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After the speech, I make my way toward Roman. He’s standing beside one of my paintings. I stop beside him.

“I hope you’re not planning on buying that one too.”

He looks at me. “Already did.”

My mouth drops open. I smack his arm.

“Roman! Come on. You have to let other people buy something.”

He looks completely unbothered. “It’s not my fault I have excellent taste.”

“You’re buying everything before anyone else gets a chance.”

He shrugs. “Not my fault.”

“Because you’re the highest bidder.”

I stare at him for a moment before laughing, and then I feel it, a tiny flutter low in my belly. My hand immediately goes to my stomach.

Roman notices my expression. “What?”

I look up at him, my eyes widening. “She kicked.”

His entire expression changes. I take his hand and place it over my stomach. “Wait.”

We stand there among the paintings, surrounded by people, music, and conversation. And then, a tiny kick.

Roman goes completely still. His eyes lift to mine. His mouth curves into the softest smile. And for a moment, nothing else in the gallery matters.

Just the three of us.

Epilogue 2

Roman

Eleven Months Later

Chloe, my daughter, babbles something completely unintelligible, and Maxim immediately lights up on the screen.

“That’s right,” he says, grinning at her through the video call. “Go on. Talk to Uncle Maxim.”

She bounces excitedly between my legs, her little body practically vibrating with enthusiasm. She waves both hands in the air, babbling again as though she’s trying very hard to make herself understood.

I laugh. So does Maxim. “We’ve got a talker on our hands.” Chloe squeals, apparently delighted by the attention.

“I can’t wait until she starts talking properly,” Maxim continues. “You hear me, Chloe? Uncle Maxim. That better be your first word.”

She responds with another excited shriek, kicking her little feet against the floor.

“There’s no way my daughter is saying your name first,” I say, laughing. “Dada is going to be her first word.”

“We’ll see about that.”

I shake my head, but I’m still smiling.

“You know, I’m really happy for you, brother. You seem… relaxed.” He pauses, as if the word itself surprises him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this relaxed. Hell, I can’t even remember the last time I saw you smile this much.”

My gaze drops to my six month old daughter. She is sitting between my legs, surrounded by the collection of toys she has managed to scatter across the floor. She grabs one, studies it for a moment, then promptly throws it aside in favor of another.