Beloved Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy 3)

After Leo’s birth, I assumed it’d be another twenty-eight years until my next round of tears. But I couldn’t have been more wrong about that. Only four months later, I cried again. Just as hard. This time, when my mother’s favorite nurse, Tina, called to tell me my mother had passed. She’d been taken in her sleep, unexpectedly, by a massive stroke.

Of course, I was devastated by the news. But I took solace in a few things. I was relieved to know Mom hadn’t suffered. And that Georgina had cleared her father’s name all those years ago. I loved knowing Mom had gotten to hold her grandson several times. It also made me smile to think she’d taken so much pleasure in watching Georgina on TV every week, for two years before Georgina took her current extended maternity leave. Mom absolutely loved bragging to nurses and friends that Georgina’s skyrocketing TV career was all thanks to her. “Years ago, I was the one who told Georgie she’s got a face for TV!” Mom always used to say. And Georgina, saint that she is, would always reply something along the lines of “Yep! I never would have thought to get into TV if it hadn’t been for Eleanor’s suggestion!”

Georgina and I have been sitting quietly for several minutes in Leo’s nursery, both of us staring in awe at the little miracle in my arms, when Georgina’s soft voice finally cuts the moonlit silence. “I talked to Amalia about that job offer today.”

“Yeah?” I say, even though I know exactly what Georgina is going to say. She’s going to tell me she’s decided to take the job. Which is a no-brainer, by the way. High-profile TV jobs based in LA, like the one recently offered to Georgina, don’t come along very often. Turning it down would be unthinkable, if you ask me. But I’ve kept my mouth shut this past month, letting her process the offer on her own, and providing input only when asked.

“My conversation with Amalia gave me some much-needed clarity,” she says.

“Oh yeah? Good.” I wait, and when she says nothing, I add, “Care to elaborate?”

Georgina takes a deep breath. “I’ve decided to take the job. They said I could work part-time the first year, and start when Leo turns one, so that’s what I’ve decided to do.”

“That’s wonderful, Georgie. Congratulations.”

“You think this is a good decision?”

“I think it’s a spectacular decision.”

She sighs with relief. “Amalia said she’ll come out of retirement to take care of Leo when I go back to work.”

“Oh my God. That’s amazing.”

“I know.”

“Did she say she’d think about doing that, or she’s fully on board?”

“She’s fully on board. She said she’d never forgive us if we hired another nanny. So, of course, I told her we’d love it. But I made it clear she won’t be Leo’s nanny. I said, ‘You’ll be his grandma who just so happens to get a paycheck.’ And she loved that.”

“Good. I’m glad you said that. I’m sure she was touched.”

Georgina smiles. “I told her we’re going to teach Leo to call her ‘Gramalia,’ and she laughed with glee.”

“That’s perfect. I love it.” I bite my lip. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For preserving ‘Grandma’ for my mom. It means a lot to me.”

Her features soften. “Oh, love. Of course. Your mom will always be Grandma. Mine will always be Nonna. CeeCee will always be CeeCee.” She smiles. “And, now, Amalia will always be Gramalia. Every one of Leo’s grandmas will have her own name.”

We share a smile.

Georgina bites her lip and touches my thigh. “Do you think it would be okay if we put him down in his crib for a bit?” Her eyes flash with heat. And I know she’s missed me as much as I’ve missed her.

“I think it’s a great idea.”

Georgie scoops Leo up and gently lays him down. She checks his diaper. Determines he’s good. She turns on a white-noise machine. Double-checks the baby monitor. Adjusts the nightlight and thermostat. And, while she does all that, I take Leo’s temperature again, just for good measure.

When we leave the nursery, we do it hand in hand. And as we walk the length of the hallway, the air between us becomes charged with three days’ worth of pent-up desire.

We reach our moonlit bedroom, where I guide Georgina onto our bed, peel off her pajamas, and my clothes, and proceed to worship every inch of my wife. I kiss and lick and caress and taste, reveling in her curves and newfound softness, my body vibrating with each sultry sound that escapes her throat.

When she comes, I crawl over her writhing torso and plunge myself deep inside her, and then push myself deep, deep, deep, over and over again, as deep as a man can go. As I make love to my wife, I whisper words of adoration. If I were a bottle of wine, I’d be pouring every drop of me into Georgina’s goblet. I’m giving her all of me. No holding back.