“I love you,” he whispers.
I smile into the dark. “But do you wish for me?”
His soft laugh warms me, and his answer does, too. “Every damn day.”
Epilogue
GABLE
“Gibson!” I roar, dropping the shopping bags on the floor. I half tear my way through the house and find Ella sitting at her desk, smiling innocently in a Santa hat. Her hair is down, her laptop is open, and her headphones aren’t on, so she knew I was coming home and knew I’d likely lose my shit at her when I did. This fucking woman. I point toward the living room. “What the fuck is in my house?”
“Our house,” she corrects, holding up her finger. “And it’s not Gibson, it’s Gideon.”
“You’ll always be Gibson to me, you little shit.” I stalk toward the desk, and Motor grumbles at me. “Enough out of you, too, mutt.” He huffs and lowers his head back onto his bed. I return my attention to Ella. “I told you to leave the Christmas tree to me! You cannot be standing on step ladders!” I take my jacket off so aggressively I’m surprised I don’t dislocate my shoulder. Tossing it onto the old sofa, I approach the desk again. “Bed. Rest.”
She folds her arms. “I am pregnant, not sick!”
“You are due in three weeks!”
“Which means I should be exercising!” she screeches.
“Walks! Not tree climbing!”
Motor grumbles again, and I pinch the bridge of my nose. He’s so protective of her now she’s pregnant I can hardly go near her without him wedging his way between us.
“What if you fell?” I ask. “What would you do?”
“Don’t yell at me in front of our children,” she hisses. “They can hear you.”
They. Twins. She didn’t even know they ran in her family, but after a year of living in our new identities, we got pregnant, and we danced around the house holding pee on a stick.
Yeah, even me.
“How did shopping go?” she asks, closing her laptop.
“It’s Christmas Eve; how do you think it went? I punched two people and almost tackled a grandma.”
She arches a brow. “Almost?”
“Yes, almost. I have some restraint,” I say, sitting on the couch. “Now, come here so I can say hello.”
Ella grins and pushes herself out of her chair. She’s in her robe, and as she pulls at the tie, she reveals her pregnant belly. I’ll never get tired of seeing her this way, of knowing she’s carrying our children. I know she’s officially sick of being pregnant, but I can’t wait to do this all over again.
She stands in front of me, and I kiss her stomach.
“Any twinges?”
“Nothing,” she sighs, pressing her hand against them. “They’re too damn comfy.”
“Keep talking; they’ll want out soon enough.”
She tuts and flicks my head, then sits on my lap. “Did you get my chocolate?”
“Andthen some.”
“Thank you.” She cuddles into me. “I got you something, too. Go into the living room.”
I raise my brows at her suspiciously, and when she gets up, I do as she asks.
