Authors: Kristen Ashley

Tags: #romance, #contemporary romance

Heaven and Hell (69 page)

BOOK: Heaven and Hell

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Sam moved then. He let me go, grabbed my
hand and dragged me to the deck.

Then Sam stopped us both and shouted, “Yo!
Attention!” Everyone, family, coaches, Skip and the boys who were
not on the beach looked at Sam. And Sam, just like Sam, didn’t
hesitate to share private news very publicly and he did this by
announcing, “Kia’s havin’ my baby.”

“Ohmigod!” I heard Maris screech.

She could say that again.

Jeez, my husband.

“Oh, my sweet baby!” I heard Mom
screech.

“Well, all right!” I heard Skip shout.

Dad just stared at me, head tipped to the
side, mouth smiling, eyes dancing. Happy.

The boys and coaches hooted and clapped.

Sam let my hand go, curled an arm around my
shoulders then he curled me into him and his other arm locked
around me. I tipped my head back, smiling at him but when I saw his
face, my smile died.

My husband was beautiful. My husband was
gentle, protective and loving. My husband was funny but he thought
I was funnier. My husband gave me everything.

And I returned the gesture.

But until that moment I didn’t realize I had
more to give.

Nor did I know when I gave it, how he would
feel.

But I knew looking in his eyes.

I knew it because I felt it in me.

We thought we already had heaven.

We didn’t.

Now we did.

Then he bent his head and kissed me, hard,
wet, deep, thorough and long. He did it through more cheering, more
hoots, some of his boys shouting lurid encouragement and a loud,
ongoing ovation.

I didn’t really hear it.

Neither did he.

Yes, it was that good of a kiss.

Then again, with Sam, it always was.

No matter how many he gave me.

And I knew they always would be.

* * * * *

“Hey, did I wake you?” I whispered into the
phone.

It was night, our guests were gone, the
house was clean, our family members were in their beds, we had not
heard word from Hap or Luci (which I decided meant good things but
Sam refused to discuss it through the thirteen times I tried) and I
was lying on Sam’s chest, Sam’s arms around me, my cell to my ear,
Sam’s eyes on me.

“Yes,
ma belle,
but that’s okay. Is
everything all right?” Celeste asked, sounding sleepy.

“Yes, I just… well, we told everyone today
and you weren’t here and you’re part of the everyone who needs to
know and I couldn’t wait until you were awake so, well…” I pulled
in a breath. “Celeste, honey, I’m pregnant.”

Silence.

“Celeste?” I called.

More silence.

Then I heard a soft, delicate sob.

Yeesh. Only Celeste could make crying sound
pretty.

Then I heard, “Kia?”

That was Thomas.

“Hey, Thomas, I’m sorry to wake you both. Is
Celeste okay?”

“Not really, she’s crying in my arms. Are
you
okay?”

“Uh… yeah. I just told her Sam and I are
going to have a baby.”

Again silence.

Oh man.

“Thomas?” I called.

“Give me a moment, my love,” he whispered,
voice thick.

Oh man!

I looked to Sam as tears filled my eyes. His
face got soft and arms gave me a squeeze.

I smiled at him then turned my head, rested
my cheek on his chest and waited.

Finally, Thomas said quietly, “We’re happy
for you Kia. You and Sam. Very happy.”

“Thank you, Thomas, we are too.”

Then Thomas asked, “What did I say?”

“Sorry?” I asked back.

“I would assume, at this very moment, you,
my beautiful Kia, are content in the knowledge you’ve done very
well and I would further assume your husband is not too far away
and he’s feeling much the same thing, except, perhaps, more.”

I closed my eyes but the tears still
escaped, wetting Sam’s skin. His hand slid up and cupped the back
of my head as his other arm got tight and stayed that way.

That would be yes. Thomas assumed right.

I didn’t answer but I knew Thomas heard my
probably not nearly as pretty sob.

And I knew this when he whispered, “Told you
so.”

I sobbed louder.

Sam slid the phone from my hand; I wrapped
my arm around him tight and listened to him murmur into my phone.
Then I listened to him flip it shut. Then I heard it clatter on the
nightstand.

Then both Sam’s arms were back around me,
pulling me up his chest, he rolled me to my back, him on top and
one hand went to my face to wipe away my tears.

“We have good friends,” I told him.

“Yeah we do,” Sam agreed, his eyes coming to
mine then he whispered, “Wish Ben was here today.”

Tears filled my eyes again, my hand lifted
to cup his cheek and I whispered back, “I do too.”

He kept going. “Gordo too.”

I nodded and swallowed.

Sam’s eyes held mine.

Then, still whispering, eyes intense, he
said, “Love you, baby.”

He loved me.
Me.
All that was him
loved all that was me.

“Love you, too, honey.”

I watched my husband smile.

Then I closed my eyes because he kissed
me.

Then he made love to me.

And after, I fell asleep in the arms of a
powerful man, content in the knowledge that I did very well…

And he did too.

* * * * *

Two and a half years later…

Coming home from his work managing the
dining room in an exclusive hotel on
Lago di Como
, Paolo
Garibaldi opened his postbox and saw the padded envelope
inside.

