Page 20 of The Godfather’s Christmas Twins
He kisses me like he did that first time, slow, deep, claiming. My fingers tangle in his hair as his hands slide down my back, pulling me flush against him. The moment on the steps of the plane fades away, replaced by tangled sheets and heated skin.
"I've missed you," I breathe against his mouth. His response is a growl that vibrates through my body. His lips trail fire down my neck, across my collarbone. Every touch ignites something primal inside me, something I've tried so hard to forget.
The dream shifts, fragments. Max's hands mapping my body like he's memorizing every curve. The taste of his skin under my tongue. The way he whispers my name like a prayer. My legs wrapped around his waist as he moves inside me, each thrust bringing me closer to the edge.
It feels so real, the weight of him above me, the scrape of his stubble against my neck, the perfect rhythm we find together. My body arches into his, chasing release as his fingers dig into my hips. More, more, more…
I jolt awake, my body still humming from the dream. The empty bed around me feels cold compared to the heat of my dream. I press my face into the pillow, trying to shake off the lingering sensations, the phantom touch of Max's hands. Frustration replaces pleasure. Even in sleep, my body betrays me, remembering what it feels like to be his.
What's wrong with me? I'm here because someone's threatening me and my children, not to indulge in teenage fantasies about my brother's best friend. My face burns as Iremember how real it felt, how my body responded to dream-Max exactly like it did that night years ago.
The shame settles heavily in my stomach. I'm not that naive eighteen-year-old anymore, throwing myself at him. I'm a mother now. A widow. I should be beyond this.
But my traitorous body still tingles from phantom touches, and I can almost smell his cologne. The worst part is knowing he's just down the hall, probably sleeping peacefully while I'm here burning up from inappropriate dreams about him.
I slip out of bed and pad to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. My reflection shows flushed cheeks and bright eyes, evidence of where my subconscious took me. God, how am I supposed to face him at breakfast?
I lean forward, facing my reflection to have a stern talk with myself. I'm here for protection, nothing more. Max is doing his duty to Nic, to my mother's memory. The last thing he needs is me complicating things with leftover feelings from the past.
I return to the bedroom, checking the clock. It’s seven thirty. The kids normally wake between six thirty and seven. But then I remember their inner clock is on New York time, which is ten thirty. Is it possible the busy day has caused them to sleep in?
I make my way down to their room, pushing the door open, expecting to see their sleeping forms tucked under the colorful comforters Max provided. The beds are empty, covers thrown back haphazardly. Daniella's stuffed unicorn lies abandoned on the floor.
"Dario? Daniella?" I look around in case they’re playing hide-n-seek. Ice spreads through my veins. The stalker's threats flash through my mind even as I know we’re safe here.
I hurry to the playroom. Empty. The bathroom. Empty.
“Dario! Daniella!” I race down the hallway toward the center of the house, which suddenly feels massive, with too many places where someone could hide.
I reach the large living area, scanning it and the open kitchen. I stop short as I see the kids standing on kitchen stools at the island, faces dusted with flour as they help Max make pancakes. Dario concentrates on stirring batter while Daniella carefully measures chocolate chips. Max towers next to them, flipping pancakes on the griddle.
"Look, Mama! We're making breakfast!" Daniella beams at me, her dark curls wild around her face.
Max looks up, his expression shifting from contentment to concern as he takes in my disheveled state. “Something wrong?”
I pull myself together. “I… ah… I worried when I didn’t see the kids in their room.”
He arches a brow. “Why? They can’t go anywhere.”
“Mother’s fear is often irrational. I’m sorry if they woke you?—”
He shakes his head. “I was already up.” Now that the panic is gone, I’m able to take in the man who is cooking with my kids. The morning sun streaming through the windows catches the silver at his temples, highlighting how the years have only made him more handsome. His dress shirt sleeves are rolled up, revealing strong forearms dusted with flour.
“We made some for you too,” Dario says.
Max's eyes meet mine over their heads, warm and inviting, and for a moment I glimpse what could have been—lazy Sunday mornings, family breakfasts, the four of us together. The yearning hits so hard it steals my breath all over again.
I force myself to look away. Seeing it makes it difficult to remember the reality of our situation. It would be so easy to let myself fall back into those feelings, to pretend we could be a real family.
But we're not. We're here because someone's threatening us, and Max is just doing his duty as my godfather. I can't let myself forget that.
But God, it’s painful to have to lie to him. The truth is, a part of my heart will always belong to Max Giraldi, no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise.
7
MAX
Istand at the kitchen counter, watching Gia and the kids eat their breakfast. My chest tightens every time she smiles at something the twins say. Six years. Six years since I held her, touched her, made her mine. But then I let her go.