“It had to be to suit you.” He strokes my back, soothing me. “Wanna hear about it? Or is it less romantic to know the numbers?”
“Tell me. I want to know everything.”
“Center stone’s two-point-seven carats. There are a hundred and four half-carat diamonds making up the rest of the setting. Total carat weight is about eight and a half. It’s got a pedigree,too. A master jeweler in London made it sometime around 1849.” He pauses, then says in his gorgeous low voice, “It once belonged to a queen. And now it does again.”
The tears continue to fall, but I kiss him anyway, trying to convey how much I love him and how much this moment means to me.
It once belonged to a queen. And now it does again.
Best ring. Best proposal. Best love.Ever.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
Xmas Eve
CONNOR
Trick sends the birth announcement via text.
Trick:Sean Reilly Patrick 7 pounds 2 ounces.
We’ve been waiting for word, so we roll into the hospital within minutes of seeing it.
When Trick meets us in the hall, his eyes are red, and, for a second, I worry there was some kind of complication.
I’ve only seen tears on his face once. It was right after the doctor we brought in to look at ‘Vil’s gunshot wound said surgery was the only thing that could save him, and Frank shut down every one of our ideas to get ‘Vil a life-saving operation in secret.
Trick always acts like he left Frank’s organization over a dispute over an injured kid, and that was the tipping point. But I think the seeds of rebellion were planted in Trick on the day Frank showed no remorse about locking ‘Vil down to die.
“How’s it look?” I ask Trick now, hoping everything’s all right and that the kid’s healthy.
Trick flashes us an easy smile, and I know things are fine. Apparently, like a lot of fathers before him, sentiment got the best of him when he saw his son for the first time.
“Yeah, good,” Trick says. “Like all babies, he’s that got that ugly-cute thing going on. He looks like one of those mean little mandrake roots in Harry Potter, one that’s not happy about being transplanted into the world.” He chuckles, then sobers and holds up a hand. “Don’t tell Laurel I said that.”
“How is Laurelyn?” I ask.
“Tough. Maybe tougher than anyone I know, including me. No epidural. No drugs. No screaming. She just gritted it out for eleven hard hours. They don’t call it labor for nothing.” He shakes his head. “On the days leading up to this, I was like, ‘You sure you want to pretend it’s 1950?’ She was like, ‘Yeah, I think I can do it naturally.’ I thought she might cave in once things got rough, but my wife was not playing.”
‘Vil nods. “You’re right. She’s tougher than you.”
Trick laughs. “As usual, I can count on you to take my side, brother.” Trick glances over his shoulder at the closed door to their hospital room. “Wanna see him?”
“We’re not here to see you,” Anvil murmurs.
“Sasha,” Rachel admonishes.
Trick just grins. “Let me see if she’ll give him up for a second.” Then he disappears back into the room.
Irina’s walking these days, and she tries to make a break for the hallway. Rachel gives chase, but it takes Anvil stepping into the baby’s path to stop her. She collides with his leg, grabbing on to it to steady herself. ‘Vil reaches down and picks her up.
When Trick emerges, he’s got the sleeping baby, and we form a huddle around them.
“Yay,” Zoe whispers, touching the kid’s little head gently with her fingertips. “Congratulations, Trick. He’s beautiful.”
The baby opens his eyes, and I expect his face to scrunch up, but there’s no wailing. He just looks around.
