Sempre (Sempre 1)

She shrugged. “It’s just water.”

“Just water? You can get frostbitten, or sick, or even pneumonia. Fuck, there’s hypothermia. All sorts of things could happen. You might lose a toe.”

“Carmine, I was born prematurely in the horse stables, and I survived. I’ve had the daylights beaten out of me, and I survived. I’ve had a gun shoved against my throat, and I survived. It’s frozen water . . . I’ll survive.”

“So you’re saying you’re a survivor again?”

“Yes,” she said. “And I just got my thesaurus, so I haven’t had time to find other words for it.”

“Carry on,” he said. “Keep living. Remain alive.”

“Aren’t they definitions?”

“Synonym, definition . . . same difference. It’s just a technicality.”

Staring at him, Haven fought back her laughter again. “I don’t think that’s the word you want.”

He ignored her. “You know, I was premature too. A few weeks early. My mom always wanted a bunch of kids, but they stopped after me. I never understood why.”

His voice was wistful. Haven closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Maybe they realized they created perfection with you and didn’t need any more.”

“I’m far from perfect, Haven,” he said. “I have more flaws than I do good parts.”

“You have flaws, but that’s part of what makes you wonderful. You are perfect—perfect for me.” She reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him softly before whispering against his lips. “Besides, flaws, no flaws, perfect, not perfect . . . they’re probably just technicalities, too.”

The sound of Carmine’s laughter warmed her frozen skin.

24

Vincent stood in the family room, gazing into the backyard at the kids playing in the snow. He couldn’t recall the last time he saw both of his boys happy at the same time. For years he watched his youngest in a perpetual state of turmoil, his soul broken and heart torn. Vincent blamed himself for that, for not doing more to ease his worries.

His child, so much like Maura—Vincent had failed him long ago.

Celia stood beside Vincent. “Carmine was playing the piano this morning.”

“Moonlight Sonata?”

“No.” Vincent could hear the smile in her voice. “Jingle Bells.”

“Interesting.”

“Interesting is right,” she said. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

He knew what she was referring to by the look on her face. “What did you want me to say? That my son is an idiot?”

Celia jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. “Don’t call him that. He cares about her.”

“She’s a novelty,” Vincent said. “The newness will wear off, and he’ll move on.”

“Oh, give me a break. Even you don’t believe that.”

“One can always hope.”

She shook her head. “They make each other happy.”

“They’re both idiots.”

“Vincent!” Celia pushed him. He stumbled a few steps and snickered as Celia grabbed his arm again. “So, what are you going to do about it?”