Page 96 of Entangled

It was only when, in a birthing pool of her choice, she had pushed Marcus out into the world that she did so with her first and only cry.

And it wasn’t so much a cry as a roar.

It was kind of perfect, too.

Hours after, once Cara had finally drifted off to sleep, and Gian was awake in the private room, holding his blinking newborn son, he took that silent moment to be amazed.

So amazed and in wonder.

His child was everything.

Gian lifted the swaddled boy a little higher, bringing him closer so that Marcus’s hazy gaze could catch his father’s. Sure enough, the baby stilled under his swaddling blankets the moment he locked onto Gian’s face, and everything was right and good and beautiful in that moment.

“Sweet boy. First of my legacy and house, and the seventh of your name. With blood made of gold, luck, and dirt, child. You don’t know what awaits you; you have no idea how amazing you’re going to be, but you don’t need to know, not yet. You have a whole life for me to teach you all of that, so it can wait. Guzzi Principe, this world is yours. This whole great, big world is all yours, Marcus.”

Like all Guzzi boys, Marcus was born a prince.

And like all Guzzi men, he’d eventually be a king.

“A little more, please.”

Cara tipped her head down, the action causing more of her curls to fall over her shoulder. “Like that?”

“A bit too much, actually,” the photographer replied. “Now we’re more like a curtain of hair, instead of a few stray curls.”

“Here, let me help.” Gian stepped into Cara’s view, and in front of the white backdrop. He smiled down at her, his fingers sliding along the column of her throat to push back the hair that had fallen over her shoulder. Cara had all she could do not to shiver, and guessing by the way Gian’s grin deepened, he saw it, too. “There, perfect.”

“Step back and let me see, Gian.”

At the photographer’s demand, Gian gave Cara a wink, and did as he was told.

“Yes, that’s much better,” the woman said. Then, her camera started up again, capturing images of Cara in a stone-still pose, with a sleeping, one-week old, naked Marcus in her arms. “You do seem to have a good eye for this sort of thing, Gian. Do you dabble in photography at all?”

Cara shot Gian a look that she hoped kept him quiet from discussing his little hobby with her and cameras. In his spot in the corner, now sitting back in the corner chair and watching the session, he seemed content and pleased. In his suit and shined leather shoes, his dark gaze staying pinned on her, he had never quite looked more handsome. He barely reacted at all to Cara’s unspoken warning.

“I certainly have an eye for someone,” he murmured.

“I hope you put it to use.”

“Oh, I do. I most certainly do.”

“Gian,” Cara said quietly.

His husky laughter filled the penthouse’s living room. The photographer had chosen it amongst the many others, because of all the floor-to-ceiling windows and natural light. Cara wouldn’t have minded going in to the woman’s studio, but Gian said it wasn’t necessary. She wanted photos, Gian had the woman come to her. It worked.

“I think we’re just about—”

Gian’s cell phone started ringing. “Done.”

The photographer smiled. “Yep. Just let me pack up. Cara, you can keep the muslin wrap for Marcus, as I don’t reuse items like those for other newborns. I have to say, he was one of the easier babies to photograph this week.”

“That’s because he spent an hour and a half on my boob before you got here,” Cara half-joked. “Milk-drunk.”

It wasn’t a lie.

It was kind of funny.

The truth was, Marcus happened to be a wonderful baby. Sure, he clusterfed at night before bed, and he liked to have his spaces quiet and dimly lit, but Cara figured that was just his way of transitioning into the world at a slower pace. Marcus rarely cried, he barely fussed. And then there was Gian … She swore the baby just knew his father was in the room, even when he couldn’t see Gian.