18. Gia

18

GIA

T wo days. The thought stops me cold. Two days is all we have left before the kids and I head back to New York.

The temporary fantasy we've been living crashes down around me. No more morning breakfasts with Max teaching the kids to flip pancakes. More hide and seek in which Max pretends to be a monster chasing them. No more nights wrapped in his arms, feeling completely safe and cherished.

I knew this would end. Max made it clear from the start that once the threat was gone, we'd return home. But somehow, I let myself get lost in the dream, in the possibility of what could be.

My eyes burn as Max catches my gaze across the kitchen island. His smile fades slightly, like he can read the pain on my face. I turn away, afraid he’s worried that I’ve grown too attached. I focus on getting dinner on the table, not letting him see how much leaving him will destroy me. I can't let him know that these weeks haven't just been about safety or convenience or temporary pleasure. That somewhere along the way, despite my best efforts not to, I've fallen completely, hopelessly in love with him all over again.

The kitchen suddenly feels too small as Max approaches. I focus intently on the hotdogs boiling in the water. His presence behind me sends warmth radiating through my body, a cruel reminder of everything I'll have to leave behind.

"You okay?" His voice is soft, concerned.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. If I open my mouth, I might beg him to ask us to stay. The fantasy plays out in my head—Max telling me he can't imagine his life without us now, that these weeks have shown him what we could be as a family.

But that's all it is, a fantasy. Max has built his life here precisely to avoid the complications of family. He's never wanted children, never wanted to be tied down. He verified that earlier when he said he always used condoms to avoid an unwanted pregnancy. The fact that he's been so wonderful with Daniella and Dario doesn't change that fundamental truth.

My throat tightens as I consider the secret I've carried for so long. The twins aren't just any children. They're his. One word from me could change everything. But would it really? Or would it just make him feel trapped, obligated? The thought of him resenting us, resenting me for forcing this life on him, is unbearable.

"Gia." His hand touches my shoulder. "Talk to me."

I shake my head, managing a weak smile. "Just thinking about all the packing we need to do."

His jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn't argue, doesn't tell me not to go. Doesn't give me any reason to hope that these weeks have meant as much to him as they have to me.

And that's my answer, isn't it? The truth about the twins will stay buried, where it can't hurt anyone. Better to let him remember us fondly than to destroy everything with revelations he never asked for.

"I need to head out again tonight." He runs a hand through his hair, his expression tense. "I need to find Benny."

I nod, trying to keep my voice steady. "Of course. You have to do what Nic needs."

“I fucked up by not knowing Benny was here. By not apprehending him. Fucking hell, he was in my casino.”

"Max, I understand." And I do. This is who he is. Dedicated, loyal, willing to do whatever it takes to protect the family. It's one of the things I've always admired about him, even when it means watching him walk away.

“I’ll go after dinner. The security team will be doubled tonight. Marcus will be right outside."

"We'll be fine. Just… be careful."

His eyes soften as he cups my face. "Always am." He surprises me by kissing me, right there in the open kitchen. The kiss is deep and lingering, and then he steps back.

“I’m going to clean up too. I’ll be right back.”

I nod and watch him leave the kitchen, guilt rising that I brought this on us. What was I thinking, going to the casino today? Now Benny knows where we are. And for what? Some files for work? I mean, yes, I needed them to do my job, but maybe I could have found another way. Perhaps Max could have arranged to get the data to me and then Nic wouldn’t be ordering us home now.

The pitter-patter of small feet announces the kids' return, their hands still damp from washing up. Dario slides into his chair while Daniella claims her spot.

“Where’s Uncle Max?” Dario asks.

“He’s washing up too.” I serve the warm mac and cheese with hotdogs, adding a few cut up vegetables for nutrition.

“All washed.” Max enters holding his hands up as if to show us. He takes a seat at the table.

“Mine are clean too.” Dario holds up his hands. Daniella shows hers as well.

I watch them interact as I serve the kids their plates, my heart swelling at how natural it feels.

"Mommy, remember when we had mac and cheese at home and Dario put ketchup all over it?" Daniella wrinkles her nose.

"That was one time!" Dario protests, his mouth full of pasta.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Max and I say in unison, catching each other's eyes across the table.

“Some people like ketchup on macaroni and cheese,” I say, setting a plate in front of Max and then joining them with my dinner.

“I don’t,” Daniella says. “I don’t like it on French fries either.”

“Do you like it on anything?” Max asks.

“Hotdogs and hamburgers.”

“Well, then…” Max hands her the ketchup for her hotdog.

The kids dominate the conversation, jumping from topic to topic, the playground Max built them, their favorite cartoons, the upcoming Thanksgiving feast. I steal glances at Max between bites, watching how he leans in when Daniella tells her stories, how he helps Dario retrieve a piece of hotdog that shot off his plate when he cut it.

