Page 330 of When a Soul Cries

She pointed the heel at me. "You're the reason I can't reach my foot."

"I ain't make you pregnant by myself."

Her mouth fell open. "Roman!"

I laughed as I crossed the room. "Give me the damn shoe."

At six months pregnant, everything was my fault.

Her back hurt? My fault.

Her feet swelled? My fault.

RJ kicked her bladder? Definitely my fault.

Last week, she'd sent me downstairs at one in the morning for pickles, taken one bite, then started crying because it tasted "too much like a pickle."

I didn't understand pregnancy for shit.

But I loved every second of it.

I crouched in front of her and slipped the heel onto her foot, carefully fastening the buckle around her ankle.

"There," I said, giving her foot a light pat before looking up.

"Thank you." The irritation disappeared from her face, replaced by the smallest smile.

My hand stayed against her ankle for a second before my eyes traveled up to her stomach.

**Roman Devereaux Jr.**

RJ.

My son.

That shit still got me sometimes.

Halo had already taught me that blood wasn't what made a man a father. That little girl became mine long before I married her mama.

But now Sol was carrying another piece of us.

I pressed a kiss against her knee.

Her fingers brushed over the back of my head. "What was that for?" she asked, her voice softer now.

I looked up. "Need a reason?"

Her expression softened. "No."

I stood and kissed her, sliding one hand along the side of her face while she tilted her head into me.

She let me for a few seconds before pushing against my chest.

"Don't start. We're already late." She tried to sound serious, but the smile tugging at her lips ruined it.

"We own the building."

Sol immediately gave me another look. "That does not mean we can be late to my ribbon cutting."