Each morning, when she opened her eyes, she was cradled in Giancarlo's arms. It comforted her, made her feel safe but mostly, his arms around her when she woke made her feel loved and cherished. Her recuperation had been slow, the pain alternating between bouts of severe attacks that left her gasping for breath and times when there was nothing more than mild muscle ache. Some of this was her own doing because she occasionally skipped the pain medication prescribed for her. She protested that it made her too sleepy and she didn't want to lose so many days to slumber when she had so much to live for. It was a good excuse and she clung to it as she suffered the loss of her child in silence.
To his credit, Giancarlo didn't argue with her. He respected her wishes, knowing she would take the medication when she needed it. He wasn't pleased that she skipped doses but she had been through so much, he indulged her as long as she was on the mend. What really bothered him the most was that Francesca had withdrawn into a shadow of herself. She was subdued, often not speaking unless spoken to, and worse, when questioned about her health or her feelings or even what she wanted to eat... She would paste a brittle smile on her face and always replied in generalities. "Whatever you think is best" seemed to be her favorite line.
They visited the family cemetery often, Francesca more emotional when she knelt beside her infant daughter's headstone. "I loved you every moment of every day you were within me," she told her child with silent lips. "I loved you then and I love you now. Sempre, ti amo Always, I will love you."
Giancarlo watched as the tears flowed, Francesca's eyes closed, her body stilled as if in silence she was better able to convey her feelings. When the day came that his beloved knelt beside the tiny grave and there were no tears... only numbness in her face, he knew he had to bring Francesca out of mourning or lose her forever to what might have been. He sought her doctor's advice.
"Give her time," the doctor had advised.
"How much time?"
"It could be a year before she feels like herself again."
"A year?" He was aghast as he pictured his beloved Francesca wasting a year of her life on events that could not be changed. He would give her three months...
~~~
"Talk to me, bambina," he told her the morning after the doctor had declared her physically able to return to marital relations.
"Ti amo, I love you," she said softly, leaning against his chest and inhaling his scent.
"And I love you," he murmured, turning her onto her back and nuzzling her neck. "And it is time for us to move on with our lives."
"We lost a child," she asserted, her voice strong for a change. "How do we move on?"
"Do you think I do not feel the same pain, mia amore? She was my child, too, and I loved her from the moment she was conceived. We will not forget her. We will visit her often, but we will go back to living a full life."
"Mi spiace I'm sorry," she murmured, cupping his face. "I did not mean to diminish your loss. Gianni... I need more time, per piacere please."
"You have had enough time to mourn," he said firmly. "It is time for you to return to life, to live again! Quasi li ho persi I almost lost you," he said somberly, regaining his composure as he sat up and pulled her onto his lap. "I will not lose you again. Vivrete! You will live! Capite Do you understand?"
"Gianni... it's too soon," she protested.
He cut her protest off with a firm finger on her lips. "Vivrete! You *will* live. Ora! Starting right now! Capite Do you understand?" he asked again, his brow arched...
"I can't."
"You can and you will," he said in that soft tone of voice he had always used just before he flipped her over his lap.
"Gianni! No!" Francesca pulled back, recognizing his body language and what was coming next.
"Si, bambina. It is time for you to return to me and to everyone who loves you." That said, he turned her protesting body over his knees and bared her bottom. In no time, despite her angry posturing and wiggling body, his heavy hand swiftly pinked her ivory bottom... then paused to listen to what Francesca was saying as he spanked her.
"Maiale! Pig! she hissed through her teeth. "Siete il maiale! You are a pig!"
He recognized her anger as a healthy emotion and an angry Francesca was so much better than a silent and subdued one. He laughed, the first good laugh he'd had since the attack and he resumed spanking her. Hard slaps on both cheeks quickly turned her bottom from rosy pink to fiery red and still he spanked, his heavy hand raining fire on her bottom.
She cursed. She yelled. She threatened she'd cut off his manhood while he slept.
He roared with laughter and spanked her harder.
Until...
Francesca could barely catch her breath; the heat in her bottom was a searing inferno and she finally begged him to stop, her soft sobs interspersed with hiccups as she tried to inhale more oxygen.
"Gianni, Gianni," she sobbed.
Lifting her to his chest, he held her close as one hand firmly cupped her heated bottom, the other on the back of her neck. "Let it out, mia amore. Let it go free. Let go of it," he murmured as her sobs grew more intense, her entire body shaking. There was bitterness in her tears, tears that soaked his shirt, tears that drained her, tears that cleansed her soul.
"Gianni..." she sobbed as she finally collapsed against him. "I wanted her. I loved her. I didn't want her to die."
"I know, bambina. I know," he whispered, his eyes filling, his tears joining hers.
When he placed a gentle hand under her chin, she stared at the man she had hesitated to marry, the man who held her and kissed her over her objections, the man who spanked her at his whim, blistering her bottom whenever she disagreed with him. This was the man she had wed and with whom she had conceived a child. He was the head of the Batali Familia, il Padre del Dio, but in that moment, there was no familia, there was only her husband... her lover... He was her friend and companion and partner in this life and his loss was as great as her own.
And he loved her.
Francesca thought she could not love him more.
"Devo fare l'amore voi I need to make love to you," he murmured as he turned her onto her back again, his body between her thighs. "Sto andando amarlo lungamente e duro. I'm going to love you long and hard," he told her as his hands cupped her breasts and his mouth immediately followed, his lips suckling and making her moan softly. "Molto duro Very hard," he promised as his mouth moved south.
"Mio Gianni..." she whispered, arching up as he pleasured her, her body responding of its own accord, hungry for him, the first time they had made love since the day that had changed their lives forever.
"Li ho bisogno, li ho bisogno, li ho bisogno I need you, I need you, I need you," he groaned as he thrust into her as gently as he had the first time he had bed her. "Ti amo cosė tanto I love you so much," he told her, the heat of her wet folds caressing his manhood with each thrust.
They danced... the music of love in their heads, an aphrodisiac unmatched elsewhere, their bodies entwined in song. They danced... discovered that life was sweeter in each other's arms and worth living to its fullest.
"Il miei propri My own," he whispered when they floated back to earth. Turning onto his back, he pulled Francesca onto his chest. "Il miei propri My own," he said again, aware that she was softly crying.
"Bambina di calmo. Sono qui, sono qui Hush baby I'm here, I'm here."
"Promise me," she pleaded, her tears continuing to flow as she looked up at the man she loved. "Promise me we will have another child."
"Prometto, I promise," he swore.
And then... they danced again.