Fix You (The Irish Rogues #3)

Epilogue Maeve

A s I lay sandwiched between Rafe and my new dachshund, Cannoli, on the couch, I balanced a massive bowl of chocolate-covered pretzels on my ever-expanding belly. In my hand was the latest copy of a book of Italian baby names. It was three weeks until my due date, and Rafe and I still couldn’t agree on a name for our upcoming arrival.

It had been so much easier naming Cannoli. When we returned from our honeymoon, Rafe took me to see one of the bodyguards from his youth. At ninety-three, Lucio was dying and leaving behind a wife who was already bedridden. Although I was touched to help him say goodbye, I realized the point of the visit the moment a chocolate colored dachshund came running and yipping to the door.

It was very obvious that Rafe wanted to test me to see if I was ready for a new dog by helping Lucio take Cannoli. From the moment Cannoli slurped her little pink tongue across my face, I was a goner.

It had taken less than a minute for me to say yes.

Glancing up at him, I asked, “Are you sure we can't use an Irish name?”

He snorted. “Like I told you before, we can’t have a future Neretti capo named Connor or Declan.”

“Fine,” I muttered going back to my book.

Shortly after we returned home from Sicily, an ultrasound revealed I was carrying the future heir to the Neretti family. Rafe had been beside himself at the news. A son meant future stability, which was desperately needed after the shakeup at Rafe’s and Drea’s wedding. Of course, considering the way he was around Julianna, I knew he would’ve adored a daughter just as much.

“What about Benvolio?” I suggested.

Making a face, Rafe countered, “Seriously?”

“He was Romeo’s best friend in Romeo and Juliet .” Gazing up at him, I said, “We could call him Benny for short, which is a little Irish and Italian.

“Absolutely not.”

With a huff, I went back to my book. Rafe’s head was buried in his iPad as he went over contracts from Edoardo Caruso. It had been a tumultuous first year of marriage for Leandro and Drea, but they were starting to come out of the darkness. Living one floor down from us, we’d all gotten very close. I considered Drea one of my best friends, along with Caterina and Isla, Quinn’s wife.

“Paolo?” At Rafe’s grunt, I asked, “What’s wrong with it?”

“I knew a kid from the neighborhood named Paolo who was a pain in the ass.”

Rolling my eyes, I grabbed a pretzel and went back to my book. After several suggestions earned me more grunts from Rafe, I asked, “How about Publio?”

Rafe jerked his gaze from his iPad. “Excuse me?”

“Publio. It means ‘friend of the people’.”

The corner of his lip quirked. “You can’t be serious.”

I grinned. “I’m not. I just wanted to make sure you were paying attention and not just vetoing everything.”

“Although I imagine naming him that would make him tough since he would be getting his ass beaten constantly while being called ‘Pubic’,” Rafe mused.

“Yeah, not happening.” Motioning at the book, I suggested, “Why don’t you take a stab at it then?”

Tossing his iPad to the side, Rafe took the baby book from me. After flipping to the beginning, he pointed to one at the front. “I like Alessandro. Classic with a bit of a Greek influence like my fellow Sicilians”

“Can we call him Alex?”

He shot me a look. “My sons aren’t having anglicized names.”

Cocking my brows at him, I countered, “Really, Rafe ?”

With a scowl, he replied, “It’s not the same.”

“Oh it is the same. Even with Raphael .”

“Excuse me?”

Taking the book back from him, I flipped over to the R’s. I tapped a spot on the page. “Raffaele is really the Italian version of Raphael.”

He rolled his eyes. “But it shows my spelling right under it.”

“So, your name is half pure in Italian,” I teased.

“Maeve,” he grunted.

Whenever he made the noise, it always caused Cannoli to yip in response. Lately, whenever Cannoli barked, the baby would shift inside of me like he was answering his furry sister’s call. “Omph,” I muttered.

Rafe’s brows furrowed in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Your son is banging his head on my bladder.”

Pride shone in his dark eyes as he gazed down at me. “Is he always going to be my son when he’s in trouble?”

“Damn straight.” Batting my eyelashes playfully, I added, “We both know that any sweet temperament comes from me.”

Rafe leaned down to tenderly kiss my lips. “I hope he’ll be as sweet and kind as his mother.”

I cupped his cheek with my palm. “On further introspection, I think he could inherit kindness from you as well.”

“Capo’s aren’t kind,” Rafe protested.

“But you are to me.”

He gave me a sexy smirk. “That’s true. Both in and out of the bedroom.”

After a playful smack, I teased, “And you’re kind to Cannoli.”

At her name, Cannoli raised her snout off my bump to gaze up at us. Rafe sighed exasperatedly. “She tries my patience, but yes, I suppose I’m kind to her.”

Rafe wasn’t a small dog kinda guy, so he’d added two Belgian Malinoises to our mix shortly after we adopted Cannoli. He’d hoped Apollo and Ares would double for guard dogs, but most of the time, they enjoyed snuggling with Cannoli. Tonight they were lounging at our feet.

When I gazed down at the book, I gasped, causing Rafe to stare questioningly at me. “I just realized what your name means?”

“Incredibly sexy and well-hung?” he teased.

With a roll of my eyes, I replied, “No. It means God heals.” Although he was used to my weepiness lately, Rafe shifted towards me in concern at my tears. My heartbeat thrummed wildly at the realization. “You healed me,” I replied to his expectant look.

Rafe shook his head. “You didn’t need me to save you, Maeve. You did that all on your own. If anything, you’re the one who healed me . You repaired all the cracks I never allowed myself to see and showed me how to give and receive love.”

He dipped his head to bring his forehead against mine. “You fixed me.”

As his thumbs tenderly brushed the tears from my eyes, I said, “Oh Rafe, if I fixed you, it’s certain that you fixed me as well. I can never thank you enough for bringing me from the darkness into the light. You are everything that’s good in my life.”

“Without you, there wouldn’t be any good in me.”

After bestowing a quick kiss on his lips, I took the book from him. There was a name I’d glanced over, but after our conversation, its meaning meant so much more. Turning the book to Rafe, I said, “Dario means goodness. He’s the goodness of you and me.”

A smile curved on Rafe’s lips. “Dario Neretti has a good ring to it.”

“I think so, too.”

Two and a half weeks later, Dario Brendan–our “good king” in Italian and Irish, was born at a healthy 9lbs, 10 ounces and with a shock of auburn hair.