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Then, it happens.

The tiniest little thump against my palm.

“Holy shit,” I breathe, turning to call, “Pace, come feel it.”

He’s there in a blink, letting Verity and I position his palm. He waits just like I did, his dark eyes pinging back and forth between us. I don’t feel it when he does since our hands are too big to find the same small movement, but I still see it in Pace’s expression when it happens.

His mouth parts in shock. “I feel him.” Glancing at me, he releases a deep, breathless laugh. “Fuck, he’s strong.” He glances over his shoulder. “Wick, come here. He’s a power forward. I feel it.”

Wicker doesn’t move, standing at the back of the small room with both hands shoved in his pockets.

Gradually, her face falls, eyes swimming with too many emotions to track. “It’s okay if you’re not ready,” she tells him. “This is one more thing you didn’t get to make a decision about. I get that.”

I don’t miss the searing glare she sends Father’s way.

“It’s not that,” he says, taking a halting step closer. “It’s…” His eyes are cast down, shoulders sinking with a defeated sigh. “I don’t know how to do this, Red. Be a good dad. Take care of a kid.” He looks up at Verity from beneath the thick weight of his hair. “I don’t know how to take care of you.”

“None of us have a fucking clue,” Pace says, “but we’ll figure it out. We sure as fuck can’t be as bad as him.”

He grabs Wick by the arm and drags him close. I think he may refuse, and I think we’ll have to let him, but my brother slowly places his hand on Verity’s stomach, expression tight. I know he feels the baby kick when he snatches his hand back, eyes flying wide. “Jesus, he’s really moving in there.” After a couple of shocked blinks, he places his palm right back on the spot, exhaling slowly. “That’s so fucking weird.”

“Right?” Verity says with a nose-scrunching smile. “It feels even crazier from the inside. Like something’s fluttering around in there.”

She looks happy but pale, and I know it’s time for her to get back upstairs. “You need to get into bed.” I take her hand and press a kiss against her knuckles. “We’ve got work to do.”

It’s a shock when she doesn’t argue.

It’s not a shock when Pace drags her close, drawing her into a long kiss. Watching her with them used to be strange, but it isn’t anymore. They touch her differently than me. Pace holds her belly with one hand and grabs the back of her with the other, and when she pulls away, Wicker is there to tuck her hair behind an ear, making her eyes go glassy with the slow, sensual kiss he gives her.

Maybe a better man would feel jealous that they can give her something I can’t.

But I just feel grateful.

“You’re staying, right?” I whisper the question just as she meets my own kiss, her palm solid and sure on my chest.

“I’m staying,” she assures, “just do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

Flicking her eyes behind me, she demands, “Make it hurt.”

At least this is a promise I know I can keep.

Once she’s gone, we turn to him, and maybe it’s petty, but it feels good to know he’s seen what we’re like without him.

Better.

Stronger.

A family.

Especially given the hard set of his jaw. “Are you really going to withhold my daughter from me?” Father asks. “Refuse me the miracle of my grandson?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” I turn back to the worktable, pulling on one glove and then the next. Looking down at the coiled whip nestled inside the box, I say, “You’re never going to see either of them again.”

Emotion flickers in his eyes, but whatever it means is covered by a dark grin. “You think I can’t take whatever it is you’re about to hand out? That I don’t know what it’s like to be on the other side of that whip?” He lifts his chin and in that moment, biology or not, I see a flicker of myself in his defiant gaze. “That child belongs to me. The only way you can stop me is to kill me and throw East End into chaos.”

Pace runs his finger down the long, sharp edge of a knife. “Oh, we’re not going to kill you, old man.”

“That’s not what Princes do, is it?” I grip the handle tight, giving the floor a testing lash.

“Practice,” Wicker says, closing the door, “makes perfect.”