She said I have a kind and beautiful soul, but she—she has a pure soul, a being so gold-hearted you can't help but feel enamored by the woman.
Gold- hearted. It is a word I always find myself describing her because it is the only one that really matters. Anyone can beautiful, but to have a heart of gold is rare.
Mrs. Taylor melted the sun and used the rays to carve her daughter's heart and I thank her for that.
I am captured in her whole being, completely devoted to Ivy Marigold Taylor.
A rope is wrapped around my heart and tugs and strains the most important organ in my body when I am deprived of her presence, and it's dangerous. I would blindly follow her even if it meant I was being brought to my death because I would find a type of comfort in knowing that she was there.
She said I have a kind and beautiful soul, but I have done things I am not proud of. Before I moved to America—before my father died—I have participated in selling drugs, weaponry, set buildings aflame even. I watch my father torture and a kill man as punishment for his betrayal, and for years I have felt guilty for a life I did not take.
That night I swore to myself I would not take another's persons life.
It took me six months for seventeen year old me to rid my nightmares of that man's face, while my father seemed to have slept in peace every night. Every morning he would see the difference between him and I. The bags weighing under my eyes, my pale skin, the lost of weight, and every morning he looked mournful—not of the man he killed but for me.
My brother and mother believe I left Italy because I couldn't process father's death with reminders of him every where, but their belief is wrong. After his death I was ready to take his place. I looked through paper and when I found reports of all the assignments I've done, records on the buildings I have burned, I saw the death casualties in the double digits.
He told me it was just enemy territory, the buildings were clear, and I was content with doing something for my father and not hurting anyone in the process.
But I have burned people alive and he whisked me away before I could hear their screams.
I cried that night.
Tears soaked my pillow and quiet hiccups filled my room until it replaced the oxygen. I choked and suffocated on my own cries as if my father's betrayal cut me opened squeezed my lungs. That's what it felt like when I found out the only moral I had, I did not follow.
I cried until I was emptying my stomach in trash at my bedside and I left the next morning.
I never understood how my father did it, kill with no mercy and live with no regret, and I never wanted to understand because if I did then I would be comfortable with taking a life.
My father was a powerful man who wanted to me to follow in his footsteps and hold the same amount of power, maybe even more, on my shoulders with a stone cold face and head held high. I could not bring myself to want the same thing he did.
Alessandro strolled down my father's path willingly, and I refuse to talk about anything the involves that life even if my hands are already stained red. Bloody hands that were clean when they caressed her skin. She was like holy water that washed my sins away. It was hard for me to grasp her existence since she seems so unreal.
As I I hold her in her childhood bed with her curled into my chest I feel as if I am unable to taint her skin.
"Hey, you okay?" Her hands slide up my chest slithering around to cup the back of my neck with a tender touch. Her voice was soft and gentle despite being groggy.
I nod smiling down at my wife. I know she was joking when she proposed with the cheap, plastic rings that now takes its place on my left ring finger, but I was serious.
"I was just thinking about how beautiful you are." I answer, honestly.
"You're beautiful too." She murmurs sleepily, her eyes fluttering close as they once were.
She called me beautiful. Months earlier I would have seen that compliment as an attempt to bruise my masculinity but when she says it, it is genuine. She thinks I am beautiful, not just physically but all of me, my mind, my heart, my soul. Knowing she thinks I am beautiful sparks a dim flame that seems to warm my chest.
She shifts in her sleep and her foot kicks me. I look at the clock on her bedside table seeing it is only seven in the morning, and I know it is too early to make an attempt of waking up Ivy.
Slowly and quietly, I shuffle out of bed sliding her away from me. She turns snuggling deeper under the comforter.
I put on a sweat pants and grab one of Ivy's Spider-Man hoodies out of a million. Her room was so cold goosebumps were starting to rise.
I exit the room, leaving Ivy to get some sleep, and the smell of coffee was already roaming from the kitchen before I could even walk down the hallway.
There were hush voices coming from the kitchen and they quieted when I walked into the kitchen. Mrs. Taylor and August look at from their places near the stove.
August raises is brows in surprise and Mrs. Taylor wears a soft smile.
"Good morning." I nod politely.
"Good mornin', Carter. Would you like some coffee?"
"No, thank you. I do not drink coffee."
She chuckles setting down her coffee mug walking to the refrigerator, "Apple juice? I know I'm not my daughter but hopefully it's up to your standards." She opens a cabinet grabbing a glass that was decorated with painted sunflowers.
"Thank you." I smile gratefully taking the glass from her hand. I take a sip. It tasted like regular apple juice.
Mrs. Taylor's hair was wrapped in a scarf as a robe was wrapped around her body and fuzzy purple socks cover her feet.
She and Ivy have the same kind smile, but Ivy's smile is a little brighter and wider. They have the same nose and deep cinnamon colored eyes with hints of amber, but the marbling of their irises differed. I also noticed last night that all women under this roof share the same curl pattern even with their different lengths.
I could find all the similarities between Ivy and her mother, but none between her and her father.
"Welcome to The Breakfast Club, Carter." August smiles and based off his cheeriness I would never guess it was morning.
