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"She said something about 'bringing both our worlds together.' I'm not sure what that means, but it sounds potentially chaotic."
"Chaotic good, though." Roman shifts to look at me. "Speaking of bringing worlds together, how are you feeling about the house? Be honest."
The brownstone had been a compromise—his desire for luxury meeting my need for character and warmth. The renovation has been guided by both our visions, sometimes clashing but ultimately creating something neither of us would have conceived alone.
"It's starting to feel like home," I admit. "I was skeptical about that ridiculous soaking tub you insisted on, but now I can't imagine the bathroom without it."
"And I was wrong about the exposed brick in the nursery," he concedes. "With your color scheme, it's perfect."
The car pulls up to our address, and Roman helps me out, his hand steady under my elbow. Inside, the entryway is still a work in progress, with paint samples dotting one wall and a chandelier waiting to be installed. But as we move deeper into the house, the completed spaces reveal our shared aesthetic—his clean, modern sensibility softened by my eye for texture and unexpected color.
In the kitchen—my favorite room so far—I kick off my heels with a grateful sigh and sink onto one of the counter stools. Roman moves around the space with practiced ease, filling a glass with water and grabbing the container of mixed berries I prepped this morning.
"You need to eat something," he says, sliding both in front of me.
"Yes, dear," I say with an eye roll, but I'm already reaching for the berries. "The doctor said the baby's measuring perfectly at the last appointment. You can stop hovering."
He leans against the counter, studying me. "That scare last month got to me."
The memory makes my hand instinctively go to my belly. The cramping had come out of nowhere during a design meeting, sharp enough to make me gasp. Roman had broken every traffic law in New York getting me to the hospital, his face a mask of barely controlled fear. It turned out to be nothing serious—dehydration and overexertion—but the look in Roman's eyes as we waited for the ultrasound had revealed the depth of his love for our unborn child. For our family.
"I'm being careful," I promise. "But I can't stop living my life, Roman. This collection launch is everything I've worked for."
"I know. I don't want you to stop." He moves behind me, his hands kneading the tight muscles in my shoulders. "I justwant you to let me help more. Let the team help. You've built something that can function without you being hands-on every minute."
I lean into his touch, letting my eyes close. "That's the scary part, you know? Not just the baby, but having a team, having people count on me for their livelihoods. What if I can't handle it all?"
"You don't have to handle it all alone." His voice is soft against my ear. "That's what partnerships are for. Business partnerships, life partnerships."
Something in his tone makes me turn to face him. "Are you proposing?"
A smile tugs at his lips. "Would you say yes if I were?"
I consider this seriously. "I don't know. Not because I don't love you—God knows I do, more than I thought possible. But marriage seems like something we should do because we want to, not because there's a baby on the way."
He nods, something like relief crossing his features. "I was hoping you'd say that. I want to marry you, Cassie. Someday. But I want it to be about us, not about checking boxes in the right order."
"Since when have we done anything in the right order?" I laugh, gesturing to my pregnant belly.
"Exactly." He pulls me gently to my feet, leading me toward our bedroom. "We're making our own rules. Our own harmony."
As we get ready for bed, moving around each other in a dance that's become familiar over the months of living together, I find myself overwhelmed with gratitude.
For the success of the launch.
For the healthy baby growing inside me. But mostly for this man who sees me—really sees me—and loves me, not despite my ambitions but because of them.
In bed, Roman's hand rests on my stomach, a nightly ritual that soothes us both. I've been reviewing the production timeline on my tablet, making notes for tomorrow's team meeting, when a particularly strong kick makes Roman's eyes widen.
"Was that?—?"
"Your daughter saying hello," I confirm, setting the tablet aside. "Or possibly complaining that I'm working instead of sleeping."
"Smart girl," he murmurs, leaning down to speak directly to my belly. "Keep your mom in line for me, will you?"
I run my fingers through his hair, overwhelmed by love for this man who once seemed so unreachable. "I've been thinking about names."
His head lifts, eyes meeting mine with interest. "Any frontrunners?"