Page 159 of Forbidden

“There is that,” Lorenzo says, knowing it. “And to think you arrived all sweet, and innocent.”

“That was before you taught me how to fuck.” I say, before peering behind. “And before I became the teacher, not the pupil.”

“Phah!” Lorenzo says. “Just ride.”

As I do, I think of our life together, with our son. I start to melt inside.

Somehow, together, we have grace, perfect balance, and every day I thank the universe, and God for it.

Getting married on the superyacht was an example of our way. It was private, secluded, and not over the top or showy. There was no paparazzi, and there were no journalists.

Just me, Mom, my aunt, plus Madison, Martha, a cousin and Anastasia.

Plus of course, Lorenzo, Night, Saber, and Lorenzo’s closest friends, or who I call The Wicked Bastards.

Dante his lovely Italian billionaire pal, and their other friends, the hotshot actor Ryan Remington, and his brothers, Troy, and Chris.

Naturally Caroline, Ryan’s wife came, and Troy brought his new wife, Zara the fashion designer. They are delightful women, very humble, talented, and extremely unassuming.

Another hotshot friend of Lorenzo’s arrived, but we didn’t get to really talk. Rhett is some big fish in advertising in Manhattan. He’s originally from Texas, and he supposedly owns several top ad agencies.

Lorenzo’s close friends are extremely private, but overall, they’re nice guys. Above all, they are welcoming and protective of me, and us.

As if we’re like some modern tribe, we have each other’s backs.

Even if Lorenzo, technically has no siblings, his close male friends are like a large group of brothers. It makes me feel safe, and it makes me feel loved, even more.

The exotic looking Dante gave a touching speech at our wedding, and I shed a few tears. The Italian billionaire from Tuscany, really is a sweetheart.

How on earth he is still single, is beyond me.

In saying that, the successful fashion tycoon who resides in NYC, is another workaholic, recluse. With no time for fun, or love in his life.

After we return,I feed and water my horse, I then lead it out back. We’re lucky to have a sizable plot of land in The Hamptons, and the horse has its own stable under a large oak.

Our son is returned home by our wonderful nanny, and as I close the door, I look into my boy’s eyes. Theotherlove of my life has my eyes, thankfully. He does not have his father’s often wicked glare. He does, however, have his perfect aristocratic jaw and nose.

I hand our son to Lorenzo, who as always, handles him with care, love and affection.

I devour a fresh pastry and watch my two men.

Lorenzo has become a spectacular father, and like everything he does, he has thrown himself into fatherhood with a rare passion. Like me, he worships our son, and he is protective and gentle.

After experiencing no love or stability in his home life while growing up, Lorenzo has clearly turned it around.

He has created a perfect island of love, respect, safety, dignity, and of perfect stability for us both, our greater family, and our son.

My husband even sings old Italian songs to our child. He does, however, swap the odd word to make them more playful, and at times, naughty.

It’s adorable… like him.

We are yet to name our baby, and we debate names passionately, and daily. We have it down to three names we both love. Jack. Henry, and an Italian name I completely adore.

Armando.

I watch Lorenzo lay our son down, and my heart melts. I walk around them and watch in awe. Finally, Lorenzo turns and looks at me. “Armando.”

Finally!