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"I was thinking... what about Harmony, middle name Eleanor?”
“Harmony Eleanor Monroe- Kade," he tests the name on his tongue, then smiles. "It fits."
"Harmony Monroe-Kade," I correct gently. "If that's okay with you."
His expression softens. "More than okay. It's perfect."
Another kick punctuates the moment, as if our daughter is voicing her approval.
Roman's hand splays wider across my stomach, and I cover it with my own, studying the contrast—his large, tanned fingers intertwined with my smaller, paler ones, both protecting the life we created together.
"You know, when I pictured my life a year ago," I say quietly, "it looked nothing like this. I thought success would mean my name on a label somewhere, maybe my own small studio. I never imagined all of this."
"Having regrets?" There's a vulnerability in his question that still surprises me sometimes.
"Not a single one." I squeeze his hand. "But I am having revelations. About what matters. About what success really looks like."
He shifts closer, his body curving protectively around mine. "And what does it look like to you now?"
I'm about to answer when my phone pings with a notification. I reach for it automatically, then freeze at the name on the screen.
"What is it?" Roman asks, immediately alert to my change in demeanor.
I turn the phone so he can see the email notification. "It's from Eliza Winters."
His brow furrows. "The Eliza Winters? The design director at Marchesa?"
I nod, my heart suddenly racing. "The subject line says 'Collaboration Proposal.'"
Roman sits up, the sheet pooling around his waist. "Well? Open it!"
My finger hovers over the screen, a strange mix of excitement and fear coursing through me.
Months ago, an email from one of the most prestigious fashion houses in the world would have had me jumping out of bed, regardless of the hour.
Now, I hesitate.
"What if this changes everything?" I whisper, one hand protectively covering my belly. "What if I can't do it all?"
Roman's hand covers mine, steady and warm. "Whatever it is, whatever you want to do—we'll figure it out. Together."
I take a deep breath, look into his eyes—the eyes of the man who has never once asked me to be less than I am—and tap the notification.
As the email loads, the baby delivers another powerful kick, as if urging me forward into this new, unexpected chapter of our beautifully messy, perfectly imperfect life.
26
CASSIE
THE ARRIVAL
"Just one more push, Cassie. She's almost here."
The doctor's voice sounds distant through the haze of exhaustion and pain that's consumed the last fourteen hours. Roman's hand is wrapped around mine, his knuckles as white as mine must be.
"I can't," I gasp, collapsing back against the pillows. "I don't have anything left."
Roman leans close, his forehead touching mine. His dark eyes, usually so controlled, are swimming with tears and something else—a fierce, protective love that I've never seen before.