The epidural was in, and I lay down. The pain began to fade, I relaxed—and then suddenly the room filled with people. It was time to push.
Cal stood next to me, clasping my hand in both of his, his eyes darting to all the people, his jaw clenched. I realized, all of a sudden, that he wasn’t barking orders at them. He wasn’t demanding a second opinion. He wasn’t telling them how to do their jobs. Stress was written in every inch of his body, from the tight jaw to the furrowed brow to the stiff line of his shoulders. He was breathing heavily, but he wasn’t being overbearing.
And these past few months? He hadn’t hunted me down and carried me back to his penthouse. He hadn’t locked me up and forced me to give up my business. He’d waited for me to call, and then he’d dropped everything to be here. And now he was doing nothing but supporting me the way I needed.
His gaze returned to me, and he gave my hand a squeeze. “I’m here,” he said. “I got you.”
“Do you really love me?” I asked, dazed from the drugs and the pain and him.
“Yes.”
“I thought I heard you wrong.”
“I love you more than life itself.”
“Oh.” I swallowed. My mouth was so dry, and it tasted terrible. “I’m not giving up my business for you.”
Cal’s smile was so tender it made my chest ache. “I know,” he murmured. “That’s one of the reasons I love you.”
His words made no sense in my brain—my brain wasn’t working too well at that moment—but something in my heart clicked into place. Accepting his help didn’t mean shrinking or dying. It wasn’t weakness. I could still be me, all the way down to my marrow, and he would love me.
I took a big step, and I found that middle ground. “I love you,” I croaked.
His smile was dazzling, and it shone a light on all the darkest parts of me. The parts he’d always seen and loved. The parts that, until now, I’d wanted to hide.
He leaned closer, one hand gripping mine, the other pushing my sweat-soaked hair off my forehead. “You are my reason for living, Deena. My everything. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life reminding you that you’re amazing.”
Pressure built behind my eyelids, but I managed to hold back my tears. “Your proposal skills really do need work, Cal,” I wheezed. “But that one was better.”
His eyes twinkled. “Was that a yes?”
“All right, Deena,” the nice nurse I’d wanted to murder said. “Time to push. I’ll count you down. Ready?”
My gaze stayed on Cal, and his stayed on me. He held my hand, an immovable pillar of strength and safety by my side. From now until forever.
I answered the nurse and Cal at the same time: “Yes.”
Cal’s face split into a blazing smile, and my heart soared.
Then I pushed.
EPILOGUE
CALLUM
A LITTLE UNDER SEVEN YEARS LATER
Luke’s thumbswere hooked into his Spiderman backpack, and he beamed at me with his mother’s smile. My heart cracked wide open for the thousandth, the millionth time since he was born. He was about to start his first day of first grade, and I genuinely could not believe how quickly the years had gone.
A blur—they were a blur. A blur of sleepless nights and long conversations. Of laughter and love. Of marriage and pregnancies and the kind of happiness that I thought was a fairytale.
Until Deena.
My wife crouched beside me, tears filling in her eyes. “Okay,” she said, wiping her cheek with the back of her palm. “I got it. Let me send it to Brooks and Stacey.” With a few taps, she sent the picture to her brother and sister-in-law. They were coming to visit at Thanksgiving, and Luke was already vibrating with excitement at the thought of seeing his older cousins.
Deena turned toward me and opened her arm, and Itransferred over the wriggling mass of baby-soft limbs and riotous curls that was our youngest girl. Deena nuzzled against Bella’s cheek to press a kiss there, then lifted her face toward me. My turn. I kissed her lips, feeling the same warm glow in the middle of my chest that Deena’s presence always caused, then pulled away at the sound of a screech.
Our wild child four-year-old, Gracie, was stomping around behind us, giving the nanny an aneurysm. I glanced over my shoulder to see her poking her head over the back of the sofa. Her eyes twinkled. She was the spitting image of her mother.
