"Promise.”
We eat at the island, sitting side by side.
She moans around the first bite of French toast, and I have to grip my fork hard to keep from dragging her straight onto my dick and letting her finish breakfast while I’m inside her.
"My God," she says. "This is better than the chef’s."
"Don't tell him that. He has a fragile ego."
"Where’d you learn to do this?"
"I told you. Survival." I take a sip of coffee. "My mom used to buy the day-old bread because it was half off. French toast was the only way to make it edible. I got good at it."
She looks at me, her blue eyes soft. She reaches out, touching my hand.
"I'm glad you're not just surviving anymore."
"I haven't been surviving for a long time. But I wasn't living, either. Not until you."
It sounds like a line from a movie.
But it’s the truth.
We finish eating. I take the plates to the sink. I’ll wash them later. Or I’ll leave them for the staff tomorrow. I don’t care.
"Come here," I say, drying my hands. "I have something to show you."
I take her hand and lead her into the Great Room.
The fire is crackling, casting a warm glow over the space. The massive tree glitters with lights.
Blair stops when she sees the mantle.
Her breath hitches.
She walks closer, reaching out to touch the red velvet. Her fingers trace the gold letters of her name.
Blair.
"Stockings," she whispers.
"I know it’s something small," I tell her, coming up behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist. My hands settle on her stomach. "But we never had them when I was growing up. I want our children to have them, ones that’ll last their whole lives.”
She leans back against me. I can feel her trembling.
"They're beautiful."
"There's room for more," I say, my voice low against her ear. "Next year, there’ll be another one right there." I point to the empty space next to hers. "And maybe another one after that."
She turns in my arms, burying her face in my chest. She’s crying.
"I love you," she sobs. "I love you so much it scares me."
"Good," I say, holding her tight. "Be scared. Just don't let go."
We move to the couch, and Blair curls up into the corner, pulling the throw over her legs. I sit next to her, my arm draped along the back of the sofa, my fingers playing with the hair at the back of her neck.
For the first time in my life, I’m completely content.
