“Come on,” he says quietly. “One more thing.”
He leads me upstairs, the air shifting with each step. At the end of the hallway, he stops in front of a white wooden door painted with small scatterings of stars.
My heart stutters. I already suspect what it is… but when he opens the door, my mouth falls open in shock.
Oh, how I love this man.
The room glows in soft yellow light. A crib sits beneath the window, draped in sheer white. A rocking chair rests in the corner beside a small bookshelf already half-filled with children’s books. Watercolor art lines the walls—gentle, whimsical scenes from the animated films I grew up on.
“Matteo…” I breathe, stepping forward. “This is the baby’s nursery. You… you did all of this?”
He speaks like it’s nothing, but his voice is lower, gentler. “I didn’t want you stressing about it. You’ve been building the fashion house. This was one thing I could take off your plate.”
I had been worrying about the nursery for weeks. Feeling behind. Feeling guilty. And here he was, keeping this secret, calming me every time stress got too close—because he already had everything handled.
I turn, grab his shirt, and kiss him without thinking. Hard. Grateful. Overflowing with something dangerously close to joy.
When I pull back, my breath is unsteady. “This is too much.”
“It’s not enough,” he says simply. “Not for what you’ve survived. Not for what you’re giving me.”
My chest tightens. I rest a hand on my stomach, and right on cue the baby kicks beneath my palm. I take Matteo’s hand and place it over the movement.
I watch his expression shift—eyes softening, a slow smile curving his mouth. I squeeze his hand beneath mine. I want to stay here a little longer, inside this quiet bubble we’ve built over the last eight months.
Life has been surprisingly sweet,considering everything. Matteo has made this pregnancy easier than I ever imagined.
And just like that—my water breaks.
A warm gush hits the carpet. I stare down in disbelief, brain scrambling to catch up.
“Of course it would be today,” I mutter, stunned.
Matteo notices instantly. “What is it?”
I look up at him, waiting to panic, to scream, to cry—but instead I’m frozen, shock locking me in place.
“My water just broke.”
“Oh,” he says first. Then his eyes widen. “Oh—shit. You mean… the baby is coming?”
I nod, breath shaking. “It’s happening. The baby is… the baby is coming.”
The first contraction hits like a bolt of lightning. A raw scream tears out of me, echoing down the hallway as I fold over, hands flying to my stomach.
“I guess you’re eager to see the new house,” I grit out, talking to the little creature causing chaos inside me.
Matteo is at my side instantly, an arm around me, already calculating. “Okay. We’re leaving. Now.”
“I don’t think I can make it back to the city?—”
“You don’t have to.” He’s already got his phone out, the other arm anchoring me upright. “There’s a clinic fifteen minutes fromhere. Quiet. Private. I had a maternity wing built while the house was being constructed. I’ll fly Dr. Brown in by helicopter. She can be here in fifteen minutes. I just need you to hold on, amore.”
I shouldn’t be surprised. This man plans for every angle, every possibility. Of course he’d built an entire medical contingency around the arrival of our child.
Another contraction seizes me and I clutch his shirt, gasping. “Matteo?—”
“I’ve got you.” His voice doesn’t shake. Not once. “Breathe, Beatrice. I’m not letting anything happen to you or our child.”
