Triplets Under the Tree

“I spent time here occasionally over the past year.” A shadow passed through her expression. “I’ve brought the babies a couple of times, hoping to infuse your heritage into them. Silly, I know. They’re too young to understand it.”

She laughed and he felt an answering tug at his mouth. How did she do that? He’d been all set to command her to drive away as fast as she could, and when he got home, he’d probably have barred himself in his room to indulge in a fit of bad temper. Instead, Caitlyn had gotten him across the parking lot and pulled a smile from him, as well.

All in the name of physically, mentally and spiritually guiding him through a place she hadn’t wanted him to go.

What an amazing, beautiful, selfless woman. The mother of his children. There was nothing temporary about her role; he saw that now. Her love for them shone through in every action, every small gesture.

Caitlyn Hopewell was his children’s mother, and it was an odd addition to her attractiveness. But there it was.

That ever-present sense of disloyalty squelched the warmth in his chest that had bloomed at the sound of Caitlyn’s laugh. Caitlyn was sensual and beautiful and likely that meant her sister’d had those qualities, as well. But why couldn’t he remember being so outrageously attracted to Vanessa? Why couldn’t he remember her touch the way he could recall with perfect clarity what Caitlyn’s hand felt like on his shoulder? Surely he’d fallen for Vanessa for a myriad of reasons, especially if he’d married the redheaded sister instead of the dark-haired one. His late wife’s attributes and personality must have eclipsed Caitlyn’s.

But he couldn’t fathom how, not when innocently thinking about Caitlyn caused a burn in his gut he couldn’t explain away. It was pure, sensual attraction that he wished to explore.

How was he supposed to move past his relationship with Vanessa and potentially have a new one—especially if the woman was Caitlyn—when thinking about moving on caused a wretched sense of unfaithfulness?

Five

Antonio stepped through the glass doors to Falco with a silent sense of awe. The reception area held a hushed purpose, as if to say important matters happened between these walls, and it hit him oddly to imagine he owned all of this, had made it happen, had created this company himself through his own ingenuity and resolve.

White marble stretched under his feet, edged with red and black. Framed promotional pictures lined the walls on both sides, similar to the ones in his home gym, featuring fierce-faced fighters with raised gloves or crossed arms sporting bulging biceps. Many wore enormous title belts with distinctive, rounded shields in the center, proclaiming the fighter a world champion.

His own face stared back at him from three of the frames, one each for his three welterweight titles. The memory of posing for the shots crowded into his head, crystal clear.

But he couldn’t remember picking out the marble under his feet or the lot under the foundation or ever having walked into this building before today. It was becoming evident that his most severe memory loss encompassed the events that had happened after that final knockout Caitlyn had spoken of, the one that had ended his fighting career.

Perhaps the CT scan wasn’t such a far-fetched next step. If there was something in his brain locking up his memories of that period, shouldn’t he explore options to remove the block? Of course, he barely remembered Vanessa and he didn’t remember Caitlyn at all, though he’d clearly known them both prior to his career-ending coma. So nothing was guaranteed.

After all, none of the Indonesian doctors had helped. Nothing had helped. And he hated hoping for a cure that would eventually amount to nothing.

In deference to the holidays, the reception area held a small decorated tree, and holly boughs covered nearly every surface. A classic Bing Crosby tune filtered through the sound system and he recognized it, of course, because his brain retaining Christmas songs made perfect sense. The receptionist looked up from her desk, blonde and perky, smiling with genuine happiness when she saw Antonio.

“Mr. Cavallari!” She shook her head, her wide-eyed gaze searching his face. “It’s as if the past year never happened. I can’t believe it. You look exactly the same.”

Antonio nodded, because what else would he do when he couldn’t remember this woman’s name, though he’d probably hired her.

“Hi, Mandy,” Caitlyn said smoothly, as if she’d read his mind. “Antonio would like to see what you’ve done with the place in his absence. I assured him that Thomas and his stellar team kept things in order, but there’s nothing like an in-person tour, right?”