Page 331 of When a Soul Cries

"Technically, you own the building."

That quieted her.

Her eyes lowered, and I watched a small smile form on her lips. For a few seconds, she simply sat there, taking that in.

Six months ago, my wife was fighting to prove she could stand on her own.

Today, she was getting ready to cut the ribbon on something she'd built for women who were still fighting.

That smile on her face?

That was worth more than every dollar I'd ever made.

I held out my hand. "Come on, Mrs. Devereaux."

She took it, curling her fingers around mine as I helped her from the bench.

When she stood, one hand immediately moved beneath her stomach.

My smile disappeared. I stepped closer, my attention dropping straight to her belly. "You good?"

She looked at me and sighed, already recognizing the concern on my face. "Roman, I'm fine. Your son kicked me."

My shoulders relaxed. "My son?"

"Yes. Your son." She rubbed the side of her stomach and gave me a pointed look. "The one who apparently thinks my bladder is a trampoline."

I grinned and put my hand against her stomach. "That's my boy."

Sol pushed my hand away, although the smile on her face told me she wasn't nearly as irritated as she pretended to be.

"Don't encourage him."

I laughed as she headed toward the door.

---

Sol had given me a whole list of stipulations before she agreed to marry me.

She was keeping her Eastview townhouse.

Keeping her job.

Keeping her own money.

Keeping her independence.

The last one?

Absolutely.

The rest?

We had to renegotiate that shit.

Because there was no fucking way I was going home to a mansion every night while my wife and daughter lived across town in a townhouse.

Sol argued with me about it too.