Page 99 of A Don & His Doll

“I love you, Mrs. Black,” Monroe said, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Say it again,” Promise said, smiling, loving the sound of her new name.

Monroe chuckled. “I love you, Mrs. Black,” he repeated, this time pulling her closer, sealing it with a kiss.

Promise rested one hand against his shoulder while his palm rested lovingly at the small of her back. They swayed slowly beneath the moonlight, surrounded by thousands of white orchids, and the people they’d go to war behind, and that would do the same for them without hesitation. For a minute, neither of them spoke, they didn’t need to.

Monroe held a deep appreciation for his wife when he looked into her eyes. She had taught him that peace wasn't weakness, and love wasn't something a man like him had to live without. Everything around them gradually faded until it felt like they were the only two people left in the world.

"We’re really married, baby. We made it to the finish line," Promise said.

Monroe pressed his lips softly against hers again. "Nah…We just gettin' started, Doll."

"Excuse me," Monae said politely.

Promise and Monroe turned at the sound of Monae’s voice.

Monae stood beside them wearing a shy smile, her hands folded in front of her dress. “Can I cut in?” She asked innocently.

Monroe looked down at his daughter, then back at his wife, and something warm passed between them without either of them having to explain it.

“Of course you can,” Promise answered, stepping aside.

Monae moved into her father’s arms, resting her head against his chest as he and his firstborn shared their first dance. Promise walked over to the DJ and requested that Anthony Hamilton’s Best Of Me be played. She remained close, watching them with tears gathering in her eyes. She had never wanted to replace what belonged to Monae and Sienna. She only wanted to add love where there was room for it.

After a few quiet moments, Monae lifted her head and extended one hand toward Promise. “You don’t have to stand over there, Mrs. Missy.”

Promise’s heart folded beneath the tenderness of her words as she accepted Monae’s hand and stepped back into Monroe’s embrace. His arm wrapped securely around his wife while the other remained around his daughter, pulling them both close as they swayed together beneath the Manhattan sky.

Monroe lifted his gaze to the sky, acknowledging and thanking God for all he was doing in his life. He didn’t understand what he’d done to deserve it, but for him, this is what grace looked like. Monae was the blessing he had never expected, or known to pray for. The child Promise carried would soon make their family complete. There was a time when Monroe believed an empire was the greatest thing a man could build, but as he stood there with his wife and daughter held securely against him, he understood that he had been wrong.

His legacy was. His home was.

Rio de Janeiro had been everything Monroe and Promise needed it to be. For thirty indelible days, they traded the noise of New York, people, places, and things for the escape of crashing waves, endless blue water, golden sunsets. They had explored the beauty of Brazil by day, and got lost in one another every night. For the first time in a long time, Monroe’s mind wasn't preoccupied, and Promise wasn't carrying the weight of the unknown. In this space, they were simply husband and wife.

By the time they returned home, every diaper, bottle, onesie, crib sheet, and necessity had already found its place. Thanks to Monae, they'd prepared in advance, leaving themselves nothing to worry about except enjoying the final days before their son's arrival. Two days had expired, and Promise had gone into labor. Labor had come unexpectedly in the middle of the night, and Monroe broke every speed limit between Tribeca and the hospital while Promise managed to breathe through her contractions with her sister Rae on the phone coaching her through.

Forty-eight hours later, Monroe Amir Black III came through at 4:44 in the morning, changing everything about the world and how they perceived it now that he’d entered. Most of their close family and friends had gone home after celebrating the newest addition to The Black family, promising to visit often. However, Monae had refused to go home after meeting her baby brother b.k.a her twin. She'd waited twelve years to become somebody's big sister, and there wasn't a nurse, doctor, or grown-up alive who could've convinced her otherwise.

Monroe sat in the recliner beside their bed, smiling to himself as he watched Promise and Monae sleep peacefully in the same bed. If anyone would have told him his life was going to take him out of his comfort zone in the span of one year, he would have laughed hard in their face. That’s exactly what had happened though. Life had thrown a grenade at his front door, but love…love had been the only armor necessary for protection.

Watching Promise become a mother had not only made Monroe love her more, but it had caused him to develop a deeper level of respect for who she was. As he sat skin to skin with his son, the sound of him cooing drew his attention.

“Aye, Third?” Monroe whispered, calling him by the nickname he’d given him. “You do know it’s damn near five in the mornin’, right?” He said, smoothing one finger over his son's impossibly soft cheek. “What the hell you doin’ up this late? You posed to be in the bed, sleep wit’cha mama,” he said, chuckling as his son stretched in his arms, seemingly catching his second wind. “Aw, hell naw, young king. Take yo’ lil’ ass back to sleep,” Monroe said, as his son looked up at him and cracked the biggest smile, kicking his foot through the receiving blanket.

“Bad ass,” he chuckled. “Got me and yo’ mama wrapped around ya lil’ finger.”

When his sons’ fingers instinctively wrapped around his thumb, everything inside him shifted. Having money had never made him feel this rich, the power he possessed had never given him this level of strength, and respect was always given, but had never made him feel this important. But when his son gripped his finger, it had meant more than The Black Empire ever could. The responsibility that was wrapped up in his son's grip trumped every business or street investment he could ever make. For the first time in his life, Monroe wasn't thinking about what he'd leave behind. He was thinking about who he'd leave it to.

"You remember that promise Daddy made you?" Monroe quizzed.

Third blinked slowly, staring into his father’s face as though he recognized the voice he'd spent months listening to from inside his mother's womb.

"I meant every word," he assured his son.

Monroe smiled back and said. "You'll never have to wonder where I stand, Young King," he said, then kissed his forehead. "A promise is still a promise."

Third smiled again, his eyes wide open.