Fool for Love (Believe #2) (53 page)

6 years later

“M
OM!
C
HARLIE WON’T STOP
hitting my head with her doll! Make her stop!”

The muffled, but no less angry voice that belongs to one of my five-year-old twin boys, Jonathan, reaches my ears in the laundry room. Like all mothers around the world know, I need to go play referee at once before all hell breaks loose. With a sigh, I abandon the laundry I’ve been busy folding for the last twenty minutes.

I walk swiftly down the long hallway that takes me to the bedroom of my twins.

“What’s happening, Jon? Sam?”

I place my hands on my hips as I stand in the doorway, trying to survey the damage before me.

My sweet little Charlotte is standing in front of the flat screen TV, which hangs on the wall to my right, looking very innocent in her glittery, pink top and purple skirt; she gives me a big smile, her right hand fiddling with her long, blonde curls. I narrow my eyes a bit when I take in the doll she’s hiding behind her back.

That girl can be so devious sometimes.

And she’s only three.

Lord help me.

“Mom, can’t you take her now?” Samuel begs, pushing up the glasses that have slipped down his nose. I look to the centre of the room where he’s sitting on the floor with Jonathan, trying to build a very difficult LEGO tower – or that’s what it looks like to me, but I could be wrong. Both of them look adorably cute, all cranky and tired even though it’s only early afternoon. I’m glad they’re not identical twins. They get into enough trouble almost on a daily basis – at least I don’t have to play a game of
Who’s Who
every time I look at them.

“Sam, honey, you know I have so much to do today.” I wipe my sweaty brow. “I thought you could at least play together quietly while I sorted out the laundry, but I guess I was wrong. Your dad will be home in a couple of hours, and we still haven’t made the cake, remember?”

Jonathan huffs. “She always ruins
everything
.”

“Jon!” I snap and walk inside to sit down next to him. “That’s no way to talk about your sister.”

He crosses his arms, and my annoyance lessens up when his lips begin to quiver.

“Sorry, mom,” he mumbles. “But she does.”

I run a hand over his dark-brown curls and rest my hand on his cheek. He’s so sensitive and gentle, whereas his brother is a tough smartass.

“She’s young, sweetie. Before you know it, she’ll be the age the two of you are now, and then you’ll all be able to play the same things.”

I cross my fingers behind my back. Technically, I’m telling them a white lie, but they don’t need to know that. Right now, it’s all about damage control.

“Mama,” Charlotte calls to me. I turn my attention to the little troublemaker. She’s crossed her legs, fidgeting on the spot, and I know I have to work fast if I want to avoid any accidents on the carpet.

“I have to go pee-pee,” she whines.

I stand up and walk quickly to her spot and pick her up.

“Right, let’s go.” I glance down at my boys before I give her forehead a kiss. “Jon, Sam, I’ll be back in a bit, and then we’ll make your dad’s birthday cake. Alright?”

“Yes, mom,” they mumble at the same time. My heart skips a beat with the unconditional love I have for my boys.

I turn back to Charlie who’s playing with the end of my braid hanging over my left shoulder.

“As for you, young lady: when we’re done, you’ll apologise to your brothers for hitting them.”

I raise my eyebrow at her, giving her the sternest look I can manage, as we leave the bedroom.

“Yes, mama. Sorry, mama.”

Placing her on my right hip, I shake my head in wonder and think back on how this became my life.

Marriage.

Three children.

And all of it before my thirtieth birthday.

“Right, sweetie, let’s do our best to get back on track, yeah?” I say to Charlie as I open the door to the bathroom. “Daddy will be home soon.”

“Yay!” When she claps her hands, all excited about seeing her dad again, I can’t help but laugh with her, forgetting how tired I am.

Yes. It’ll be great to have Garrett home again.

Sometimes, I miss living in Garrett’s old apartment, but I love our red-bricked town house in Brooklyn. True, it’s not as fancy as Manhattan, but when we found out that I was pregnant with the twins, we knew we needed to move and find a more family-friendly place to call our home. This house, while not exactly new, but which has a lovely garden and four bedrooms, was in the right price range for us. The real estate agent told us that the reason it wasn’t as expensive as others was the fact that the seller was an elderly lady who’d had a stroke recently; her family just wanted to sell it quickly so they could move her into a nice retirement home.

I know that Garrett actually enjoys taking the train into the city, and since we decided to buy a car a couple of years ago, I don’t have to worry about transportation when I need to go to a client’s house, either.

“Sam! Jon! Time to make the cake!” I call out to them as I walk into the kitchen, Charlotte skipping behind me while she hums the tune of
The Finger Family
song. I really need to find some other songs for her before this one makes me lose my mind.

“Coming, mom!” they shout. I go to the sink and wash my hands, turning around to Charlie next to me.

“Honey, can you fetch the big, yellow bowl for me, please? The one Auntie Emma sent to us for Christmas?”

Nodding, she heads to the cupboard at the bar and takes it out. I can hear the running feet of my sons as they come closer, and I beam at them when they rush inside and step next to me to wash their hands.

Before we can get started, I need to make sure that Charlotte does as I told her earlier.

