Eight weeks.
My hand tightened at her waist before I could stop it, just enough to ground myself in the reality of her sitting in front of me, telling me that the life I had only begun to hold together.
“Pregnant?” I said, stupidly, because the word was too big to come out any better than that.
A tear-bright smile touched her mouth. “Yes.”
That was when the truth hit me fully.
A breath left me, almost a laugh, almost something worse, and then I was reaching for her. I held her face in both hands and kissed her with the stunned, violent awe rushing through me too fast to survive sitting still.
Another child.
Ours.
I broke the kiss only enough to rest my forehead against hers. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I whispered, my voice wrecked with wonder. “My girl.”
Her fingers slid into my hair, trembling. “You’re not angry?”
I pulled back to look at her properly. The softness in her face, the vulnerability she had trusted me with in this city of all places, nearly finished me. Something dark and devoted moved through me with enough force to hurt.
“Angry?” I breathed. “I’m about to lose my mind.”
I kissed her again, and the second my mouth found hers, I knew nothing about my life would ever be small again. When I drew back, the truth sat fully between us, beautiful and merciless. Edwina was here, in the city where so much had once gone wrong, carrying my child again. Only this time, she would never carry any of it alone.
I caught her face between my hands and kept her looking at me, because I needed her to hear me without hiding from a single word.
“You are not enduring a goddamn thing alone,” I said.
Her breath caught.
“I’ll be there,” I continued, my thumbs brushing beneath her eyes. “For the appointments. The bad mornings. The nights you can’t sleep. The fear. The changes. All of it. Me and Helena. We’re with you.”
“I know,” she whispered.
I leaned closer, close enough for her to feel the force of what I meant. “I need more than that, my little Flare. I need you to believe me.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, and it nearly ruined me. I kissed it away, then rested my forehead against hers.
“I know you’re not ready for marriage,” I said.
Her fingers tightened in my hair, and a shaky, disbelieving laugh left her. “You do?”
“I do.” My mouth brushed the corner of hers. “You’re cautious. You have every right to be after everything we’ve done to each other.” My hand settled at her waist, firm and possessive. “Listen to me anyway.”
She looked at me then, with all her strength and softness and fear caught in the same pair of eyes.
“Every day,” I murmured, “I’m going to ask you.”
Color rose in her face.
“I’ll ask until it stops scaring you. Until you’re tired of hearing it. Until no part of you believes I could leave you standing alone in this.” My hand tightened once at her waist. “Will you marry me? Will you honor me by letting me be your husband?”
Her lips parted, though no answer came yet. So I kissed her again, slow and deep, pouring every dark, devoted thing I could no longer hide into her mouth before I drew back just enough to let the question remain between us.
“Will you marry me, Edwina?”
She looked at me with tears in her eyes, wonder on her mouth, and all the love we had failed to kill still living between us.
