When it falls away, his gaze drops briefly before returning to mine. His hand comes to rest at my stomach, the touch light, almost reverent.
“This is ours,” he says again, his voice low.
I nod, my throat too tight for signs.
His mouth lowers to my neck, his breath warm against my skin, his touch steady as he moves over me. The pace stays slow, unhurried, every movement deliberate, like he means to make sure there’s no space for doubt here.
When he enters me, it’s careful, measured. His hand finds mine, his fingers lacing through mine as he moves. The rhythm is unhurried, each shift in his hips deliberate, his mouth finding mine between breaths.
The tension in my chest loosens with every slow press of his body against mine. My free hand slides to his shoulder, my fingers curling there as the steady pace draws the air from my lungs.
He keeps his eyes on me, the steady weight of his gaze holding me there with him. There’s no rush, no urgency, just the quiet steadiness of him moving with me, grounding me in every moment.
When it builds, it’s slow. A gradual pull that leaves me breathless when it finally breaks, my body tightening around him. Hefollows, his breath sharp against my ear as he stills, holding himself there for a long moment before he eases back.
He doesn’t move far. His weight settles carefully beside me, his arm coming around my waist to draw me in. His mouth presses to my temple, the kiss lingering there.
“You’re mine,” he says quietly. “Both of you.”
I don’t answer, not with words or signs. My hand finds his chest, resting there over the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
The room is quiet. The weight in my chest feels different now—not gone, but lighter, steadier.
For the first time in days, the shadow of Vittorio feels far away.
19
GIOVANNI
Pregnant. She’s pregnant.
The words have been circling in my mind since she said them. They’ve taken root, settled somewhere deeper than I expected, anchoring in a place I didn’t know I kept waiting for something like this. I should be thinking of what it changes, what could go wrong, but all I can think about is her. And the quiet fact that she will carry what’s mine.
She is lying beside me now, her breathing even, the soft rise and fall of her chest brushing warm against my side. My hand rests over her stomach, the weight of it steady, my thumb moving slowly in small, unconscious circles. Her fingers trace over my forearm, not hurried, not distracted—just there.
There is something different about the quiet between us tonight. It isn’t guarded. It isn’t held up by hesitation. It’s simply still.
It feels like enough.
She watches me when I turn my head toward her. Her gaze lingers, as if she is deciding whether to speak. When I ask what she’s thinking, her fingers move slowly. A secret for a secret.
I stay still, my hand never leaving her stomach. “That sounds like a fair exchange.”
Her signs are smaller this time. I thought you would be angry.
It catches something in my chest. “Angry,” I repeat, the word foreign even to me. “No. Not at you. Not at this.”
I press my palm more firmly to her, the steady weight of it grounding both of us. “I’m glad, Liliana.” The words are simple, but there’s no room for doubt in them.
Her eyes search mine for a moment longer before she signs again, slower now. I don’t want to be a disappointment.
“You won’t be.” My voice is low, certain. “You couldn’t be.”
Her hands lower, still against the sheet. I watch her for a moment, thinking of what she will need. “Would you be willing to let me bring someone in,” I ask, my voice even, “a speech therapist?”
Her gaze doesn’t waver. There is no hesitation when she signs. Yes.
The knot in my chest eases. “Good.”
