I’m a puddle of liquid limbs and fragmented thoughts, curled against his chest. The air in the room is thick with the scent of us—sweat and sex and the faint smell of the hotel soap.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice a low, raspy vibration against my ear.
I make a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a whimper. “I think you broke me.”
He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that I feel more than hear. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He smooths the damp hair away from my forehead, his touch gentle, reverent. “You’re beautiful.”
“I’m a mess,” I mumble into his chest.
“My mess,” he says, his lips brushing the crown of my head. He tightens his arm around me, pulling me closer. “My beautiful, incredible, messy mess.”
I can’t help the little smile that tugs at my lips. I snuggle deeper into his embrace, my leg hooking over his, my hand resting on his chest, over his heart. The steady, rhythmic thump-thump-thump is a comforting sound.
We lie there in comfortable silence for a while, our bodies cooling, our breathing slowing. The city outside is still awake, constant, pulsing. But up here, in this room, it's just the two of us.
Well, three of us, technically. I place my hand on my belly, where I can feel the faint, fluttery movements of our baby. She’s quiet for now, lulled to sleep by the rhythmic rocking of our lovemaking.
Luca covers my hand with his, his fingers lacing through mine. “She’s really in there,” he says, his voice filled with a sense of wonder that never fails to make my heart ache.
“She is,” I say softly. “And she’s going to be a terror. Just like her father.”
He laughs again. “She’s going to be brilliant. And beautiful. And she’s going to have us wrapped around her little finger from the moment she’s born. I would know."
I look up and see the soft look on his face, his eyes closed.
I know exactly what he's thinking about.
"It's going to be all right," I reassure him.
He opens his eyes, and there's uncertainty in them.
"How do you know?" he asks.
I snuggle closer to him, trace his jaw with my finger.
"She's coming all the way here to see you," I say. "She wouldn't be doing that if she didn't want to mend the relationship."
"What if she changes her mind?" he asks. "What if Lucia takes one look at me and walks out?"
I lift my head so I can see his face. “You’re her father,” I tell him.
His mouth twists. “That hasn’t been a selling point for her in a long time.”
“Maybe not out loud,” I say. “But it’s still true in her bones.”
He stares past me at the ceiling. I trace the notch of his collarbone with my fingertip until his eyes come back to me. “You’re doing the brave part,” I remind him. “Showing up and not trying to control the outcome. That’s… not your usual approach.”
He huffs a breath that’s almost a laugh. “You saying I’m a tyrant, Panini?”
“I’m saying you prefer results,” I say, smiling. “And this isn’t a results situation. This is a lay-your-heart-down-and-hope one.”
He goes quiet. I watch the ways he hides when he’s scared—how his lashes lower, how he presses his tongue to the back of his teeth like he’s holding something in. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer. “You’re certain she’ll come.”
“I’m certain she said yes,” I answer honestly. “And I’m certain she meant it when she said she wants to try. The rest is about tomorrow’s nerves, not her heart.”
His jaw works. “Nick didn’t want her to.”
“I know.” I exhale. “He told me she’d regret it. That it would… undo things she’s built for herself.” I slide my palm up his chest to his throat, my thumb resting where I can feel his pulse.