I try to smile, to enjoy the moment, but inside, I feel like I’m dying. The sight of my children so completely at ease with Max, the way he's carved out space in his life for us without hesitation, fills me with a fierce yearning for something I can’t have. I need to stop wishing. It’s time to look forward.

“After dinner, we need to start going through your things in preparation to return home,” I tell the kids.

“We’re going home?” Daniella’s expression is surprised and a little sad. Even Max looks a little startled. I’m not sure why. He’s the one who says Nic is bringing us home.

“Yes.” I haven’t told the kids the full details about why we're here, so I can’t explain that my stalker is in Las Vegas. Or at least who Nic and Max think is my stalker. I still find it hard to believe that it’s Benny, but I also know that Benny could be a danger to me and then kids. Instead, I say, “Our adventure is coming to an end.”

"But I don't wanna go," Dario whines. "I like it here."

Daniella nods vigorously. "Can't we stay longer?"

“I’m glad you’ve had fun, but our lives are in New York. You’ve got school and your friends.” I’m trying to put on a brave face.

“But what about Uncle Max?” Daniella asks.

“Max has his life here,” I say, sort of wishing he’d chime in. I can see the kids thinking this is my doing.

"Mommy, tell Max we can stay," Dario pleads.

But Max doesn't jump in to say he wants us here. He clears his throat. “It’s been wonderful having you here, but your mom is right. You need to get back home, back to your lives.”

“I don’t want to.” Dario crosses his arms and pouts. “I want to stay.”

Daniella looks up at Max with tears in her eyes. “Why can’t we stay, Uncle Max?”

He shifts uncomfortably, looking to me for help, but I’m not going to give it. Maybe it’s petty, but I’m not going to be the bad guy in this.

“Like I said, you have your own home. But you can come and visit anytime you want.”

The kids look at me. “I want to stay, Mommy,” Dario says, his anger turning to sadness, tears welling in his eyes.

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” I say, shooting a quick glance at Max. Then I chastise myself for trying to manipulate him into letting us stay. He doesn’t want us. Not in any long-term way, anyway. “But it’s time we go home. Max has his life to lead. But it’s been a wonderful visit, hasn’t it? You should thank Max.”

The kids’ “thanks” are coerced, but Max accepts them, reiterating that they can come visit. But we won’t. Maybe when they’re older, they can fly out on their own and spend time with him, but I won’t be there. It’s clear that I have no ability to keep my feelings in check around him. And I refuse to endure this emotional rollercoaster anymore.

After dinner, I send the kids off to play in their room while I do the dishes and Max prepares to go out to find Benny. He finds me in the kitchen, putting soap in the dishwasher and closing it up.

“I’m leaving. I’ll be late. Don't wait up."

Is that code for don’t come to my room tonight? "What about Thanksgiving? Will you be back for that?"

“I’m planning to.” He gives me a wan smile and then leaves the kitchen.

I follow him into the foyer like a puppy begging for attention. But this is the life he’s chosen. The responsibilities and duties, the dangerous tasks, the unwavering commitment to my brother and our family. Max will do what needs to be done even if it means sacrificing his own needs and desires.

In the foyer, Max checks his weapons. The kids' laughter echoes from the playroom, and Max lifts his head as if he’s listening for them.

"You have everything?" I ask.

Max nods, sliding his gun into its holster. "Marcus will be right outside. The perimeter team's been doubled."

"I meant for you. Extra clip? Phone charged?"

His eyes meet mine, a hint of warmth breaking through his professional demeanor. "Always prepared, remember?"

I step closer, straightening his collar even though it doesn't need it because like an idiot, I can’t seem to let him go. "Be careful out there. Benny's unpredictable, especially when he's desperate."

"I know how to handle Benny." His hand catches mine, stilling my fidgeting fingers. The touch sends electricity through my skin.

"Still." I swallow hard, fighting the urge to beg him to stay. To beg him to let us stay. "Just… come back in one piece."

Max's thumb traces circles on my palm, and for a moment, I think he might pull me closer. Instead, he lets go, reaching for the door.

"Lock up behind me," he says, his voice gruff. "Don't wait up."

I watch him stride into the darkness, his broad shoulders disappearing into the shadows. The night swallows him whole, leaving me alone with all the words I can’t say lodged in my throat.

My hand rests on the doorknob long after I've locked it. The kids' giggles float down the hallway again, reminding me of my own duty to them. It’s my job to keep them well, make them happy, and protect them. Max doesn’t want them. Want us. But that’s okay. We have each other. And once we get home, life will go back to what it was. It’s not a bad life. I imagine it won’t be long before the kids are settled and happy to be home. Max will be a fun memory they cherish, and that’s all. If I’m lucky, someday, I’ll feel the same. Someday, the hole in my heart will heal.