His sister patted the edge of the bed and he sat down, a little awkwardly. He was the baby of the family, and while his sisters had acted as responsible toddlers and changed his diaper and gave him bottles, he’d never had the luxury of doing any of that himself. He swallowed, staring at the little potato looking bundle against his sister’s chest, all pink-faced and swollen eyes. He was wrapped in a white blanket, four tiny fingers folded over the edge like he was trying to escape the swaddle.
“Do you want to hold him?” she asked.
He did, but also didn’t.
“I don’t know,” he said softly. Yiorgos opened his tiny, dark eyes and looked up at Leonidas, then his fingers splayed wide, like he was reaching out.
“Hold him,” Aeliana said, situating herself and passing the baby into Leonidas’s not quite ready arms.
Yiorgos made a squawking cry, then milk dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin. Leonidas looked up helplessly at his sister and she rolled her eyes, then closed them.
“You know how to clean up vomit,” she said with a yawn. “I remember when you turned eighteen.”
“You swore you’d never talk about that.” He took the corner of the blanket and wiped the dribble from his nephew’s chin.
Aeliana stretched her legs, kicking him in the side of his thigh. He reached down and squeezed her toes through the sheet.
“Will you go make sure Mama is okay and that she doesn’t need anything?” she asked, looking at her husband. He nodded, kissed her cheek and his son’s forehead; then he left them alone, closing the door behind him.
“I didn’t think you’d really come,” she said, poking him with the tips of her toes.
Yiorgos had fallen asleep and his measured little snores sounded like the softest metronome Leonidas had ever heard.
“I told you I would,” he said quietly.
“You tell me lots of things.”
“I keep my word,” he sighed, reaching up and gently tracing a finger down Yiorgos’s cheek.
“You don’t want to be here.” A small frown pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Your heart isn’t here.”
He made a disagreeable noise in the back of his throat. “My heart is in my hands.”
“That’s entirely too romantic for your tastes.” She smiled at him and closed her eyes.
Aeliana wasn’t wrong.
He’d never been the romantic type, never prone to dreamy ideas of the future that weren’t attainable or expected. Leonidas had always wanted to live for the moment, in the now, and that was where he clashed with Andy the most. Andy wanted more than a moment, an hour, a day, and Leonidas couldn’t see that far ahead. He hadn’t, and didn’t, want to think of anybody else.
But he also hadn’t been able to stop.
“Have you thought more about what we talked about?” she asked him.
“What about it?”
“If it’s love or lust.”
Leonidas’s cheeks heated and he looked down at his slumbering nephew just in time to see his eyes fly open. The dark orbs were glassy and he opened his mouth, revealing bumpy pink gums, then he let out an ear-piercing wail.
“What’s happening?” he asked, looking up at his sister. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Life happens.” She swished her hand at him. “Bounce him or something.”
“Or something?”
“Jesus, Leonidas. Stand up and walk him. Talk to him.”
He stood, clutching his screaming nephew against his chest, then he bounced him as he walked toward the window.
