Page 77 of Entangled

“Get one of those ugly Rom-Com things you like on, too.”

Cara smiled beautifully. “You always call them ugly, but you laugh when you watch them. I think secretly, you like them.”

He shrugged. “Don’t say that too loudly.”

“Mmhmm. Blanket, water, comfy clothes, and you. Hurry, Gian.”

Standing, he kissed her mouth, soft and sweet. He had to keep it short and pull away fast, because the longer he kissed Cara, the more he wanted to stay right there and keep doing exactly that. Between them, kissing always led into something more—fucking was not resting, Gian was forced to tell himself.

Even if he could think of a dozen ways to have Cara be resting while he fucked her. This was more difficult than he thought it would be.

Gian gathered all the things Cara wanted, including the large, fluffy comforter from her bed. He let her change out of her clothes and into the clean, comfy things he had brought her as he went for the water. By the time he got back to the couch with a glass in hand, Cara had draped herself in the blanket with only her head peeking out from a small hooded bit.

“You look like a human burrito,” Gian said.

“Don’t judge. Also, the movie is starting, so be quiet.”

Chuckling, Gian settled into the couch. Cara crawled, in her blanket burrito, closer, and then snuggled into his chest. He was far more interested in her than the movie, but that was okay, too.

“Why Marcus, again?” Cara asked randomly. “That’s the name you like for the baby, isn’t it?”

“It is. A family name.”

“But all the men I know about in your family don’t have that name.”

“All the first-born men have it somewhere,” he replied. “Usually middle names, like me, and my grandfather. My great-grandfather, and my uncle who died, their first names were Marcus, too.”

“Is that why you got the family name, then? Because he died, and you were a first-born boy.”

“He died when I was a toddler, actually.”

“Why did you get the name being born to a second son?” she asked.

“My uncle didn’t have children, and he wasn’t married. The name had to pass on to someone, and my parents agreed to give it to me, on the stipulation they chose my given name. Gian Marcus it was.”

Cara glanced up at him, her brow puckered in that way of hers. It told him she was overthinking something, which wasn’t unusual for her.

“What?” he murmured.

“It seems like it’s an important thing to your family—the name, I mean.”

“It is. It’s very important to us. It’s as important as our last name. This is a legacy, Cara. All the men carry it on in one way or another, and it begins with a name.”

“But …”

“Just ask, love. Whatever it is, ask.”

“He’s not going to be … legitimate, Gian.”

He stiffened, hating how she said that word a little quieter than the rest. The last thing she should be, or that he wanted her to be, was ashamed. Not of innocent life or love.

“He’s still mine,” Gian said firmly, “and he’s still a first-born Guzzi boy, which means it’s my legacy to pass on, like it was given to me once. It’s my choice to make for my son, not someone else’s. It may seem silly to others, something insignificant, but I know what this name means. I know what comes of it and what’s expected of the man who is given it. He’s my boy. He’s my boy, with a woman I chose and love, not one that was forced upon me. Whether he’s legitimate or not is fucking nonsense; it means nothing to me. He was made because he was meant to be and because I love you. I want to give him my names because he deserves them.”

Cara glanced away. “All of them, even the surname?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Your wife, for one.”