Mr. Beautiful (Up in the Air #4)(61)

She and Duncan could have been twins, they looked so much alike.

She had a strong sense of justice and a compassionate soul.  She was versatile in that she could have done anything, been anything, because she always excelled.

We never tried to predict where her life would take her.  We were just excited to watch her path.

Isabella was an artist. We knew early on.  She was a daydreamer.  A stargazer.  Our little angel was born with the ability to see and create beauty.

Obviously she got that joyous talent from her mother.

And at last we had a child that favored Bianca in looks.  Except for her eyes.  Those were mine.

She was sweet to a fault, a lover to Imogen's fighter.

Of course, I was her favorite.

She was a daddy's girl.  Absolutely.  I would move heaven and earth to keep it that way.

The real romance in life didn't come in that first sweet taste of love, as profound and life changing as it was.  There was love then, yes.  Obsession, passion, infatuation.  All of that and more.

But the true romance came from the slow lapse of time, the inexorable passing of days, weeks, months, years, decades.

I'd hold onto her with the last breath in my body.  My final thought would be that I hadn't gotten enough, I just knew it.

Because I would never have enough.

Never enough sweet moments.  Never enough shared smiles.

Never enough of touching her.

Never enough grabbing her face in both of my hands and marveling at the miracle of love.

Never enough of watching her grow as a person.  Growing with her.  Watching her journey as the mother of my children.  Taking that journey with her.

Never enough of sharing every single burden, big and small, that she would let me, and sometimes not giving her a choice, taking those burdens from her, prying them from her elegant hands and carrying them myself.

And the fights, yes, even the most horrible ones we ever had, because they taught me something about her, and more about myself.

The inside jokes, the shared humor may have just been the best part about sharing my life with my soul mate.

Nothing on this earth was more romantic than a private inside joke still going, still bringing us joy, still making us laugh as we added layers to it, after twenty years together.  Then thirty.  Forty.

True love was a language, so many looks, touches and one word references that told the other more than full sentences or paragraphs, more than full outpourings of speech.

Our language was extensive and beautiful, and over a joyful lifetime together, we stayed fluent in it.

Our wives were having a mommy pamper day at the spa with the girls while we had a BBQ with the kids at Tristan and Danika's house.

It was a disaster, because that was the day we realized something very troubling, something that would haunt us for many years.

We were on the patio, Tristan grilling us burgers, as we watched the kids playing in their park of a backyard.

We were both dads that prided ourselves on being our kids' favorites, but when this group got together, they forgot we even existed.

I pointed at Nikaloj, huddled together with Imogen.  "No f**king way," I told Tristan.  "That right there is not happening."

He curled his lip at me, waving a hand at Cleo and Duncan.  They were holding hands.  They were only six, but that wasn't the point.  "What about that right there?  What the ever-loving f**k is up with that?  I'll tell you right now I won't stand for it."

"Oh you think you have it rough?"  I stabbed a finger towards Isabella and Jared.  They were wrestling.  Oh, the outrage.  "By my math I have it at least twice as bad as you."

The bastard laughed, threw back his head and laughed like crazy.  "Oh man, you are right.  That's so true.  You do have it worse.  When these kids are teenagers you are going to hate your life."

"Ming will be a teenager first," I pointed out, as it was only fair.  She was the only child deemed mature enough to embrace a day at the spa with the mommies, so she wasn't there, but I felt she should be included here.

"Fuck," he said, low and succinct.

This time it was me that couldn't stop laughing.  The idea of Tristan as the father of a teenage girl as she started to date was just priceless.

"All of the kids are closely paired up in ages, every one but Ming.  Our daughters, Bianca, Tristan's rowdy boys are going to try to take our daughters!"  I had to get it off my chest.  It was too much for any father to have to bear alone.

She laughed, not looking at all worried, not understanding how serious and terrible this was.  "Yeah, we figured that out already.  And they all like each other, too.  Imogen told me the other day that she was in love with Nikolaj and wants to marry him."

I shook my head.  "No, no, no.  Just no.  I forbid it.  Categorically, no."

"And Duncan, too.  Him and Cleo.  They're inseparable."

"That's not as bad, since he's a boy."

"That's sexist," she pointed out.

I supposed it was, but something about boys getting near my little girls was just much more disturbing to me, more inherently unacceptable. It went beyond logic and into gut reaction territory.

"Jared and Isabella are sweet to each other, too," she added, rubbing salt in my wound.