I’m alive.
He’s alive.
I sip my tea and let the warm liquid calm me.
"The baby?" he finally asks, his voice careful.
"Fine. I think." I place a hand on my stomach, feeling the slight swell that's becoming harder to hide. "Nothing hurts. No cramping, no bleeding."
"We should get you checked anyway. I'll have a doctor come in the morning."
"Okay."
More silence. His hand covers mine on my stomach.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly.
"For what?"
"For not being there. For letting you leave. For—" He stops, jaw tightening. "For almost losing you because I was too afraid to hold on properly."
I set down my tea and turn to face him fully. "You saved me. You showed up exactly when I needed you."
"I shouldn't have had to save you. You should have been safe from the start."
"Dante." I cup his face, forcing him to look at me. "Your cousin tried to have us killed. Your uncle sanctioned it. That's not your fault."
I know the man is dealing with a lot of shit right now. I’m not going to make it harder on him. I don’t know what we are, but I know we’re together. That means I support him—not make things more difficult.
"Isn't it? This is my world, Hannah. My family. The violence you faced today—that's the price of being with me."
"Then I'll pay it." The words surprise me as much as they seem to surprise him. "I'm not leaving again. Not running away because things got hard."
"You should run. You should take our child and disappear somewhere I can never find you."
"But I won't." I lean forward until our foreheads touch. "Because I love you. And I'm tired of pretending I don't."
His breath catches. "Hannah?—"
"I love you," I repeat, stronger this time. "Even though you're controlling and overprotective and sometimes completely infuriating. Even though your world is violent and dangerous. Even though staying with you probably makes me crazy."
"It definitely makes you crazy," he says, but there's something broken in his voice. Relief, maybe. Or wonder.
"Then I'm crazy." I kiss him softly. "But I'm yours."
I pull back just enough to look into his eyes. Those impossible blue eyes that saw through me from the very first night. "Make love to me," I whisper.
His hands slide into my hair, gentle despite the intensity in his gaze. "Hannah, are you sure? After everything today?—"
"I'm sure." I kiss him again, deeper this time. "I need you. Need to feel alive with you."
He lifts me carefully, settling me back against the pillows with a tenderness that makes my throat tight. His shirt—the one I'm wearing—gets pushed up slowly, his palms warm against my ribs.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against my throat. "So fucking beautiful and brave and mine."
His mouth trails lower, down between my breasts. When his lips find my nipple, I arch into him with a gasp. Everything feels more sensitive now, pregnancy hormones making each touch electric.
He notices immediately, his eyes darkening. "Does that hurt?"
