Page 24

T he gallery is all glass and sharp angles, the kind of place where the art feels secondary to the way the light bounces off the polished floors. I’m in my Kirk Stevens disguise, standing in front of one of Raven’s pieces, a riot of colors and abstract shapes that somehow still feels grounded, like it’s pulling at something primal. The kind of thing that makes you stop and stare, even if you’re only here to schmooze.

A man in a too-tight suit sidles up next to me, adjusting his glasses like they’re a shield against the world. He’s got that look—the kind of guy who thinks the more he talks, the smarter he sounds.

“Kirk Stevens,” he says, extending a hand like he’s handing me a gift. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Are you familiar with the artist’s work?”

I shake his hand, my grip firm enough to make him wince. “A little bit, yeah.”

He launches into it like he’s been waiting for an audience. “This piece,” he says, gesturing to the canvas with the kind of flourish that makes me think he practices in the mirror, “is a masterful juxtaposition of modern man’s inability to reconcile his tortured past. It’s a commentary on the existential dread of our time, don’t you think?”

I tilt my head, letting my grin spread slow and easy. “Actually, it represents rampant consumerism and the need for empathy.”

He freezes, glasses slipping down his nose. “Oh? And how can you be so sure you know what’s in the artist’s head?”

I lean in, just enough to make him squirm. “Because I’m married to her.”

The look on his face is worth every second of this conversation—a mix of shock, embarrassment, and the sudden realization that maybe he’s been talking out of his ass this whole time. He stammers something about needing to find the restroom and practically bolts.

I chuckle under my breath, turning back to the painting. It’s one of my favorites of Raven’s work, partly because it’s so her —bold, unapologetic, and layered with meaning. The colors seem to shift as I look at it, like they’re alive.

“Do you always scare off the critics, or is that just a special talent of yours?”

I turn to see Raven walking toward me, her heels clicking against the floor. She’s wearing a dress that hugs her curves, black with a slit up the side that makes it impossible not to stare. Her hair’s down, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and her lips curve into that wicked smile she saves for when she’s about to tease me.

“Depends on the critic,” I say, catching her hand and pulling her close. “Some of them deserve it.”

She laughs, the sound warm and low, and leans into me. “You’re terrible.”

“Terribly charming, you mean.”

Raven’s fingers intertwine with mine as we stroll through the gallery, her hand warm and familiar in mine. The place is buzzing—art snobs, critics, and her fans all crammed into this sleek, white-walled space. They’re staring at her work like it’s some kind of alien artifact. To be fair, they’re not entirely wrong. Her art is otherworldly.

“They’re all so… into it,” I murmur softly, nodding toward a woman in oversized glasses who’s practically pressed her nose against one of Raven’s canvases.

Raven chuckles, her free hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, it’s weird. I’m used to people ignoring my stuff or calling it vandalism. This is… a lot.”

I squeeze her hand. “You deserve it. Every bit of it.”

She looks up at me, her dark eyes soft but a little uncertain. “I mean, I wouldn’t have been able to pull this off without you. You pushed me to do this. You believed in me when I didn’t even believe in myself.”

I wave her off, my grin widening. “Don’t give me too much credit. I just threw money at the problem. You’re the one who made it happen. Nothing’s too good for my jalshagar.”

Her cheeks flush, and she looks away, but not before I catch the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re such a sap, you know that?”

“Only for you,” I say, brushing a kiss against her temple.

We’re interrupted by the sound of Sandy’s unmistakable laugh. I turn to see her and Terry approaching, Sandy in her ever-present straw hat and Terry looking somehow both proud and awkward in a suit that’s a size too big.

“Hey, you two!” Sandy beams, pulling Raven into a hug that looks more like a bone-crushing wrestling move. “This place is amazing! Your art’s got people talking , girl. Even I had to ask Terry what some of it meant.”

“And I had no clue,” Terry adds with a smirk, clapping me on the shoulder. “But it looks fancy, so that’s all that matters, right?”

Raven rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Thanks, Dad. Real supportive.”

Terry chuckles, then turns to me. “So, where’s your old man? I was looking forward to seeing him again. He’s a hoot.”

I grimace. “Yeah, about that. He’s in Vegas. Met a Fratvoyan woman at a casino last week and, well… let’s just say he’s ‘indisposed.’”

