"Damon—"
"I know we haven't talked about any of this. The baby, the wedding, what comes next. Your father wanted everything handled through proper channels, and I respect that. But I need you to know this isn't about honor or family politics for me."
"What is it about?"
He reaches out slowly, giving me time to pull away, and cups my face in his hands. "It's about the fact that I love you. Completely. Desperately. In a way that probably makes me weak but I don't care."
My eyes fill with tears I wasn't expecting. "You love me?"
"Christ, Viviana. How could you doubt that?" His thumbs stroke across my cheekbones. "I love you, I love the baby you're carrying, and I love the life we're going to build together. Not because we have to, but because I want to. Because I can't imagine wanting anything else."
"I love you too," I whisper. "I was so scared you were only doing this because you felt obligated about the baby."
"Never." His voice is fierce. "I'm doing this because losing you isn't an option. Because the thought of anyone else touching you, anyone else being the father of your children, makes me go crazy."
He leans down and kisses me, soft and gentle, nothing like the desperate passion of our last night together. This is a promise, a claim, a declaration of intent.
When we break apart, I'm breathless.
"How are you feeling?" he asks, his hand moving to rest against my still-flat stomach. "Really?"
"Scared. Excited. Nauseous most mornings." I cover his hand with mine. "Like my whole life changed in the most terrifying and wonderful way possible."
"Any regrets?"
I think about it seriously. About the girl I was before I met him, about the safe, predictable life I would have had if none of this had happened.
"No," I say honestly. "Do you have regrets?"
"Not one." His smile is genuine. "Though I reserve the right to panic occasionally about being responsible for a tiny human."
"We'll figure it out together."
"Together," he agrees. "I like the sound of that."
The study door opens again, and our fathers emerge looking satisfied.
"It's done," Papa announces. "The engagement is official. The wedding will take place within a month."
"Less than a month?" I gasp.
"Before you start showing," Papa says. "Better to have everything settled quickly and properly."
Damon's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. "Is that enough time to plan what you want?"
"Mama will help," I say, looking at her. She nods, already mentally making lists, I'm sure.
"The Lombardis have generously offered to host the reception," Papa continues. "It will be a joint celebration, both families coming together."
"A new beginning," Damon's father adds. "For all of us."
As the adults continue discussing wedding details, guest lists, venues, security arrangements, Damon leans down to whisper in my ear.
"Three weeks until you're my wife."
The words send heat coursing through me. "Three weeks until we don't have to sneak around anymore."
"Three weeks until I can take you home and keep you there."
