Page 169 of My Sweetest Obsession

I looked up at Nico and brushed away the tear streaks on his face. He took my wrist and pressed a kiss to my fingers. “I love you,” he murmured.

A wistful smile crossed my lips. “And I love you.”

We held each other’s gaze, absorbing our shared pain before he asked, “Are you ready to go?”

I nodded, feeling the weight of his love and strength. He helped me to my feet, and before we walked away, I pressed my fingers to my lips, then to the baby’s stone.

“Goodbye, sweet baby.” As we turned to leave, Nico glanced back at Serafina’s headstone. “Look after our baby, Mom. Love you both.”

NICO

We drove home from the cemetery in suffocating silence.

When I first learned Gigi had miscarried, a part of me died along with our baby. But the other part that survived gave me the strength to do something in our baby’s honor. I’d arranged for a small headstone and placed it beside my mother’s, a silent promise that she would watch over her grandchild. Today was the first time I’d seen it.

And I fucking broke.

The moment my eyes landed on that tiny, engraved stone, something inside me violently imploded. Even the beast I usually kept caged was writhing, a guttural cry trapped in my chest. It hit with a force that knocked the air from my lungs. I didn’t understand how I was still standing, how my legs hadn’t buckled beneath me.

Then I saw my angel. My love. Gigi was on her knees, her tiny frame wracked with silent sobs for our baby. She was the anchor, the reason I found the strength to remain upright. I had to continue to be strong for her.

The house was silent as we walked in, our exhaustion and relief palpable in the quiet space.

I followed her into the music room and leaned against the doorframe, watching her face light up in awe as she took in what I had done.

Hundreds of candles in varying heights covered the floor, the tables, the fireplace mantel, and the polished surface of thegrand piano. A path of red and white rose petals led from the entrance to the piano, where they fanned out into a perfect heart. Dozens of fresh red and white roses overflowed from vases scattered throughout the room, filling the air with a sweet fragrance.

Her eyes shiny and wet, she turned to face me. “Nico. What is this?” she whispered, glancing around the room.

“Come on,” I murmured, taking her hand, my thumb gently stroking her knuckles. I led her down the rose-lined path and guided her to a chair, positioning it just diagonal to the piano bench. I needed to see her every flicker of emotion.

I settled onto the bench and lifted the lid. My fingers found their starting positions, hovering for a moment before descending, and I began to play. It was a symphony of all the feelings she stirred in me, a testament to what she meant to my very existence.

The first notes of “Over the Rainbow” filled the room. This one was dedicated to our unborn baby. I watched her eyes, and just as I expected, tears welled, catching the light like scattered glitter. I turned away, my own throat tightening and a familiar sting behind my eyes, but I pushed through. When the final note faded, I transitioned seamlessly into “Stand by Me.”

I lifted my gaze from the keys, meeting hers. The love that shone in her golden eyes was like being struck in the chest with Cupid’s arrow. This girl had woven herself into every fiber of my life and made a permanent residence in my soul.

Next, I started “Beautiful Things.” I kept my eyes on her, pouring everything into the melody. I hoped she could see it, truly see how much I loved her reflected in my gaze. How much she had turned my life upside down. And how, without her, I wouldn't know how to survive.

A soft chuckle escaped her as fresh tears tracked paths down her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away with the back of her hand.

I continued with “All of Me” and finally, “Angel Baby.”

When my fingers stilled on the last chord, I slanted my head at her, a small, knowing smile playing on my lips. It was time. Time to make her mine, forever.

“Come here,” I said, my voice low.

With a fluid motion, she gracefully lifted herself up. I reached for her hand, tugging her gently until she landed softly on the bench beside me, our thighs brushing.

I opened a music book and slid it over to her.

She glanced at me from the side with a curious frown.

I swallowed hard, my heart thumping a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “Look inside.”

She looked confused for a second, then turned to the sheet music. “What am I looking for?”

“It’s written in the notes.”