Giddy laughter bubbles from me, and I lean in to steal soft, playful kisses across his lips, jaw, ears, and neck.
He absorbs each one with a low hum of anticipation, his hands kneading my thighs and ass in response.
The bedroom door closes behind us with a quiet click, and we topple back onto the bed together.
There’s no rush, no firestorm.
Just hands and whispers and the steady reassurance of being chosen, again and again.
He treats me like something precious, like the three tiny lives growing inside me are both fragile and sacred, and I love just how deeply his care and concern manifests in everything he does.
I feel safe and protected and so unequivocally loved. His lips worship my skin, his fingertips reverent as they stroke and massage me into bliss, and when Raf slides inside me, I’ve never felt so whole, so complete.
He’s the perfect man for me, the only one I’ll ever want to love, and this life is the perfect one I never dreamed I could have.
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
AISLING
Five Years Later
The yacht rocks gently beneath my bare feet, a slow, indulgent sway that feels like a lullaby written for adults who survived their childhoods and decided to do better.
Sunlight flashes across the water, scattering diamonds over Lake Michigan, and I lean against the rail of the upper deck with a glass of lemonade sweating in my hand as I watch the chaos unfold beneath me.
There are children everywhere.
Not the hushed, guarded kind of children who grow up learning to read rooms before books.
These kids shriek and laugh and run barefoot across the deck, chased by indulgent nannies and half-heartedly scolding uncles. Someone is crying because someone else stole a toy shark.
One of the new babies is laughing so hard, they hiccup.
It’s loud. It’s messy, and it’s perfect.
Raf stands a few feet away, one hand braced on his hip, the other holding our youngest, who has decided his father’s shoulders are the highest possible vantage point from which to observe the world.
Our triplets are no longer babies, though sometimes, I still catch myself staring at them in disbelief.
One clings to Sandro’s leg like a koala.
Another is sprawled dramatically across a deck chair, announcing she is “too tired for this family”.
Riley darts past them all, older now, confident and bright, leading a pack of cousins with a captain’s authority.
Raf catches my eye and smiles, slow and easy, the kind of smile he never wore when we first met. He earned this one.
“Remember when this thing was a floating escape plan?” Miko says dryly from behind me.
I turn to find him beside Anika, who has one arm looped through his and a sunhat perched at a chic angle on her head.
She’s glowing in that effortless way that comes from loving someone who lets you be exactly who you are.
“Try not to sound nostalgic,” she teases him. “You might ruin the vibe.”
“I am nostalgic,” he admits. “Just not for the terror.”
Across the deck, Sandro sits with Evi, their heads bent together as she shows him something on her phone. He listens with the same intensity he brings to negotiations, nodding seriously as if choosing fabric swatches for her boutique is a matter of international importance. It is to him.
