"Thank you," he whispers, so quiet I barely hear it.
Dinner is forgotten as we pepper her with questions. Who will the baby look like? When is she due? Does she want to know the gender? Will this change her work plans?
"I don't know, January, not yet, and no," she answers, laughing. "I'm still going to work, just... maybe fewer war zones for a while."
"You're damn right about that," Ethan mutters, which earns him an eye roll from Jade.
"I am perfectly capable of making responsible decisions," she insists. "I had already decided to focus on the climate series next year anyway. Less danger, more impact."
We migrate to the living room as the sun begins its descent, casting long shadows across the wooden floors. Jade curls against Declan on the couch, her feet in my lap, Ethan perched on the arm beside her.
As darkness falls, the conversation shifts from practical matters to softer things. Dreams. Hopes. A future expanding to include someone new.
"I never thought I'd have this," Jade admits, her voice quiet in the dim room. "A family. A home. People I trust completely."
"Well, you're stuck with us now," I tell her, squeezing her ankle gently. "All of us."
Ethan's hand finds her shoulder. "No matter what."
Declan presses a kiss to her temple. "Always."
Later, when the dishes are abandoned and the house is bathed in moonlight, we make our way upstairs to the sprawling master bedroom that somehow fits all four of us. Jade moves to the center of the bed, her rightful place, and we follow like planets drawn into her orbit.
I kiss her first, slow and deep, my hands finding the buttons of the flannel shirt she stole from Declan. "If I'd known pregnancy would make you even more beautiful," I murmur against herneck, "I'd have knocked you up months ago."
She laughs, a musical sound that turns into a gasp as Ethan's mouth finds the sensitive spot behind her ear.
"You're impossible," she tells me, but her hands are already working on my belt.
"You love it," I remind her, pushing the shirt from her shoulders.
"God help me, I do."
Declan gently turns her face toward him, his kiss more tender than the ones she's sharing with me and Ethan, but no less heated. His large hands span her waist with careful reverence.
"You need to rest," he says, even as his eyes darken with desire.
"I will," she promises, reaching for him. "Later."
What follows is a symphony we've perfected over the past year. Hands and mouths and bodies moving together in perfect harmony. I worship the curve of her breast while Ethan claims her mouth. Declan kisses his way down her stomach with devotion.
She arches between us, glowing in the moonlight, more radiant than I've ever seen her. When she comes apart under our combined attention, crying out into the night, I think: This is what happiness feels like. This exact moment.
Much later, tangled in sheets and each other, breathing finally slowed, I rest my hand on the flat plane of herstomach. Beneath my palm lies a miracle none of us saw coming, but all of us welcome.
"Te amo, mi reina," I whisper against her skin.
"We all do," Ethan adds, his arm thrown protectively across her waist.
Declan, already half-asleep, simply pulls her closer.
Outside our windows, the Atlantic crashes against the cliffs, constant and powerful. Inside, in this bed, in this room, in this house we've made our own, something equally powerful has taken root.
A family. Unconventional, unexpected, unbreakable.
And growing by one.
