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"Scratch that. It's adorable. Inconveniently charming."

“I don't think this is fucking funny, J,” he snaps, whipping back around.

Finally, at my wit's end, I rise from my seat and go to him, taking his face in my hands. He’s a heartbeat from crying, and his chest rises too fast as he gulps in tiny gasps of much-needed oxygen. His pupils are entirely gone, replaced by blind black panic.

“In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

I practice what I preach, and he mimics me, allowing me to lead him back to steadier ground.

"It's hilarious, baby. Not back a week and already trying to sacrifice yourself in that backward inclination of yours to do the right thing, when the right thing is you here, beside us."

His shoulders sag, his entire body giving up the fight to surrender to his anguish. He wraps his hands around my wrists, his fingers digging into the bones.

"This changes everything,” he whispers.

"Sure does," I agree.

All things considered, this is the way it always needed to be. She'll carry my child one day, or maybe she won’t, but either way, I feel like it’s fate that she'll carry his first. Maybe this is what he needs to finally understand how much we love him. Heneedsthis to realize that he belongs with us once and for all.

After all, what can a pregnancy conceived while on birth control between three people who love each other be other than fate?

"You're the father you dimwit," I sigh. "Don't get me wrong, that's as much my child as it is yours. But Jules and I didn't have sex for weeks after you left. A month, at least. So if she’s eight weeks along, then the only time she could have gotten pregnant was with you—"

"At the ball," he breathes with wonder. Realization flashes behind his eyes, and his face goes all slack with a far-off expression of wonder.

When his gaze snaps back to mine, horror and happiness are mingling for dominance.

"At the ball," I confirm. Any anger I'd felt towards them for that night has long since disappeared. Now, I'm practically floating.

My babies are having a baby, and just like my momma said, they're gonna have his skin tone and my eyes and Julia's head of curls.

"I—"

I have to bite my bottom lip to stop from laughing at the gobsmacked look on his face. Every emotion he has is reflected in the rapid morphing of his features.

“I’m sorry.”

I flinch. I can’t help it.

What does that word even mean between us anymore?

“What for?”

I stroke my thumbs over each of his cheekbones and let my eyes flick over his face. I keep my breathing even and calm, willing him not to let his panic get the best of him.

“Everything,” he says with a shudder.

“So you’re back to regretting I ever kissed you all those months ago, huh?”

A minuscule shake of his head.

“No.”

“You’re sorry for leaving when you did?”

I’m not. We wouldn’t be where we are right now if he hadn’t taken that step…if he hadn’t fled.

“No.”