Page 22 of Navy

CHAPTER 13

NAVY

Gia’s teasing this morning and her laughter had made me so fucking happy. I’d loved seeing the person she should be coming out and if I had my way, she’d keep growing into her. My Gia was a beautiful woman, whether it was when her face was flushed from coming on either my cock or on my tongue or from laughing because she knew that she didn’t have to worry anymore. I’d happily shoulder all that for her.

Once the little tease had hurried into the bathroom this morning and locked the door on me, I’d got dressed and gone downstairs to wait for her. Hiding a grin as she quietly slipped into the kitchen, her eyes flitting to me with a small guilty smile playing on her lips.

Smirking at her, I winked, pulling out the chair next to me at the kitchen table. Breakfast at Bancroft Estate was similar to how it worked at Crow Manor, except instead of Maggie at the stove, it was Aggie.

“Morning, Gia,” Hope called out as soon as she saw Gia hovering in the doorway. “Come sit, and for the love of god, don’t offer to help the battle axe in charge of the stove.”

Hope laughed as Aggie turned to her with a wooden spoon raised threateningly. “The only reason you aren’t allowed at the stove, Hope, is because you burn water. If Gia can cook, then she’s welcome to help.”

“Well now, I’m hurt,” Hope pouts. “I burned the bacon once and anyway it was Sebastian’s fault for distracting me.”

Bas looks at Hope with a raised eyebrow before his eyes wander pointedly around the full kitchen table where their children are listening.

Not that it bothers Hope, who just laughs and throws her serviette at him, but she’s done what she intended. Taking the attention off Gia, making it easier for her to enter the room and get comfortable, which she does when sitting in the chair I pulled out for her.

“Coffee or tea, sweets?”

“Coffee, please.” She looks around the table smiling at George and Vi. “Where’s my Gram and Hetty?”

“Still in their bedroom,” Aggie answers her as she expertly places fried eggs on a platter, “Hetty came and got their breakfast earlier and is helping your gran get ready for the day.”

“Oh,” Gia goes to get up, “I’ll go and see if they need a hand.”

Placing a hand on her thigh to stop her, I shake my head as I place the cup of coffee I’d just poured for her on the table in front of her, “No need, sweets, I checked on them before you came down and your gran said to tell you not to worry, and that she’ll be out to meet Tristan. Hetty has her well in hand.”

I could see how Gia was struggling to let someone else care for her grandmother. For the last year, she’d been her sole caregiver, but her grandmother had been adamant that she was fine and that I was to make sure her granddaughter knew that.

Gia bit her lip in indecision. Squeezing her thigh, I continued, “I promise she’s fine, Gia. We’ll get her to a doctor this week and have her have a full check-up and get all her medication sorted. But for now, she’s happy to have Hetty help her.”

Just then, Aggie starts to put the serving dishes full of food on the table. Getting up, I go and help her with the last of the dishes, and by the time we’re done, the table is full of all the good stuff, from fried eggs, bacon, pork sausage, and black pudding to fried tomatoes, mushrooms, and baked beans. Man, I loved a full English breakfast. Sitting back down, I started to pile food on Gia’s plate, and she let me until I got to the beans, stopping the descent of the spoon as she wrinkled her nose in disgust at me.

“No beans, thanks.”

“Don’t you eat baked beans?”

She shuddered, “Nope, hate the little buggers. You can have mine, this is more than enough for me.”

“Okay,” I shrugged, “more for me.”

“As long as you brush your teeth before you even entertain the idea of kissing me after they’ve been in your mouth, you can eat them as much as you want,” she informed me seriously.

A laugh escaped me. I’d never known anyone to hate beans that much.

“What’s so funny?” Hope asks me.

“Aunt Gia doesn’t like fart beans,” George says casually as he shovels a forkful of beans into his mouth.

“George,” Hope scolds, although why she bothers, I’m not sure. She should know by now he’s just like me and his father. No filter and rarely thinks before he speaks.

George doesn’t even look up from his plate as he shrugs and continues to eat, “It’s what they are.”

“You’re not wrong there, bud,” I agree.

“Ugh, can we not have toilet humour at the breakfast table?” Hope demands.