Forbidden Fruit: A single dad romance by C.J. Lucci

Author:C.J. Lucci [Lucci, C.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: C.J. Lucci
Published: 2024-10-25T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-TWO

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

Vanessa disappears in the shadows, and I don’t follow.

What is wrong with me?

I should have known that after the workshop, Vanessa might have been horny. I certainly was.

Ropes have a way of letting buried emotions rise to the surface, and despite the very platonic nature of our time together this evening—before the bedroom incident—bondage can be very sexual.

And I took advantage of that.

She showed up in her little negligee, her body barely concealed by the cardigan she wore. And I just stopped thinking. It’s been such a long time that I’ve felt so attracted to someone who doesn’t go to the club. There, everything is transactional and though a few play partners have invited me to take things outside, I’ve always refused.

With Vanessa, it’s different. I know how kind she is. I know what she does on school nights and weekends. She has this calming presence I’m drawn to, this sunshine I want to bask in. She’s amazing with my kids and even my parents are starting to carve out a place for her in their hearts. I know the truth of who she is, and now I know what she looks like when she comes.

And my God, when she called me ‘Daddy’ I could have come right there and then. I swipe a hand to my face and go to my children’s bedroom.

The nightlight sends stars and moons to the ceiling. Livia sits on her bed, clutching her brother’s teddy to her chest, tears streaming down her face. Anton is half-asleep, mindlessly patting her hand and giving words of reassurance. The wails that break my heart stop as I enter the room and make my way to them.

It’s a daily ritual by now.

I kiss my son’s brow and he falls back asleep immediately, then I lift Livia into my arms. I squeeze her body to my chest, trying my best to give her enough comfort and reassurance that I’m not going anywhere. Her tiny arms and hands link around my neck, strangling me with the force of her panic. I don’t mind it. I’ll be whatever she needs me to be.

Livia’s been having nightmares ever since her mother left and I don’t need to be a child therapist to know what they are about.

As I settle into the lounge yellow seat that Monica used to nurse her in, I hum a lullaby. Livia’s favourite.

O ciucciarella, nun sai quantu ti adoru,

Le to bellezze, le to cullane d’oru,

Ciucciarella inzuccarata,

Quantu hè longa sta nuttata,

Fà la ninna, fà la nanna,

U to babbu hè à la campagna,

My mother used to sing it to me as a kid, and I never forgot the words. It’s about a father who loves his daughter so much he cares for the land around her, so she grows to love it as well.

I tried once to sing about a family of turtles, Livia cried harder because she doesn’t have a mum like the baby turtle.

I rock her side to side in my arms as I hum the tune again and again.

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