“Having second thoughts?”
“Never. Just amazed that something so good came from something so terrible.”
“Dante’s will.”
“Dante’s will brought us together. We made it into something beautiful.”
She’s right. What started as legal obligation has become the most important relationship of my life. The woman in my arms isn’t just my wife—she’s my partner, my equal, the mother of my child.
“I love you,” I tell her, the words coming easier every time.
“I love you too.”
My hand settles on her belly, feeling the slight firmness that’s becoming more obvious each day. In five months, there will be three of us. A family built from forced beginnings but bound by genuine affection.
“What kind of father do you think you’ll be?” she asks.
“Better than I was to Dante. More present, more patient.”
“You’ll be wonderful.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because you’re already protecting this baby. Already making plans, already changing your priorities. That’s what good fathers do.”
The confidence in her voice makes me want to be worthy of it. To be the man she sees when she looks at me, not the man I’ve been for most of my life.
“I’ve never felt peace like this,” I admit.
“Like what?”
“Like everything makes sense. Like all the violence and blood and terrible choices were leading to this moment.”
“Maybe they were,” she says softly.
“You think so?”
“I think some people have to walk through hell to appreciate heaven.”
We dance until the stars come out fully, holding each other while the rest of the world disappears. When she shivers slightly in the evening air, I lead her inside to our bedroom.
“That was perfect,” she says, turning in my arms.
“The evening’s not over yet.”
I kiss her slowly, tasting wine and promises and the future we’re building together. She responds with the passion that never fails to amaze me.
“I want you,” she whispers against my mouth.
“You have me. Always.”
My hands find the zipper of her dress, sliding it down with reverent care. The fabric pools at her feet, leaving her in lace that makes my blood burn. Pregnancy has made her body more beautiful, more feminine, more irresistible.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, hands spanning her waist. “So beautiful carrying our child.”
“I feel huge.”
“You feel perfect.”
