Page 113 of Corrupted Bride

“God willing.”

I leave with my wife, her hand held tightly in mine. She promises to have lunch with Graciela soon. I suspect they’re on better terms now that they’ve gone through hell together. When we’re alone in the car, Marisol leans across the console and kisses my neck and rests her head on my shoulder as I drive.

“You were worried about that meeting,” she says, and I don’t bother trying to argue.

“It could’ve gone worse.”

“I knew it wouldn’t. I mean, Carmine stuck around when things were hard, right? Now life is quiet again.”

“You think it’s too quiet?”

“I didn’t say that. I like the calm. I like the rhythm we’re in.”

“You’ve been getting up early with Mom.”

She sighs heavily. “Too freaking early, but Cruz seems to like it, so I figure I’ll keep it up.”

We pull down the long lane toward the main house and park in the garage. Mari leans on my shoulder as we walk inside. Mom’s already in bed and Cruz is in the living room playing video games on the massive television. He’s texting some girl he likes from class and seems good, normal, the way any fifteen-year-old kid should. He’s been with us since Ruben was killed with the permission of his parents, and I suspect he won’t be going home anytime soon. I keep saying he’s welcome as long as he wants to stay.

The scars are fading, but some nights I catch him still awake way past a reasonable hour, and he won’t talk about it, but I have a feeling sleep isn’t easy right now.

“You really shouldn’t stay on that thing for too long,” Mari says, nudging her little brother with her foot. “I’m getting your ass up at dawn.”

“Yeah, right. You’ll sleep in again.”

“I’m always awake before you are.”

“You had wine. That means you’re sleeping in.”

Mari laughs, giving me an exasperated look. “Do you hear this kid? He’s calling me drunk.”

“You are,” I say, tugging her away. “Don’t give me that scandalized look.”

“I can handle my drink!”

“Not really. Goodnight, Cruz.”

“Night.” He doesn’t even look back.

Mari acts annoyed until we’re alone in our room together. I watch her undress, enjoying the way she wiggles from her jeans, but I don’t let her pull on sweats. I drag her into my lap, half naked, grinning sleepily.

“I’m not that drunk,” she says, grinding against me.

“Do you need to be?”

“I guess not.”

“That’s good.” I cup her chin and tilt her face toward me. “I love you, Marisol, and I am going to fuck you and use you while you’re a little bit tipsy. Will you consent?”

“I guess so.”

“Marisol. I need enthusiastic and clear consent before I defile your body.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, Bastiano, you may fuck my mouth, pussy, and ass however you like, however hard you want. Is that good enough?”

“Perfect.” I bury her mouth with mine, kissing her deep, and a slow joy creeps through my body, knowing I’ve got my wife, I’ve got my family, I’ve got everything I need here under my roof.

If that’s not winning, I’d rather not play at all.