Page 119 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

I need him to. I need him to want this vision of what our future could be. To want this life with our child.

I push the button for the fireplace, and the flames ignite, then I go and sit on the couch, my robe spread out around me.

And I wait.

When the doors open, I don’t move. I want to listen, to hear his response before I see it. Because I’m almost afraid.

“What the fuck is all this?”

He doesn’t sound angry, just mystified.

I put my hand over my mouth, but I don’t say anything.

“Lindsay?”

There’s something about his voice saying my name. Calling for me, it makes my heart burn bright. Makes me feel warm all over.

He walks into the living room, and I look at him over the back of the couch. “Surprise.”

“What is all this?”

“Our first Christmas,” I say.

“This is…extravagant.”

“It should be. For all the Christmases we’ve missed. I’ve missed twenty-one. How about you?”

“Thirty-five.”

There’s such a disparity in that. And I know so many people think that in an age-gap relationship it’s the one that’s older that has all the power. But in this moment, I feel just slightly more powerful. Because he’s lived more years of this barren sort of existence. More time without finding someone to care for him.

It’s only been twenty-one years for me. And I love him. I can admit that in my own heart. I love him, and this house is ours. This holiday is ours. And I have that sooner than him. It’s a gift.

And I’m filled with a profound sense of sorrow for everything that he’s lost.

I get up off the couch, my robe billowing around me as I move toward him. “Would you like a drink?”

“Minx. What are you playing at?”

“Nothing. This is a preview. Of what our life can be.”

I can’t read the expression on his face. But it’s something like longing, with a hard edge to it that I can’t put words to. So I cup his face with my hands and smooth my thumbs over his cheekbones. “Darling, don’t look terrified of the holiday decorations.”

“Darling?” He grips my hand, turns my palm over and kisses it, and then he bites my wrist. “What happened to gangster?”

“I suppose I can’t call you that in front of our child.”

We both feel sadness in that moment. I can feel it. Arcing between us.

“At some point, she’ll have to know the family history. She’ll know exactly what I am.”

“What she’ll know is that you’re her father. And that you love her. I could see it on your face when we did the ultrasound. You love her. And you will love her. Exactly as she needs to be loved.”

He pulls me up against him, kissing me deep, hard. His hands working the belt on my robe. He’s going fast. The way that he always does.

But I don’t want fast. I want to luxuriate in him. I also love it when he takes control, so I find those two opposing desires difficult to contend with. My robe slithers away from my body, leaving me in those red straps that barely cover anything.

“What is this?” he asks, sliding his fingers beneath the strap over my breast, his expression filled with keen interest. “Your birthday gift,” I say.