PART ONE
THE MARTELLIS
CHAPTER ONE
Franco, my husband of almost two years, and I lay in bed. I was propped on my side, several pillows stacked under my stomach to allow me to rest comfortably. The twins I had been carrying for eight and a half months must have objected to the arrangement, for they began to kick as soon as I shifted into this position.
"Ugh, Anthony and Aubrey are at it again," I sighed.
Franco curled his body against mine, reached his hand around, and placed it on my giant stomach, his face aglow at the tiny fetal feet kicking against his palm. "It's going to be soon," he said. "I can't wait, darling!"
"Neither can I. These guys need to vacate the premises and give Momma some relief!" I laughed. As uncomfortable as my late-stage pregnancy was, I was as eager and delighted as he was to welcome these children into the world.
He kissed me and gently thumbed the darkened nipples of my swollen breasts. "Our little family is growing fast. I want to have a hundred babies with you, darling!" I said, swiveling my head to return his kiss. His work on my nipples aroused me, but being uncomfortably pregnant, I lacked the motivation to follow through.
"Making babies with you is my favorite thing, my darling Daphne. I want as many as God will give us." He ran his hand along my stomach, fascinated at the little feet showing their outlines underneath its skin.
Our bubble of solitude was popped at the sound of another pair of little feet, which stampeded down the hallway toward our bedroom. Franco slid back to his side of the bed as if on a greased Slip and Slide and fumbled for the T-shirt and pajama pants he kept at the ready in the bottom drawer of his nightstand. He struggled into them as I pulled a long-sleeve, button-down silk nightshirt from my nightstand and put it on as quickly as my ungainly body would allow. Seconds later, our two-year-old daughter Daphine raced into our bedroom.
"Daphine, baby, why aren't you asleep?" I asked. "Francis is sleeping like a good boy. You should be a good girl and sleep, too."
"I wanna sleep with Daddy," Daphine insisted, clambering atop Franco's bedside to curl on his chest, a tiny finger in her rosebud mouth. Franco cuddled her as she fell asleep.
"You spoil her, Franco," I said as I ruffled her black curls, which were so like his.
"I'll spoil her, but not to rottenness," he said. "I'm going to be the father for Daphine that mine should have been for me."
"She adores you," I said. "Sometimes more than me, I think."
"I've loved her since the moment I put her in you," he said. "Next to you, I love her more than anyone."
"She's so much like you," I said. "She even has your mannerisms."
He chuckled softly. "She is my Mini-Me, isn't she? She'll have a good head for business when she grows up. I want to hand the company's reins to her someday."
"Francis should have a role, too," I insisted, speaking on behalf of our fourteen-month-old son. Although Franco also loved him deeply, it was no secret that Daphine was his favorite.
"Of course, darling. All our children will have places in the business; don't worry."
Ascertaining that Daphine was sound asleep, Franco gathered her up and returned her to her bedroom. I fondly watched them depart.
He returned a minute later, closed the door behind him, and removed his clothes as I pulled off my nightshirt. "She's out cold for the night. So, Mrs. Martelli, you want us to make more babies. Let's have a dry run, shall we?"
"As big as I am?" I laughed.
"Well, not all the bells and whistles, but just a sampling of what's to come." Franco climbed into bed next to me and kissed me softly as he carefully caressed my breasts. His mouth descended to my nipples and gently suckled them. I purred my approval and entwined my arms around his neck as I ran my fingers through his dark hair.
He carefully shifted me to my other side as the twins kicked again. He rained kisses on my huge stomach, whispering, "Anthony and Aubrey, I can't wait to meet you!" He curled against me, his head pressed against our unborn children, as I ran my fingers through his dark curls.
Franco was the love of my life. We were crazy about each other, which explained why I had been almost constantly pregnant in our three years together. We had met through the most unusual circumstances and had had an unorthodox courtship. I thought back on it all as he lay silently against me.
Exactly three years earlier, I had been engaged to Martin Greer, whom I had met through my parents at my debutante ball five years prior. Martin and I were from wealthy, influential, high-society families, and our match seemed suitable.
But Martin committed an indiscretion that would change our lives: he borrowed money from Franco Martelli, a wealthy, powerful real-estate tycoon.
The same Franco Martelli who lay snuggled by my side.
Franco hated Martin to begin with. He had grown up an impoverished, disadvantaged orphan, and to him, Martin was emblematic of the influential people who had oppressed him.
Martin dragged his feet on the repayment. Franco, of course, wasn't happy about this. To that end, he stalked Martin to intimidate him into action on the debt. One day, he followed Martin to our engagement reception.
That's where Franco saw me for the first time. He told me it was love at first sight.
