“Love you too, little girl,” I say, the words easier now than they used to be. “Both of you.”
One last kiss. I check my watch—three minutes until north entrance patrol. I burn the image of her into my brain: flushed, satisfied, round with my baby. Fuel to get me through the next few hours.
“Dinner at seven?” she asks, gathering her catalog sheets.
I nod. One final touch—palm gentle on her belly—before I force myself toward the door. “Don’t lift anything heavy. Get Davis to help if you need to move something.”
She gives me that half-exasperated, half-adoring smile. “Yes, Daddy,” she murmurs, soft, just for me.
The title hits me like a shot of adrenaline. Fresh possession surges through my veins as I make myself leave, stepping back into the public spaces of the museum.
Every visitor who passes her later will see it—the roundness, the glow, the proof. They’ll know what I did. Know she’s mine. Know I claimed her in the most permanent way a man can.
Our story didn’t follow any normal path. Didn’t wait for dates or timelines or permission. It was forged in a locked museum during a storm and hardened every day since.
And I wouldn’t change a single fucking thing.
Hey there, you gorgeous reading machine
First things first…thank you.
You could be doing anything right now. Scrolling. Sleeping. Pretending to be productive.
But instead? You’re here. With my stories. My characters. Letting me live rent-free in your head for a while.
And I don’t take that lightly.
Now here’s something you should know about me…
I don’t just write romance.
