Page 48 of A Mastery of Crows

His brows draw down. “Yes.”

A date.

Do more of what makes you happy.

And suddenly, a date sounds… perfect. “I think I’m available. What do I wear?”

“Whatever you want.” His voice rumbles as he pushes away from the wall. “You always look beautiful to me.”

My stomach is still flipping as I walk up the stairs and into the bedroom. Dante is still asleep, one arm flung over his face, and my head jerks as a small noise comes from the corner.

Slowly, I cross the room. And I lean forward to pick up the monitor from the sideboard.

Alessia is awake. Wide awake, yanking on the bars of her crib. Something that sounds suspiciously like an off-key song echoes out, and my lips twitch into a smile.

I hold that monitor in my hands for a minute.

We never know how much time we will have.

The door closes softly behind me, the monitor dark in my hand as I slip into Dante’s room. Alessia stops singing, her eyes following me as I crouch in front of her.

“That was a pretty song.”

She eyes me with a freakishly familiar look. One of mine, if I’m not mistaken. And my smile slowly fills up my face as I gently tap the hand clinging to the top of the bars. “Shall we go for some breakfast, Alessia Corvo?”

I swear she purses her lips. I glance into the crib, spying a teddy, and hold it up. The paw brushes against her nose, and it wriggles.

When I do it again, her cheeks crease in a smile. “Ba.”

Carefully, awkwardly – I reach in and pick her up. She’s heavy in my arms, a warm, sleepy bundle in her little sleep vest. And a heavy feeling diaper.

Nothing like learning on the job.

Two discarded diapers later, we’re in the kitchen. I fumble with the clean beaker I find on the side, filling it with water, and place her into the highchair that appeared with Luc’s ridiculously large order.

I sneak glances at her as I pull food from the fridge. Alessia plays with the teddy, yanking on its ears and shaking it around. “Ba.”

“Ba,” I test.

She frowns at me, unimpressed with my attempt. “Ba.”

I bite my lip to stifle the laugh that bubbles up. “You really are your father’s daughter.”

Bright green eyes blink at me.

The strawberries are partly a success. Some gets into her mouth, the rest on the floor. In her hair, mashed into her curls.

Everywhere.

I cut up another, slicing off a piece and offering it to her before popping the rest into my mouth. “Mmmm.”

“Mmmmm-ah.”

I blink. Try to ignore the sudden twist in my chest. She’s only copying me.

But I say it again, unable to resist. “Mmmma.”

“Mmmmma.” She grins at me, delighted with this new game. “Ma!”