Page 95 of The Godfather’s Christmas Twins
I shrug like our future is no big deal. "I have some money… mine, not Aldo’s. We can run away. I bet the kids would love to live in Europe. Or maybe the Caribbean. The beach all year sounds nice."
"You have this all figured out."
I nod, smiling encouragingly. "As long as we're a family, the rest is just logistics."
His arms tighten around me, and I rest my head against Max's chest, savoring the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear.
"I want them to have my name," Max says quietly. "The twins should be Giraldis."
My breath catches. For a moment, I let myself imagine it—Daniella and Dario Giraldi. It sounds right, natural. But there's an ache in my chest as I think about my own last name, still tethered to a man who never truly loved me or the children he thought were his.
"You want to legally change their names?" I ask, pulling back to look at him.
Max nods, his expression earnest. "They're my children. They should have my name."
I bite my lip, fighting the urge to ask about my own name. I want to be a Giraldi too, to shed the last remnants of my life with Aldo. But Max isn't proposing marriage. He’s focused on claiming our children, giving them their rightful identity.
Now that the truth is coming out, I could go back to Nardone, I suppose. But that name doesn’t feel right anymore, either.
Max catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm. "I know this is too much, too soon, but when you're ready, and only when you're ready, I want you to have my name too."
My heart skips. It’s the best day of my life. Well, except for the kidnapping and my brother’s head exploding over the news of my relationship with Max.
"You don't have to answer now," Max adds quickly, his thumb stroking my wrist. "We have time. I just wanted you to know that's what I want. All of you as Giraldis. A real family."
Max's hand slides to the nape of my neck, drawing me closer. His lips brush mine, gentle at first, then with growing urgency.I melt into him, my body remembering exactly how we fit together.
I press closer, sliding onto his lap. His hands grip my hips as I thread my fingers through his hair. The kiss deepens, pent-up desire finally breaking free.
Max stands, lifting me with him. My legs wrap around his waist as he carries me to my bedroom. His mouth never leaves mine, like he's afraid I'll disappear if he breaks contact.
We tumble onto the bed together, hands fumbling with clothes. Max's fingers trail fire across my skin as he undresses me. When he pauses to look down at me, the raw emotion in his eyes makes me believe in fairy tales.
"You’re so fucking beautiful," he breathes.
I pull him down to me, craving the weight of his body against mine. Our movements are slower now, more deliberate. Each touch feels like coming home, like pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place.
I push him over, straddling his thighs. “I can’t believe you came for me.”
His eyes look pained. “I’m sorry that I made you believe you didn’t matter enough. I’m ashamed you got out my door, much less back to New York.” He levers up, his hand sliding through my hair to the back of my neck. “Tell me you believe me now.”
“I believe you.” I rise up and take him inside my body.
“Fuck, yes, Gia.” He groans and then kisses me. As we kiss, I begin to ride him, giving my body free rein to do what it wants.
He falls back, his hips moving in time with me. My hands rest on his chest as the sensations build, hotter, tighter, more delicious.
“Max.” I reach the edge, his name ripping from my lips.
“Yes, Gia… yes, baby… come.”
The pleasure blasts through me.
“Yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes,” he chants as his hips buck up, warmth filling my body.
I collapse on him, my breath coming in gasps. His arms wrap around me, holding me as he kisses my temple.
“If it takes me a lifetime, I’ll make things up to you, Gia. I promise.”