Page 124 of Vicious Heir

My stomach does a little flip. This will be the first time the whole family has been to our new home, the house Elio bought for us four months ago—not the penthouse he'd been living in when all this started, but something new. Something that's ours. Something without any memories but the new ones we plan to make together.

And it’s absolutely gorgeous—a restored historic brownstone with high ceilings and original hardwood floors, and antique furniture. I used the project of decorating and making it perfect to take my mind off of the fears I had as my due date got closer, and it helped. It gave me something to focus on.

"Are you nervous?" Elio asks, reading my expression easily, and I smile.

"A little," I admit. "I just want everything to be perfect."

"It will be," he assures me. "They're coming to meet little Maggie, not to inspect the house."

"I know, but—" I stop, trying to find the words. "This is important. Having everyone here together. Showing them that we're really doing this. That we're a family."

Elio's expression softens. "Annie, we've been a family for months now. Since the wedding. Hell, since the day I married you the first time. Nothing is going to change that,”

"I know," I say again. "But this feels different. More real, somehow."

He leans down and kisses my forehead. "Then what do you need me to do?"

Before I can answer, Maggie stirs in my arms, her tiny face scrunching up in that way that means she's about to wake up and probably demand to be fed.

"Actually," I say, looking up at Elio with a smile. "I need you to take her for a minute while I make myself presentable. I can't greet everyone looking like I haven't slept in three days."

"You look beautiful," Elio protests, but he's already reaching for our daughter, his large hands careful and gentle as he lifts her from my arms.

I watch as he cradles her against his chest, one hand supporting her head, the other arm wrapped securely around her tiny body. The sight of him holding her never fails to make my heart squeeze.

He’s amazing with her already. He coos to her in Italian and holds her whenever he can. He never complains about getting up in the middle of the night to help. And he looks at her as if she’s the most precious thing in the world.

"Go," he says, noticing me watching. "We'll be fine. Won't we,piccola?"

Margaret makes a small noise that might be agreement or might just be gas, and I laugh as I head to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, I've managed to shower, put on clean clothes, and even apply a little makeup to hide the dark circles under my eyes. I can hear voices downstairs—male voices, including Elio's, which means my brothers have arrived.

Taking a deep breath, I head down.

The living room is full of people. Ronan and Leila are on the couch, with Leila cooing over Margaret, who Elio has apparently already been convinced to hand over. Tristan is standing by the fireplace, his wife Simone beside him, both of them watching the baby with smiles on their faces.

"Annie!" Leila looks up as I enter, her face glowing. "Oh my God, she's perfect. She's absolutely perfect."

I cross the room and sit beside her, peering down at my daughter. "She is, isn't she?"

"She has your eyes," Simone observes, coming to sit on my other side. "But Elio's coloring."

"Best of both worlds," Elio says, and there's warmth in his voice. Pride.

I look over at Ronan, who's been suspiciously quiet. He's watching Margaret with an expression I can't quite read.

"Do you want to hold her?" I ask softly.

Ronan's eyes meet mine. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” I tell him.

Leila carefully transfers Margaret to Ronan's arms. For a moment, Ronan looks uncertain, even though he has a child of his own now.

Then Margaret opens her eyes, and something in Ronan's expression just… softens.

"Hi there,ceann beag," he murmurs in Irish. "I'm your Uncle Ronan. And I'm going to spoil you absolutely rotten."