Terry’s brow furrows. “Fratvoyan? Is that, like, an Eastern European thing or what?”

I stifle a laugh. “Close enough.”

Sandy pipes up, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “So, Karc, how’s it feel knowing you’re gonna be a dad soon?”

The air between us freezes. I blink, my brain short-circuiting. “What?”

Raven’s eyes go wide, and she elbows her mom hard in the ribs. “Mom! I told you not to say anything yet!”

Sandy’s hands fly to her mouth, her face turning bright red. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry! It just slipped out!”

Terry’s eyes dart between us, his expression shifting from confusion to realization. “Wait. You mean…? You’re pregnant, Raven?”

Raven groans, burying her face in her hands. “Yes. But it was supposed to be a surprise .”

I stare at her, my mouth still hanging open. My brain finally catches up, and I grab her shoulders, turning her to face me. “You’re pregnant? Seriously?”

She peeks at me through her fingers, her cheeks flushed. “Yeah. I was going to tell you tonight, after the gallery. I didn’t expect my mom to blurt it out in the middle of a crowd.”

I feel like my heart’s about to beat out of my chest. I pull her into my arms, my voice dropping to a whisper. “This is… this is incredible. I mean, I thought I was already the luckiest man in the galaxy. But this? This is…”

She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine. “You’re not mad that I didn’t tell you right away?”

“Mad? I’m…” I trail off, shaking my head with a laugh. “I’m just… happy. So happy.”

Sandy is still apologizing profusely in the background, and Terry’s grinning like he just won the lottery, but I’m too focused on Raven to care about anything else. My jalshagar. My wife. And now, the mother of my child.

The gallery, the art, the crowd—it all fades into the background. All I see is her.

Terry’s hand lands on my shoulder with the kind of weight that suggests he’s about to drop a bombshell. I turn, raising an eyebrow at him. He’s grinning like he’s just won the lottery, his weathered face lit up with mischief.

“You know, Terrence is a great name,” he says, his voice dripping with fake seriousness.

I blink, my brain short-circuiting for a second. “What if it’s a girl?” I ask, playing along because, well, Terry’s Terry. You don’t argue with Terry unless you’re ready for a fight.

“Terrence is gender neutral,” he says, puffing his chest out like he’s just delivered the most profound wisdom of our age.

From beside me, Raven groans, pinching the bridge of her nose like she’s trying to ward off a headache. “Dad, shut up or I’ll name the baby after your least favorite second cousin.”

Terry’s grin falters, his face going pale. “You wouldn’t dare name him Seabus!”

Raven smirks, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t push your luck.”

I laugh, pulling Raven into my arms. She fits perfectly against me, her warmth radiating through the fabric of my shirt. I cup her face in my hands, my eyes meeting hers. They’re dark and endless, and right now, they’re filled with a mix of exasperation and affection. I brush my thumb over her cheek, and she leans into the touch, her lips curving into a small smile.

“I haven’t told my folks yet,” she whispers, her breath warm against my ear. “But we’re having twins.”

My heart stutters in my chest, my brain scrambling to process the words. “T-wins?” I manage to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.

Raven nods, her eyes searching mine for a reaction. Her hands slide up my chest, gripping the front of my shirt like she’s bracing herself. I can feel the tension in her body, the way she’s holding herself tight, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I pull her closer, my arms wrapping around her like I’m trying to shield her from the world. My mind races, images flashing through my head—two tiny figures with Raven’s dark eyes and my golden scales, laughing as they chase each other through the halls of our home. Two lives I’ll protect with everything I have, just like I’ll protect her.

“Twins,” I breathe, the word feeling strange and wonderful on my tongue. I press my forehead to hers, my voice soft but steady. “We’re having twins.”

Raven’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, and she nods again, her lips trembling into a smile. “Yeah,” she whispers. “We are.”

Terry clears his throat, breaking the moment. “Well, I guess that means you’ll need two Terrences.”

Raven groans, burying her face in my chest as I laugh, the sound reverberating through my chest. Sandy smacks Terry’s arm, her straw hat tilting precariously as she shakes her head.

“Leave them alone, you old fool,” she says, though there’s no real heat in her words.

I hold Raven tighter, my heart swelling with a joy I didn’t know was possible. Twins. Our children. Our family.