She showed him the tag she held. It read Kelly—Boy but had Lorenzo’s weight and time and date of birth. Remembering that difficult time made her heart pang, but she softened, too. If that hadn’t happened, would Primo still be here, between them? Would they be like this, completely open to each other? She didn’t think so.
“We’ve come a long way since then,” he said soberly. A shadow crossed his expression, but a warm light dispelled it as he met her eyes. “Fond as I am of Enrique, I’m glad I didn’t lose my son. Or you. I love you very much, you know.”
“I do.” She offered a tremulous smile, lifting her free hand to the side of his face. The depth and breadth of his love amazed her daily. And despite being passionate people, they seldom argued. If they happened to disagree, they were both so shocked at not being in complete accord, they each took a step back, wanting to understand the other’s view immediately. Things always seemed to work out quickly from there. If that meant a lack of makeup sex, well, they had enough of every other kind they didn’t miss it.
“I didn’t know I could have this much love in my life,” she told him. “I didn’t know I could feel this much for you and Lorenzo. It makes me feel greedy for thinking...”
He lifted his brows in inquiry.
The clothes she had pulled weren’t going to the charity bin. They were going into storage. She and Sandro had vaguely talked a while ago of his working out of the London office when she got pregnant again, so he could stay with her while the clinic monitored her, but that had been as far as they’d gone with their plans. Today, however, realizing how her son was leaving babyhood and becoming a toddler, she was feeling ready to expand their little family.
“I was thinking it’s time to try for another,” she said shyly.
“Another baby?” He caught her up in a surge of his big body, carrying her a few steps to brace her back against the wall, legs around his waist.
“No, another misprinted tag,” she teased, smoothing her hand down to his shirt pocket, finding the hard shape of his phone against the flexed muscles of his pec. “Let me call Sorcha, see if she’s up to meeting us in London in nine months.”
“You think you’re funny,” he told her, forehead against hers so they were eye to eye.
“You think I’m funny,” she told him.
“You’re a little bit funny,” he allowed, kissing her lightly, eyelids coming down in a smoky look of growing arousal. “Are we really going to conceive our second child in the nursery of our first?”
“That depends. Did you lock the door?”
He drew back to give her an arrogant quirk of his brow.
“Silly me. Show some faith, right?” She did have faith in him. She trusted him with her heart and her children and her life. “I love you, caro,” she told him, squeezing her arms around his neck, heart so full tears came into her eyes.
“I love you, too, bella. So much the words aren’t enough.” He carried her to the daybed and his weight came over her as he pressed her onto it.
She sighed with pleasure, absently releasing the tag she held as they got down to the serious business of making a new baby.
The following year, they looked at a tag that read, Ferrante—Girl. It was affixed to their newborn under Sandro’s proud gaze and went unquestioned.
* * * * *