Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
I got my happy ending.
Now it was time for another happily ever after to be written.
Four months later
“Love? Are you coming with the coriander?” My wife’s voice singsonged from the tea room of our six-hundred-fucking-year-old country mansion in Kent. It was a black-and-white Tudor-style house, sprawling over who knows how many fucking acres, and had a water garden, a meadow, stables, a servants’ house, and other old-as-shit features Gia found charming.
Me, the only thing I found delightful here was my wife’s pussy. Fortunately, that was enough to keep me content. What was the word my shrink used the other day? Happiness. I was happy. Not in a fleeting kind of way but in a fuck, I’ve been doing this life thing all wrong the entire time way.
I crouched, narrowing my eyes at our impressive vegetable garden, trying to find the…what was it?
“Did you find it?” Gia called from inside again.
“Found what?”
“The coriander.”
“Is this a fancy word for something else? Like when you call an eggplant aubergine?”
“Do you want me to send Brayden to help?” she sighed.
Eh, yes. Not only was I becoming a father, but I also adopted Brayden, the kid I won at a poker night at the Ferrantes’ casino. Ultimately, I wanted to leave him behind when I moved to the UK, but Gia said it was inhumane. So I figured I could be someone else’s Daniel.
Minus the getting killed in prison part.
“No. Just tell me,” I insisted.
“Oh, hold on. Let me google it.” She was quiet for a second. “Cilantro.”
“Ah, cilantro. Why didn’t you say ?”
I stared at the dozens of different leafy greens in front of me.
Of course I had no idea what cilantro was. Might as well stay coriander.
“What does it look like?” I groaned.
“Sort of like parsley but with a wider leaf. Try and taste it. If it tastes like something you put in dishes, it’s cilantro. If it tastes like something you put in a salad or for garnishing, it’s parsley.”
I glowered at the greens for a few seconds before Row tromped his way into my garden. He and Cal were visiting us, and he volunteered to cook. “Jesus fuck, how useless can you be out of the board room?” He shouldered me out of the way, crouching down and plucking a wag of green shit and burying his nose inside it. “Smells good. Gia has a green thumb.”
“And I have a lethal fist, so shut the fuck up about my woman’s body.”
Row stared at me, aghast. “You’re insane.”
Maybe, but I was up to the gills in pills and therapy sessions these days, so I didn’t feel that way so much anymore.
We made our way back to the house. Inside, Cal and Gia were cooing and adoring each other’s pregnant bellies. They were just a few weeks apart and, to my dismay, insisted on spending a lot of time together.
Serafina, their older daughter, was running around the house, breaking shit. If this was life as a parent, I didn’t get the fascination, but if Gia wanted kids, I’d give them to her.
If Gia wanted fucking Mars, we’d move there in a heartbeat.
“Tate! How good to see you,” Cal greeted, giving me a forced hug.
“No need to lie. My wife wouldn’t let me kick you out even if I wanted to. Something about etiquette.” I patted her back, wishing she’d pull away sooner rather than later.
“Are you ready?” Row turned to Gia, already chopping the cori-whatever-the-fuck on a thick wooden board. “I’m going to show you how to make the garnish.”
Whatever they were making smelled divine. I could see fish and stew and herbed potatoes.
“Yes!” Gia said excitedly, clapping her hands as she advanced toward him. Her crème woolly dress enhanced her gorgeous curves and pregnant belly. “I’m all ears.”
“I’m going to find Serafina.” Cal jerked her thumb toward the corridor. “Make sure she didn’t break too many things and, if she did, that they’re Tate’s things.”
“Thank you,” I said evenly.
Forty minutes later, we were all at the table, enjoying a hearty meal in front of my stunning English garden. Brayden was enthusiastically telling us he got accepted to a lacrosse team at his public school while shoving bread into his mouth like it was some eating competition. His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. I liked that I put that glint there. That I gave someone the second chance I had desperately needed when I was about his age.
In the middle of dinner, my phone danced in my pocket with an incoming call. I pulled it out. Achilles Ferrante’s name was on the screen.
I stayed in touch with the Ferrantes and visited them from time to time. We had business together, but it was all legitimate these days.
“I need to take this.” I tossed my napkin onto the table and stood up, waltzing outside so I could have some privacy. I stopped in front of the king’s pond pool, which reminded me fondly of my very first murder, and swiped the screen.