Page 247 of Diego

And I know, with a certainty that settles deep in my bones, that I am home. For the first time, I realize that the location doesn't matter; all that matters is the man in bed with me right now.

Epilogue

Diego

Blair has been in labor for eleven hours, and I have learned that there is absolutely nothing useful a man can do while the woman he loves is bringing his child into the world except stay close, keep his mouth shut, and give her whatever she asks for.

I thought I understood helplessness after watching her bleed months ago, after standing beside a hospital bed while a doctor searched for our baby’s heartbeat, but this is different.

Blair is healthy, our child is healthy, and everything happening is exactly what is supposed to happen, yet every contraction still has me wishing there were some way to take part of it from her.

She grips my hand as another one builds, her eyes closing while I lean over the side of the hospital bed and let her squeeze as hard as she needs. Her black hair is pulled away from her face, although several strands have escaped and stuck to her damp temples hours ago. She looks exhausted and beautiful and thoroughly annoyed with the fact that I have told her both of those things several times already.

“Breathe with me,” I say softly, keeping my face close to hers while the nurse watches the monitor on the other side of the bed. Blair follows the rhythm we have been using, drawing each breath in slowly before letting it out, and I rub my thumb across the back of her hand until some of the tension leaves her fingers. “You’re doing it, amore. It’s almost over.”

“You said that an hour ago,” she manages, but there is more fatigue than accusation in her voice. When the contraction finally eases, her head drops back against the pillow, and she gives me a tired look. “I’m starting to think your definition of almost is extremely flexible.”

I kiss her forehead and reach for the cup of ice chips before she asks. “In my defense, I’ve never done this before.”

“Neither have I, and somehow I still feel qualified to tell you that eleven hours is too fucking long.”

“It is,” I agree.

She accepts a piece of ice and lets it melt against her tongue before closing her eyes again. The room has been dimmed as much as possible between checks, and for the first time since we arrived there is a lull long enough for her to rest. I sit beside her and look at the monitors even though I understand only enough to know when someone should be concerned, and nobody is.

That matters more than anything.

The pregnancy after the hematoma resolved has been blessedly uneventful, which Blair complained was a terrible word for something that involved heartburn, swollen ankles, a baby determined to use her ribs as footholds, and several months of discovering that every piece of clothing she owned no longer fit. I took every complaint as a gift. Every week without a scare made it a little easier to believe we were actually going to reach this day.

The lake house was repaired months ago. The gate is stronger, the security is better, and Blair successfully prevented me from turning the entire property into something she described as a luxury prison compound.

She went back to work for a time, although after a few months, she was doing far more working from her office than showing properties in person.

The baby’s room has been finished for weeks, the crib assembled under Blair’s supervision, and there are enough clothes to outfit several children.

None of that prepared me for this.

Blair opens her eyes and finds me watching her. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You have a face.”

I smile at the familiar line. “I’m about to become a father.”

Her expression softens. “You’ve been a father for months.”

I look down at her stomach beneath the hospital blanket. “This feels different. More concrete.”

“It does.”

She moves her hand over the rock-hard curve of her stomach, and I cover it with mine.

Blair lets out a breath and drops her head back, exhausted.

I lean down to kiss her. She catches the back of my neck before I can move away, holding me there for another second.

“I’m glad it’s you,” she whispers.