"Breakfast Club?" What is a breakfast club and why am I being welcomed into it? My confusion was clear on my face.
"It's a joke since we're the only people in the house that actually wakes up early enough to eat breakfast instead of brunch."
"Yeah, you, August, and I have entered a relationship with folks who can't even give you the definition of the word morning."
I nod. Ivy is a stubborn sleeper. I could wake her up and in a blink of an eye she would be back sleeping as if I never woke her, and as amusing as it is it's difficult to get her to eat breakfast.
"Ivy is not the most easy person to wake up." I voice.
August scoffs, "I tried to wake Lani up for school once and she texted her dad a strange man was in her room, and I almost got attacked with a bat that morning."
"I remember that morning! Bryce was so annoyed and tired he didn't even make back to bed. He just fell asleep on the couch with bat beside him." Mrs. Taylor laughter fills the kitchen as she tells the memory, and a small smile rises at my lips. A smile that seems shy compared to August's bright one.
As I bring the sunflower glass to my lips I feel something brush against my shin. My brows furrow looking down at the green eyed cat with a mocha fur coat.
"That's Greenbean. She's the sweetest cat." August spoke as the cat roams to a water bowl against the wall.
"She has a beautiful coat."
"We only been married for a few hours and you're already callin' another girl beautiful. Shame on you, Carver." That voice sounds from outside the kitchen and my heart did a weird, yet familiar jump.
"Married!? Ma, how is that even fair? He didn't even ask for your blessing!" August complains. "That's it! Me and Ven are getting elope." He marches out of the kitchen as Ivy walks in.
"Buongiorno." I greet her softly as she waltzes through the kitchen her eyes drawn to mine. When she stands in front of me I bow my head waiting for her lips to bless my forehead.
What once was an act of affection became an act of selfishness as I use the kisses for serotonin and comfort and assurance. She kisses my forehead and when I do not lift my head; she presses another. Her kisses are an uncontrollable craving that I needed her to suppress so I could keep my head screwed on straight throughout the day.
I am satisfied for now. I sigh lifting my head to see her face.
"Buenos días." The Spanish rolled off her tongue and she gifted me a smile that made it impossible for me to take my eyes off of her.
Even when she walked away from to the cabinet my eyes were still pinned on her.
"Good mornin', Mama." She greets her mother as she searches through the cabinet.
"Mornin', honey." Her mother smiled.
When Ivy could not find what she was looking she closes the the cabinet door with a huff. Her eyes scour the kitchen as she stands there, and a desperate part of me wanted her eyes to meet mine.
I wish I had what she was looking for.
"Carter has it, honey." Her mother tells her a slight smirk at her lips, and Ivy send her an unamused look.
"You knew I was looking for it." She said as her eyes land on the sunflower glass beside me on the counter.
"I thought you already saw it." Her mother shrugs.
Ivy walks towards me until she could reach the glass, "Look at that, you got apple juice all by your big boy self." The genuine of her proud smile did not match her sarcastic words as she takes a sip.
"We fly back to California today. Most of our stuff is already pack though, so we can chill most of the day." She says leaning against the counter, her hip grazing against me, as she sets down the glass.
I grab the glass before she could place it on the counter and I bring it to my lips. It tastes different. Better.
"So you two are married?" Mrs. Taylor quirks a brow in question.
"Not really."
"Yes."
We answer at the same time.
"I jokingly proposed with a ring that was fifty cents." She explains.
"I was not joking when I said yes." I state as a sort of defiance.
She throws me a look, "We're not married legally."
"She is my wife." My left thumb brush back and forth on the cheap material wrapped around my left ring finger.
Mrs. Taylor looks between the two of us before a laugh slips from her behind the coffee mug she brings to her lips. "Okay."
Ivy turns to me, "You're taking this marriage joke seriously aren't you?"
"Deadly."
She exhales as a small smile tips at her lips.
I dip my head to level with hers, "Did you take your medicine when you woke up?"
The dim in her smile already told me the answer as it fades into a slight grimace.
"I'll be back." She said walking past me and out the kitchen. The rope tugs unnecessarily so when she was only going down the hall.
Mrs. Taylor and I were the only ones left in the kitchen that was filled with silence until she spoke.
"Look after her, please." Mrs. Taylor's quiet voice enters my ears causing my head to turn.
Before I could assure her she continues, "I know the hospital situation was a while ago, but she can get into a head space where she believe she isn't going to make it. It happened before when she was younger and she wrote goodbye letters."
"I will take care of her. You do not have to ask." I assure.
The atmosphere around us has shifted, became more dense and grim. It was a turn I was not prepared for but I embraced it in order to remember it.
"It was heartbreaking finding those letters, and I don't want her to feel like she has to write them." Her eyes were glistening making them reflect a dim brightness.
The best comfort I could give her were my words and promises over something I had no control over. "You won't receive any goodbye letters." It was promise I dis not know if I could even keep, but I would try to fulfill it.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••
I added in Carter's backstory. I felt like I dropped small subtle hints in chapters but what do you think?
And I forgot to mention I changed their age to 27 and 33 because I thought she her previous age wasn't realistic for her to be a vet.
<3 ☕️