“It’s true.” He kissed the top of my head. “I love you, and Sadie, and Savannah, and all the other children we’ll have.”
“Are you hoping we’ll have a son?” I asked. I knew he wasn’t the type of man who would want to keep having children until he got the desired daughter or son that he really wanted. That had always seemed shortsighted to me.
“I’m hoping for a child who can carry on our legacy of making beautiful art in the kitchen or the studio. I don’t know what I’ll do if one of them turns out to be an investment banker or something.”
I chuckled. “But you wouldn’t stop her.”
“No. I’d never hold her back from that if it made her really happy.” His tone was wistful, and I knew he was thinking of his own father and how Pierre Devereaux had treated his artistic ambitions.
“I think they’re more interested in becoming equestrians and show jumpers than an investment banker,” I said, thinking of how she’d reacted to seeing the Steele family’s estate in Pennsylvania, which boasted several ponies and horses as well as a petting zoo.
“Oh no, my daughters are horse girls.” He buried his face in his hands, clearly unable to bear the agonizing prospect. “What were we thinking, letting them go to the Steele estate?”
I patted him on the shoulder, shifting onto the chaise next to him and off his lap. “There, there.”
He grasped my hand and kissed my palm, before his lips trailed onto my wrist. “It’s okay. If our daughter being an equestrian is our cross to bear, I’d say we’re doing pretty good in life.”
We sat there for a few moments, talking about everything and nothing at all. Our family, the past, the next week, and our children’s schooling. What we were doing for Christmas and who would be going where to celebrate.
As the night slid to a close, both of us yawning as much as Sadie and Savannah had been a few hours earlier, I said, “You know, as complex as our love story is, I don’t think I’d change it for the world.”
“No? Why is that?”
“I think God wanted us to meet at the exact right time, and I think that if we’d met any earlier or later, or had done anything but what we did… maybe we wouldn’t be here now.”
“Maybe.” He set his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his chest so that my face was buried in the crook off his neck. “Or maybe I’d find you anyway, no matter how God orchestrated our lives, and I’d know you, and I’d love you.”
