"Are they mine? Vittoria, are they mine?"
Vittoria crouches beside her. "They're yours, piccola. All yours."
Lily makes a sound that's somewhere between a shriek and a sob. Her whole body vibrates with happiness. She turns and looks directly at me.
"Thank you, Nico!"
I didn't tell her it was me. Neither did Vittoria.
Kids see everything they say.
I see that.
"You're welcome." The words come out rougher than I intended.
Kristen stands slowly and turns to face me. Her eyes are wet. She opens her mouth, closes it. Opens it again.
"You—"
"The grey one's a boy, the white one's a girl," I say before she can get emotional on me. "They're siblings, so they get along. The breeder said they need timothy hay and fresh vegetables daily. I had staff stock everything in the utility closet."
Kristen stares at me.
Lily has opened the hutch—Vittoria must have shown her how—and is carefully, reverently, lifting the grey rabbit into her arms. Her face is pure, uncomplicated bliss.
"This one's gonna be Sir Floppington the Fourth," she announces. "And this one..." She peers at the white rabbit still in the hutch. "Princess Bun-Bun."
Vittoria laughs. "Perfect names."
I can't stop the smile that pulls at my mouth. It's small, barely there, but it's real.
Lily holds the rabbit against her chest like it's made of gold.
Kristen moves toward me. Stops close and her hand reaches up and presses flat against my chest, right over my heart.
"Why?" she whispers.
Because your daughter deserves something soft in a world that's been nothing but hard.
Because I wanted to see that look on her face.
Because somewhere along the way, these two broke through every wall I built, and I don't know how to get them out.
"She needed real ones," I say instead. "The stuffed ones were getting old."
Kristen's laugh is wet. She rises on her toes and presses her lips to my cheek—quick, barely there, but it burns through me.
"Thank you," she breathes against my skin.
Then she's gone, crossing to her daughter, crouching down to meet Sir Floppington the Fourth.
Vittoria catches my eye from across the garden. Her smile is knowing. Smug.
I glare at her.
She just grins wider and mouths: You're so gone.
I don't argue.