He smiled. Then he grabbed it, hurried into
his apartment building, up the stairs and through his door. He
didn’t take his shoes off his aching feet. He didn’t pour himself a
much needed glass of full-bodied, red Italian wine. He didn’t do
anything he normally did.

He tore into the envelope.

He pulled out the piece of paper, unfolded
it and saw, like always, she’d had her message translated.

He set that aside for later.

He was eager to see.

So he pulled out the item wrapped in bubble
wrap deciding, as he always did, he would save the wrap. When they
came to visit, his grandchildren loved popping those bubbles.

Carefully (so as not to pop too many of the
bubbles), he tore the tape away. When he was done, he had the back
facing him so he turned it to its front.

Then he smiled.

“
Bellissimo. Sempre,
” he
whispered.

He allowed himself a moment to study it and
he did this closely. Then he moved through his apartment to the
shelf. Adjusting the items already on it to make room, he pulled
out the arm and set his new piece at the end.

Then he stepped back and looked.

The first item was larger than the others.
The frame silver and heavy. Sampson Cooper in his well-cut tuxedo,
standing tall, strong and handsome on a beach, the waves of the
ocean crashing in behind him as he held his brand new wife who was
wearing a stunning (Italian designed and made, so of course it
would be stunning), wedding gown. He was facing the camera full on
and holding his new wife in both arms, her front tucked close to
the side of his. The new Mrs. Cooper had her arms wrapped around
her new husband’s middle and she was looking over her shoulder, the
wind catching her magnificent hair, the skirt of her angelic gown,
and she was beaming.

The next was a smaller frame, wooden but
lovely, Sampson Cooper sitting upright in a hospital bed, his
beautiful Kia in a hospital gown resting back against his chest, a
tiny bundle held in her arms. Sampson looked happy and proud. Kia
looked happy and tired. The baby just looked tiny.

Then next in another silver frame, a
beautifully decorated Christmas tree in the background, a
dark-headed baby on the floor in front of a heap of jumbled
presents, in his jammies half-crawling, half-on his belly, being
licked on his baby-laughing face by a little brown and white
dog.

The next in a black lacquered frame, the
photo black and white, Sampson Cooper walking down the side of an
American football field. Held to his chest, sleeping head resting
on his shoulder, was his little son. Held to his side, arm around
her shoulders, hers around his waist, was his wife. There were boys
in uniform and football pads in the background. Sampson was looking
down at Kia, he was not smiling. His face seemed serious, intent
but nevertheless
content
. Kia, head tipped way back, was
looking at Sampson. She was smiling. She was also very,
very
pregnant.

And the last, the most recent, in another
lovely wooden frame were Sampson and Kia Cooper standing in front
of a white-painted wooden railing. The small dog was sitting by
Sampson’s feet probably panting but looking like she was grinning.
Sampson was wearing jeans and a shirt and holding a dark-headed
toddler straddled to his hip in one arm. His other arm was around
his wife’s shoulders, holding her close. Kia had one arm wrapped
around her husband’s waist; her head was bent to the side, resting
on his broad shoulder. She was wearing a sundress and her skin was
tan. Her hair, again, was blowing in the wind. In her other arm she
held another little bundle, closely and protectively. Except for
the infant and the toddler, but, as noted, also the dog, they were
all smiling, beautiful and big at the camera. The infant appeared
to be sleeping. The toddler, Benjamin Travis, appeared to be
laughing.

Paolo went to the letter.

It began (in Italian, of course),

Dearest Paolo,

Talia Celeste has arrived! And she’s
perfect!

The
perfetta
was underlined.
Twice.

Seeing it and reading one of Kia’s frequent
letters, all the way through, Paolo smiled.

His wife, Talia, rest her soul, always told
him he was a hopeless romantic.

This wasn’t a complaint. Her life was not
long but he did his best to fill it with romance.

Then, when she was gone, he had to find
other ways to act out these tendencies.

Sometimes, they didn’t work.

Paolo’s eyes went to the shelf and, again,
he smiled.

And he smiled because, sometimes, they
did.

Spectacularly.

He had never been to America; he didn’t know
what North Carolina was like.

But from those pictures, it looked like
heaven.

####

About the Author

Kristen Ashley lives in the beautiful West
Country of England with her husband and her cat. She came to
England by way of Denver, where she lived for twelve years, but she
grew up in Brownsburg, Indiana. Her family and friends are loopy
(to say the least) but loopy is good when you want to write.

Kristen’s Mom moved her and her brother and
sister in with their grandparents when she was six. Her
grandparents had a daughter much younger than her Mom so they all
lived together on a very small farm in a small farm town in the
heartland. She grew up with Glenn Miller, The Everly Brothers, REO
Speedwagon and Whitesnake (and the wardrobes that matched).
Needless to say, growing up in a house full of music, clothes and
love was a good way to grow up.

And as she keeps growing up, it keeps
getting better.

Discover other Titles by Kristen
Ashley
at
Smashwords.com

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