“Charlie, remember what I said about apologising to Sam and Jon?”

“Yeeeees,” she answers, looking down at the floor.

I dry my hands, waiting.

“Well? Get it over with so we can get started.”

She sighs and then looks at the boys.

“I’m sorry I hit you with Dolly,” she mumbles. I have to suppress a small grin when I see her scrunching up her face. She’s so reluctant to give in.

Just like her dad.

“It’s alright, Charlie,” Samuel mumbles, shifting on his feet.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” Jonathan chimes in, voice bright.

It seems that the boys have already forgotten the snit they were in.

“Right, everyone.” Satisfied that the boring part is over and done with, I place my hands on my hips and smile down at my darlings. “I know that your dad’s the cook of the family, but let’s see if we can’t make him one fabulous birthday cake, alright?”

“Yeah!” I laugh at their excitement, and for a moment forget all the things I still have to do.

Though, in the grand scheme of things, the chores can wait.

Their dad’s birthday cake can’t.

The boys fetch most of the ingredients we need for the chocolate/coconut cake from the pantry, and I help Charlotte tie a small apron around her waist before setting out her stool at the wide, stainless steel kitchen counter.

“Alright, sweetie, you’ll help me with the eggs while Sam and Jon measure out the flour, sugar, and butter.”

“Okay, mama.”

Then we bake. As I supervise my children, taking care that they pour the ingredients in the kitchen mixer without spilling too much on the floor, I think back on the last few years. I never thought that I would actually own my very own business, but after Garrett got his way and I started working at
Mama Rosa’s
as a hostess, things started to change – in a good way. When he began to bring the restaurant into the 21
st
century, he was very subtle about it whenever he asked me for my opinion.

What paint colours did I think would fit the place?

Did I like the leather chairs he’d seen in a catalogue, or was the style too old-fashioned or too funky?

Should he really keep the chandeliers that his Nonna had chosen so many years ago, or should he stop being sentimental and toss them out?

Before I knew it, he’d taken every little piece of information that I’d given him and gone along with it. The modernisation of
Mama Rosa’s
somehow ended up being
our
project instead of only
his
.

Needless to say, I was astonished when he sat me down one morning, looking mighty serious.

“My love,” he’d said, “you don’t belong in a restaurant. Get the fuck out there, set up your own business, and become the designer you’ve dreamed to be for so long.”

I was so stunned by his suggestion to lend me the money I needed that I agreed right away. Needless to say, he wouldn’t accept my refusal once I came to my senses; I still break out in goose bumps when I think back on all the time he spent convincing me to agree to his terms.

That man can definitely be
very
persuasive when he sets his mind to it.

But that shouldn’t surprise me - not after all this time.

It took a lot of blood, sweat, and tears to get my citizenship, but somehow, the Land of the Free surrendered, and I became a proud member of its country. From there on out, I worked hard and long to breathe life into my business; but I already knew it wouldn’t be simple or easy.

Simple is boring.

Easy is a myth.

The best things in life are worth fighting for.

I couldn’t be happier with my life – or with how my future looks.

The only hard part about living in New York is being so far away from Emma – and my parents – but we do our best to visit each other a couple of times a year as well as skype-ing several times a week. It’s not a perfect solution, but we manage. Maybe Garrett and I will move to Denmark one day. That’s the main reason I’m adamant about teaching all my children to speak Danish, but that won’t happen for many years.

“Mama, mama!” The sound of Charlotte’s agitated shouts brings me back to the present, and my head snaps up to take in her pointing finger. I look at the front door when I hear loud banging, and my eyes widen in surprise when it bursts open and inside walks my husband.

“Garrett!” I shout.

I help Charlotte down from her stool so she can give him a proper welcome home, all to the sounds of Samuel and Jonathan hooting and hollering as they run towards their dad.

“Hey, guys!” Garrett laughs and immediately bends down to hug all three of them at once. My heart feels fit to burst when I see the happiness in his eyes, and I walk to him as fast as I can. I wait for the kids to give me room, impatient for my turn, and when he stands back up, I fling myself into his arms.

“Oh, my gosh, I’ve missed you so much,” I whisper, snuggling into his chest. I breathe in his warm, familiar scent as his arms tighten around me. The stubble on his cheek is as soft as always, and a sense of peace settles within me now that he’s back from his trip.

“I got an earlier flight,” he murmurs softly.

“You’ve completely ruined our surprise for you,” I laugh. It doesn’t matter, of course.

“We can still make the cake, right, mom?” I look down at Sam, and ruffle his hair when I see the hope in his eyes.

“Of course we can.”

“Yes!” Jonathan shouts before my twins and their sister run back to the kitchen.

Garrett chuckles as we both turn our heads to look at our three miracles. When he kisses my cheek, my belly does flip-flops, his lips warming me from head to toe. Happiness fills me at having my man back.

“I don’t need surprises or gifts for my birthday, waif. You know that. I just need my family.”

Blinking away my happy tears, I turn my head to take in his beautiful brown eyes and I kiss him quickly.

“Welcome home, honey.”

His smile grows wider, and I grin back at him.

Yes. I couldn’t be happier with the way my life turned out.