"Yes, I have no fucking clue how to be a father.”
The admission surprises us both.
I continue. "I don’t want him to be like me.”
Sera freezes. Her large eyes look up at me, and I see a pinch of pity in them.
“I just mean?—"
She shakes her head. “You aren’t a bad man, Adrian.”
I shrug. “A lot of people would disagree with that.” I glance down at her stomach. “I want him to have more than I did. More options.”
“Then, give them to him.”
"It's not that simple."
"Isn't it?" She covers my hand with hers. "You get to choose Adrian. Every day. What kind of man you are. What kind of father you'll be. You’ll be head of the family.”
She’s not wrong, but what she’s ignoring is how embedded the expectations of the heir are when it comes to the Nero family. But I don’t want to burst her bubble.
"Come on," I say, needing to move before I say something I can't take back. "Let's pick out a crib."
We spend the next hour looking at furniture. Sera has opinions on everything—the wood finish, the mattress firmness, whether we need a changing table or can just use a dresser.
I watch her more than the furniture. The way she lights up talking about the nursery. The way she touches everything carefully, like she's afraid it'll disappear.
The way she includes me in every decision, asking my opinion, waiting for my input.
Like we're actually in this together.
We're looking at cribs when she stops in front of one. Dark Italian wood. Simple. Beautiful.
"This one," she says. "It's perfect."
I pull out my phone to arrange delivery.
"Adrian." She touches my arm. "You don't have to buy everything I look at."
"Why not? You're carrying my son. You should have whatever you want."
Something shifts in her expression. Softens.
"Thank you." It's quiet. Genuine. Not part of the game.
And it does something to me I don't expect.
I pull her closer, my hand on her lower back, fingers spreading possessively. "What else do you want?"
"I want..." She hesitates. Looks up at me. "I want to stop feeling like this is temporary. Like you're going to take it all away when I stop being useful."
The words hit harder than they should.
"I won't."
"You say that now."
"I mean it." My hand finds her stomach, feeling the small swell where our son grows. "You're mine, Seraphina. That means I take care of what's mine."