Franco faced a three-pronged dilemma: bring Martin down a few pegs for his arrogance, satisfy the debt, and put me in his arms. The best way to solve them all was to demand that Martin hand me over to him as his love slave.
Understandably, Martin and I were both horrified at this proposal. Martin objected, but he didn't prevail, and Franco was carrying me off before I knew it. I spent the next two months alone with Franco in his home as he made love to me multiple times per day. I hated myself for it at first, then craved it, to the point where I couldn't get enough of him or of it.
I explained to my friends that Martin and I had had a falling out and that I was staying at the home of our mutual friend Franco as we hashed things out. I omitted that he ravished me on the regular.
Franco eventually had a moment of clarity and told me that carrying me off was wrong and that I needed to leave him. He didn't want me to go, and I didn't want to go, either, for we had, against all odds, developed feelings for each other. But I departed, as he insisted. I didn't make it more than a few blocks from his home when I came running back to him and straight into his arms.
Daphine was conceived that day, and not long thereafter, we had a beautiful candlelit ceremony in which we pledged our love for each other. There was the matter of my engagement to Martin, but Franco dismissed it. One way or another, Franco was going to marry me.
A little over a month later, two monumental things happened to me in one day: I found out I was pregnant with Daphine, and Martin kidnapped me. We should have been more careful about Martin! He had completely lost his mind and imprisoned me in a cage in his wine room! I was trapped there for two days until Franco rescued me. Martin received a lengthy prison sentence for kidnapping and human trafficking, among other offenses. It went without saying that our engagement was off.
Daphine was born in March of the following year, three months before Franco and I were married, and Francis in February of the year after that. Five months after his birth, I became pregnant with Anthony and Aubrey.
The twins stilled, and so did Franco. I gazed upon him as I had done so many times over the past three years, taking in his thick, curly dark hair and rugged yet beautiful face, with its pointed nose, high cheekbones, and square jaw. My eyes moved lower and took in his body: the muscular arms; prominent pectorals; flat, washboard stomach; and deep abdominal creases that led to his member. His long, lean, toned legs were covered in black hair and were tangled with mine.
Gazing at his flawless nude body made me ache for him. I resolved to be intimate again as soon as possible after the twins were born and maybe make another baby, as we had discussed. He was soundly asleep now, and I bent my head, kissed the top of his, turned out the light, and fell asleep with him snuggled against our unborn children and me.
Franco and I enjoyed breakfast with Daphine and Francis the following day in the breakfast room of our mansion. It was the home I had grown up in. Franco's home became too small to contain our growing family, and we moved into the mansion when we found out the twins were coming. It was a Saturday morning, which meant breakfast was a leisurely affair. Ordinarily, Franco would grab a coffee and a bagel on weekdays before heading out the door. He kept an eye on Daphine while I watched Francis, who, at fourteen months, was learning to feed himself with my assistance.
"Seeing our kids makes me yearn for my father even more and for the relationship I never had with him," he said sadly. Franco had told me, when we had first come together, that his father had abandoned him and his mother when he, Franco, was an infant. Franco believed he was the product of an extramarital affair and that his father had bolted when the lawful wife had found out about Franco and Julia, his late mother.
Growing up believing this caused Franco no small amount of emotional trauma. He watched his brokenhearted mother struggle for their survival at the poverty level, eventually dying at a young age of breast cancer. This forced Franco to begin to fend for himself at only sixteen years old. He somehow made it to adulthood and grew his fortune in real estate, making him wealthy by age thirty.
But his money and mine combined couldn't compensate for the fact that a part of him was always missing. To this end, he poured himself into being the best father possible to our kids. Daphine was his favorite, the cherished oldest child who had made him a father.
"Have you considered looking for him?" I suggested.
He snorted. "Yes, I have, but to hell with him. Why should I waste my time looking for him when he couldn't have been bothered with my mother and me as we struggled for years? He can look for me, but it's doubtful he will. So, there's the end of it."
"I'm sorry," I said.
"It's all good. I have you and our kids. That's all I need, and I'll be for them the father he never was for me."
As we finished breakfast, I couldn't help but wonder if Franco and his father would reunite. How wonderful it would be to show Domenic his grandchildren! He and they had a right to know each other. I briefly considered searching for him alone but knew Franco would be furious if I did.
We took the kids to the backyard. It was a warm, early-April day, the first truly warm day of the year. We placed them into the swings Franco had installed and pushed them, each squealing their glee. But thoughts of Domenic continued to haunt me. Our family wouldn't be complete until we found him, or until he found us.
The following night, Sunday, we had just finished putting the kids to bed when we heard the doorbell ring. Franco and I exchanged confused glances, as a visitor calling at night was rare.
