Potere | Book II ✓

xxxvi | forever

xxxvi | forever

a/n: thank you for taking this journey with me.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

It's Christmas Day, and Rosalie makes sure we don't forget.

We were dancing between my favorite place, reality and unconsciousness, when her piercing scream shatters the peaceful realm around us. We're thrown into the blinding, morning light that shimmers beautifully across our bedroom and wake up as the nine-year-old bursts into the room. And all I can do is watch, in a haze, as she rushes across the hardwood floor and launches herself onto our bed, and Liam.

Liam rolls over, sending the little girl to the bare mattress between us with a giggle. A groan dances off his lips at the unexpected greeting. If he wasn't awake before, he certainly is now.

"Merry Christmas!" Rosalie shoots her hands upward, and I thank my partially alert reflexes for getting my head out the way in time. I stifle a laugh as she rolls her small body towards Liam, grabs his face, and plants a kiss to his cheek, uttering, "Merry Christmas!" Again. He mumbles a weak and feeble, Merry Christmas, back as his lungs continue to work to replace the air Rosie knocked out of them. She flings over towards me, grabs my face, and does the same. "Merry Christmas, Ms. Faith!"

I smile and grab at her face as she pulls away, "Merry Christmas, king."

Rosalie rises to her feet, doing her best to balance on the mattress. She hops to avoid our entangled legs and leaps from the mattress, hitting the wood floors already in mid-sprint. The little girl screeches something incoherent before adding, "I have to wake up Uncle Rico and Aunt Carmen!"

"Good idea," Liam mumbles sleepily into his pillow.

Our eyes meet.

Liam pushes himself up quickly and twists his body towards Rosalie, narrowly missing her as she skates between the doors and out into the hallway. "Rosie, wait!" He calls out, "Maybe you should..." Liam's voice fades, knowing the little girl is far too excited to listen, and already too far to hear. He shoulders fall with a sigh. "I really hope they have clothes on."

"The octave of her scream will let us know."

I let out a laugh of my own as Liam wraps an arm around me, playfully tackling me back against the mattress. My arms snake across his shoulders and wrap around his neck as he presses a light kiss to my cheek, to the spot just below my ear, and another somewhere high on my chest. His chuckle vibrates against my skin before his head finds the crook of my neck, and the pillow beneath me.

We're quiet for a while. The dancing of my fingertips across the back of his neck is relaxing enough to lull Liam back to sleep. The weight of him alone, with his arm draped across my stomach and his leg entangled with mine would have been enough for me to. But a thought crosses my mind. Then another.

I angle my head towards him and smile. His eyes are closed. And his lips are parted slightly. His skin is warm to touch, and I find myself admiring him. My thumb runs across his brow, a faint scar remaining from the fight in Russia. I had seen it, time and time again since that night, but never asked him how he got it—was it inflicted by someone, or when the building came crashing down around us?

I feel guilty for waking him. "Can I ask you a question?"

His eyes never open. "Yes."

I shift, doing my best not to disturb him. "That night, in Russia, how many Yakuza got out?"