Page 113 of A Forbidden Arrangement

“Don’t you go on lots of planes?” She musses his hair.

“Yeah! Still super cool. Dad says I can be a pilot when I grow up.” Matthias is so soft he’d probably buy an airline just for his son.

“I bet you’ll even be able to do flips. You should practice when you get home,” I tell him.

“You are going to pay for that.” Matthias glares at me from the doorway. “Let’s go, kiddo. Food’s ready.”

Tucker’s eyes go wide and he’s out the door before his dad’s done speaking.

“If he breaks something practicing flips, I’m going to kill you, little brother.” His eyes dart to Clary. “On second thought, I’ll pay you back when she gets older. Trust me, girls get in way more trouble than boys. They’re justsneakierabout it.”

“Alright, you two. Enough with the threats. We all know she’s going to be a handful without your help.” Dahlia wipes her palms on her jeans and walks toward me. I swear my chest tightens every time I see her like this, barefoot, happy, alive.

She reaches out for our daughter, who immediately twists in my arms and squirms to get to her mom.

“Traitor,” I whisper, then reluctantly let her go.

Dahlia takes her easily, resting the baby against her shoulder. Tiny fingers tangle in Dahlia’s hair, and I watch as she presses a kiss to the top of her head, murmuring something only she can hear before making her way toward the voices rising down the hall.

“I’m happy for you.” Matthias grips my shoulder. “When are you giving me another one?”

“When she’s ready. I don’t want her to push herself too hard.” Dahlia had a rough pregnancy that scared the hell out of me, even though the doctors kept telling me everything would be fine with a bit of extra care. My wife threatened me daily that if I didn’t stop hovering, she’d find a way to lock me somewhere else. She said that, but she always let me fuss around her anyway.

“I’ll be happy to lend you my three demon children free of charge,” Matthias laughs.

“Nice try.” I follow him down the hall to where everyone’s gathered in the living room. The image that unfolds is pure chaos.

My six nieces and nephews take no time to unleash havoc, all the toys we keep stored for them already pulled out of the cupboards.

Scarlett and Anastasia are doing their best to wrangle them but give up, accepting glasses of wine from their husbands instead.

I cross the space to Dahlia and pull her into my chest, leaning over to take a bite of the sandwich she’s trying to eat while balancing Clary.

Dahlia yanks it back. “Hey! Get your own.”

Before she can say anything else, Misty reaches us, face flushed from chasing her children. “There she is,” she says, leaning down to kiss Clary’s cheek. “Our little miracle.”

Scarlett’s right behind her, followed by Anastasia, all cooing. Dahlia passes the baby to Misty, who takes her with practiced ease and starts making faces that immediately earn a string of giggles.

Someone sets up chairs, someone else opens the wine, and I can’t stop thinking about how different this is from a year ago.

When Dahlia had been pale and trembling in a hospital bed, my heart in my throat as I held her hand. I didn’t think I’d everstop being afraid. Now she’s standing here with our child in her arms, and for once, I can’t find a single thing to fear.

She glances up at me. “Are you really just going to stand there?”

“I’m supervising.”

Her laugh bubbles out again, and I’d do anything to keep hearing it.

She leans into me. Her body fits perfectly against mine, like it always has. I rest a hand on her stomach, feeling the slow rise and fall of her breathing.

“I wish we got to do this more often,” she says softly.

I look around at our family, completely at home here, but with them living in Boston and us in New York, we don’t get to see them nearly enough. “What do you think about moving?”

Her eyes find mine. “You mean to New York?”

“What about your work?”she asks.