“Has he been talking about it?”
“Every time Marco is at the office, he practically begs to hold him. You should have seen him when Lorenza had her baby,” Lucien said.
I was baffled. Peregrine had never once mentioned having children to me in the last three years. But I’d been so focused on getting through the academy I’d barely had time to talk deeply with him about the future. I’d assumed we’d have children at some point, but I was only twenty-four and I had time.
“Do you plan on having children?” Lucien asked.
“I…um,” I stammered. “We have time.”
“Peregrine will be thirty-nine next week,” said Lucien. “Believe me, I know it’s difficult on issues like this when your husband is so much older than you. Olivia was gracious enough to start having children a few months after our marriage because I didn’t want to be in my fifties and changing diapers.”
I had my doubts that Lucien changed diapers, but then again, he’d already proven to be an attentive father so maybe I was wrong.
“Peregrine isn’t even forty.”
“Let me put it in perspective. If you had a baby nine months from right now, Peregrine will be almost fifty-seven when that child graduates high school,” Lucien said. “Anyway, it’s none of my business. I’m just recommending that you both think about it. And it would be nice if Peregrine would stop stealing my son.”
That night, I showered slowly and put on a silk slip and braided my hair. When I stepped out of the bathroom, Peregrine was sitting on the bed with his laptop balanced on his knees. He was so fucking sexy it made my brain hurt sometimes. The hair on his chest had thickened, but otherwise he looked just as he had on our wedding night. So beautiful and golden and cut with muscle.
“Why did you never tell me you wanted kids?” I asked.
He looked up sharply. “What?”
“Lucien said you were always stealing Marco and Lorenza’s baby. He said if I didn’t give you a baby soon you were going to explode.”
He shut his laptop and set it aside.
“You were busy and I didn’t want to pressure you into anything,” he said. “You’re the one who has to carry our children so it’s a bigger deal to you.”
I swallowed, a lump in my throat.
“And Lucien needs to keep himself out of our business,” Peregrine said. “Ever since he became boss of the outfit he thinks he’s everyone’s father or something. We’re almost the same fucking age.”
“Now you’re just pouting,” I said, laughing.
He pushed back the sheets and beckoned me. I went to him and he pulled me onto his lap and his broad hands slid up my thighs. Warm and firm on my hips.
“Do you want a baby?”
My stomach fluttered. If we were going to have a baby, now would be the time. School was over, I wasn’t going to audition again, and I hadn’t yet decided what I wanted to do next. The thought of being pregnant with his baby was tantalizing. Of course, there were parts of it that frightened me, like childbirth. But there was a deep longing in me to have a baby with him and perhaps now was the moment to let myself explore those desires.
“Would you like to start trying on our honeymoon?” I asked.
He bent and kissed the base of my throat. “Fuck, yes, I would.”
In October, we went to Italy, we went to Paris, and we went to Greece. I left my birth control behind and we fucked for a month of pure bliss.
For the last leg of the honeymoon, we returned to Italy and spent another week in Venice. I woke the last day, feeling deeply satisfied with everything. For the first time, I didn’t have my grades or my future hanging over me like a black cloud of stress. Instead there was nothing but golden sunlight coming in through the gilded window and falling across my husband. He stood in the open window, wearing only his boxer briefs, and gazed out over the gray-green waters lapping below. When he turned, there was a glitter in his eyes.
I’d never witnessed my husband so happy before. He fit right in with all the ancient beauty of the city. He fit in with the statues on the streets and the bright, gilded colors of the paintings that hung in the museums. When the pale sunlight hit his face, I swore he’d been carved by Bernini himself.
“Perhaps we should buy a summer home in Italy,” I said.
He raised a brow. “First you want a baby and now you want a summer home. What next?”
I laughed, sitting up. “How about breakfast?”
“It’s already on the way up,” he said, crossing to me and sliding beneath the covers.