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All I said was, “I really don’t know. But he’s quiet. So, I don’t see why not?”
Carlo didn’t say anything. He just looked at me and then at Nicco.
“Did Stassia ever breastfeed him?”
Carlo shook his head. “No, not once. He’s always had bottles.”
We all sat there until Marcello announced that he was finished. I handed him over to his father for burping.
Nicco kept drinking, though. After a few more minutes, a wave of exhaustion hit me.
So, with no little protest, I removed Nicco from me and moved him around so I could lay down.
I resettled us, and Nicco latched on immediately this time. And he drank. And drank. While my eyes fell shut.
I had wonderful dreams.
Dreams of Carlo and me in his house. Marcello and Nicco were a little older. Toddling around the living room. Dani was pretending to chase them, and they were all giggling themselves sick.
I turned my head to see Marcello—Carlo’s father—standing there, watching all of us.
I grinned. “Hi,” I greeted him enthusiastically.
“Hello, mia cara. See what a beautiful family you have? Just like I told you. Babies come how they come, Giselle. And you were lucky enough to be given an extra one you didn’t have to carry.” He nodded at a happy, joyful Nicco.
“He is yours, Giselle. Just like Daniella. Just like Marcello. And just like this one.” A tiny bundle in a blue blanket wriggled in Marcello’s arms. “Another son.” Marcello smiled. He looked younger, and even more handsome than he had last time. “You can name him Lucca. It’s a good name. Don’t you think?” he asked me as I felt my eyes fill with tears.
A son.
Another boy.
I sniffled and nodded. “Thank you,” I said, walking toward him with my arms open, ready to take the baby—Lucca, from him.
Marcello started to laugh and shake his head. “No, not yet. He’s mine for a little while longer.” He gazed down with proud eyes at his grandson. He looked over at me. “Besides, you have your hands full. Yes? You need time, too. With Nicco. Your new son. To bond. To love.” His voice got low, and I felt it swirl around me in a big, caring hug. Even though he was across the room. “And you will love him. I promise. Because he is yours, Giselle. He was always meant to be yours. Just because he came to you in a different way, doesn’t mean he’s not yours.”
His words.
They hit me.
Hard.
Marcello wanted me to look after Nicco.
To be his mother.
“Giselle, wake up,” I heard Carlo’s voice rousing me out of my sleep.
The more he called me, the quicker Marcello and Lucca faded away. “No, stay. Please stay,” I begged Marcello as he and Lucca disappeared before my eyes. “No, no, no. Stay. Please, stay.”
My eyes fluttered open to see Carlo trying to take Nicco from me. But I was holding onto him.
Nicco had his eyes open. Wide.
He wasn’t crying.
He wasn’t screaming.
He was just—looking. At us.
