over. They’re drawings for an indoor pool, to be built separately from the house, somewhere in the huge back area.

“So, what do you think?”

“An indoor pool, in its own building? That’s great, honey, but who’s gonna use it? You’re not big on entertaining, remember?”

“I’m not. But that’s going to change. There’s your family. Your parents, your brother, his friends…your friends. Everyone loves to swim. Don’t you think you’ll want to have them over sometime?”

“You…you mean…um…”

His eyes are shining.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Don’t you think Drew’s gonna need to have family around? Picture this,” he grins, holding his hands up, fingers splayed and thumbs touching, like a director framing a shot. “It’s a few years down the road. Christmas time. There’s a big tree, a roaring fire, and our kitchen filled with the smell of roasting turkey. Drew and his Uncle Stevie are playing with their new toys, and maybe, getting up to no good together.”

I smile. “Uncle Stevie?”

“Yeah! Uncle Stevie. Friends and family, filling up this big, empty house. Picture it: Summer time, people playing on that lawn out there, maybe with one of my drones, or taking an ATV for a spin on one of the trails. Friends going for a swim. Your mom and dad on this patio with us, maybe a couple dogs running around.”

Only a few short weeks ago, I’d have bolted from any guy who tried to paint a picture like this for me.

But Mason’s not just any guy. He captured my heart with his sensitivity, his caring, his determination to be a good father and his old-fashioned, stubborn perseverance. He might be a billionaire but he’s in a class of his own, head and shoulders above all the spoiled, snotty rich people I’ve known up until now.

Rich people, who, ironically, probably have a fraction of Mason’s money.

He reaches for me and we wrap our arms around each other, holding tight.

“I know it’s early, Sam. But I know my own heart. I’ve fallen in love with you. I don’t want you to go home. I want you to stay here, with me and Drew. You can go to school from here. Then, get a job or work here in the lab, or just take care of Drew. And me.”

He lifts my chin and kisses me tenderly. “And maybe, whenever you’re ready, we could give Drew a brother or sister.”

Yep. Only a few weeks ago, I’d have scoffed. But now…? Now, it squeezes my heart and fills me with giddy happiness.

“Oh gosh, Mason!”

“Is that a good oh gosh or a bad one?” He smiles down at me, hopefully.

I laugh. “Can’t you tell? I love you too. You walked into my life and completely changed it. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

* * *

More time passes. It’s the last weekend before my college semester begins.

The baby is bathed and in bed, in his crib in his own bedroom, which Mason let me furnish and decorate.

I’m having a shower in the master suite, where, naturally, I sleep now with Mason.

He had two built-in dressers installed in the master suite dressing room for me, and gave me three-quarters of the closet space.

“It’s hard to believe I have more clothes than a billionaire,” I’d said, when I finished putting my stuff away. Of course, much of it was purchased by Mason himself, who likes to surprise me with new pieces of clothing.

Especially, naughty clothing.

“That’s the way it should be,” Mason retorted. “No man should have more clothes than his woman. It’s not natural.”

Then he’d picked me up, carried me to bed and ravaged me.

That was a few weeks ago. By then we’d done the necessary medical check-ups, and that was the first night we dispensed with condoms.

Perhaps that’s why it was so good that night, I don’t know. All I know is, that night, he’d given me my first orgasm through intercourse alone.

I didn’t think such a thing was possible.

But every time we’ve fucked since then, my body has responded more and more orgasmically. Now, I have orgasms through vaginal stimulation much more easily. It’s like a secret pleasure tap opened inside me, primed by Mason’s loving and careful attention to my responses.

Now, in the shower, my mind replays flashes of our sessions, bringing the heat of those moments right back into my pussy and making me crave my man’s touch once again.

When I get out of the shower, I towel off and comb my hair, thinking dirty thoughts about his thick talented fingers and his thicker, talented cock.

When I emerge from the bathroom, he’s waiting in bed for me. Reading my mind again. He’s naked, his erection proudly jutting upwards as his eyes travel over my own naked body.

He whistles, very softly. A heated rush goes straight through my body and my nipples harden, a Pavlovian response to what I know is about to happen.

“I have plans for you, young lady,” he says, eyes on fire with lust. He stands up and strips our bed of everything except the fitted sheet and our pillows.

“I want to try something. If it works, there’ll only be one sheet to wash afterwards.”

“Oh, sweetie…I’m not sure I’m ready for anal. I’ve never…”

“No, no, baby. I’m thinking of something else. Something that I think your body is ready for.”

“What?”

He kisses me and pulls on my nipples with both hands, just the way I like it.

“Lay down and I’ll show you.”