Beautiful Nightmare (Dark Dream 2)

A sleepy giggle that was more a murmur of breath. “That sounds fun.”

“It will be.” Fun on Christmas morning for the first time in a long time for everyone in the household. “And guess what, I have an early present for you right now.”

Brando blinked open one eye as I walked us down the hall, Picasso’s nails clicking softly on the hardwood. “What is it?”

I grinned at him, but didn’t answer.

A moment later, I didn’t have to.

Because we were pushing open the door to my chambers and suddenly Bianca was there, scrambling to her knees in the bed on a sharp inhalation of breath.

Brando stirred in my arms, turning his head until his gaze settled on his sister, the woman who had been his parent and best friend for all of his seven years. A woman he hadn’t seen in weeks.

Immediately, they rushed to each other. Brando slithered out of my arms, his little feet hitting the ground already running. Bianca stood on the bed, running across the blankets so that when her little brother launched himself up at the mattress, she caught him in her arms and hauled him right against her chest. They folded into each other in a way that was beautiful to watch, puzzle pieces slotting together. It was clear they had embraced like that a million times and intended to a million more. That the bond they shared was the purest love. And like Bianca and Brando themselves, their purity didn’t make them weak and fragile, but strong as diamonds.

I stood there for a few long moments as they clutched at each other, silent tears streaming down their cheeks. Bianca checked him over, turning his head, running her hands over his limbs, whispering questions and laughing in a bittersweet way about how he’d grown in her absence.

Picasso sat on my feet, his tongue lolling as he watched the scene with me. I placed a hand on his head as we watched the two people we guarded with our lives reunite.

Finally, Bianca curled my oversized sweatshirt over her hands and used them to dry Brando’s tears.

“Have you been happy?” she asked, the words aching.

Brando nodded, his movements still slow with sleep. “Walcott bought me a kitchen stool and Ezra taught me more sign language so now I’m going to be better than you and Henrik let me paint his toenails pink and Tiernan––” He stopped abruptly as if he’d run into a wall, peeking back over his shoulder to look at me. “Tiernan and me missed you, but we had fun, too.”

“Good,” she whispered brokenly, her eyes filling with tears again as she hugged him to her and looked at me over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she mouthed.

I shook my head, because she didn’t need to thank me. Taking care of Brando was entirely selfish. He had every man in the house wrapped around his little finger.

“I thought we could have a Christmas sleepover,” I suggested as I rounded the other side of the bed and got beneath the covers, pulling the sheets back for Bianca and Brandon to join me. “When I was young, Leo used to let all of us sleep with him on Christmas Eve.”

The shadows playing over Bianca’s face deepened with sadness for me, knowing I’d lost that after my twelfth birthday.

“Don’t be sad, sweet thing,” I murmured as she and Brando crawled up the bed and joined me under the blankets. Brando instantly pressed himself tight into my side and grabbed for my hand as he grabbed for Bianca’s. “This is better than anything I ever thought I’d deserve.”

Bianca curled into Brando to mimic my pose, both of us parentheses around him. She reached over his head across the pillows to tangle one hand with my own, her cheek resting on her bicep. Picasso jumped on the bed and curled up at Brando’s feet, propping his chops on his white-capped feet to watch over us.

“We used to sleep with Mom sometimes,” Brando slurred as sleep came for him. “I miss her, but I’m happy we get to live here now. With you and The Gentlemen.”

“Me too, kid,” I said, but he was already asleep.

“I miss Mom, too,” Bianca said, her eyes twin pools of darkness in the dim yellow light spilling in from the bathroom. “But I have to believe this was meant to be. Us. This family.”

“It was,” I agreed. “We were always meant to belong to each other. It makes it better, honestly, to look back at those years of anger and loss and bitterness. To believe everything happened to lead us here.” I squeezed her hand. “I won’t lose you, Bianca. Not fucking ever. It makes me goddamn grateful I’m older than you because honest to Christ, I won’t live another day without you.”

She made a soft nose in her throat, eyes already closing with exhaustion. “You won’t have to. I’m not going anywhere. None of us are.”