"Not yet," she murmurs. "I need to tell you something."
"It's not important right now," I say, hushing her.
"No, it is. It is," she repeats. She pushes up on her elbow and looks at me. Her eyes hold the lingering pleasure, but they're clear now. Determined.
"What is it, mia?" I ask, pushing a lock of hair away from her face.
"I think..." she whispers. "I think I'm pregnant."
My whole body goes still. For a second, the world tilts on its axis. A baby. My baby. Growing inside her.
I stare at her, my mind racing. The implications, the dangers, the sheer impossibility of it all crash over me.
And then, a wave of fierce, possessive joy. Mine. All mine.
I frame her face with my hands, my thumbs stroking her cheeks.
"Pregnant?" I repeat, my voice a hoarse whisper. "Are you sure?"
"No," she says. "But yes. I don't know. When I was... there, I just knew. I know it's too soon, but—"
I pull her against me, burying my face in her hair. The world can wait. For now, she is here, and she might be carrying my child. And I will protect them both with my life.
I kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. A slow, lingering kiss full of promises.
"Then we'll take a test," I say, my voice steady, for her sake. Inside, I'm all but vibrating with joy.
"When?" she asks, her eyes hopeful.
"As soon as the sun's up," I say. "Actually, as soon as you call your mother."
She laughs. "I should probably do that."
"She thinks you've been really jet-lagged," I say.
"And she's going to keep thinking that," she says resolutely.
"I think that would be best," I whisper.
She presses her cheek to mine and snuggles into me.
"Is it true?" she murmurs. "That you've been keeping the Russos away from Regalia? And that you've been using the debt money to fix up the neighborhood and protect our businesses?"
I stiffen. "Where did you hear that, Bibi?" I ask.
She just asks again. "Is it true?"
I relax under her. "You weren't supposed to know that," I grumble.
"I love you, Gio," she whispers.
The words send heat sweeping through me. Not the sexual kind, although...yes, that too. But this is different. Deeper. Emotion so deep it might drown me. I'm not a poet. I don't have the words for this. So I do the only thing I can. I show her.
I roll her onto her back, my body covering hers. I take her face in my hands and kiss her. I pour all of my joy and fear and hope into the kiss. I pour all of me into it. My tongue sweeps into her mouth, claiming her. My hands roam her body, re-learning every curve, every hollow, every dip.
She's panting when I pull back, her hands on my shoulders, her legs cradling my hips.
"I love you, too," I say, the words rough and clumsy. "More than you know."
