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Giving up ‘the crown’, as Francesca called it, had been one of the best things I had ever done. I was at peace now. Fulfilled beyond all my wildest dreams. So happy it almost hurt.
Francesca had done that for me. Changed me. Made me feel. But my father had been wrong. I wasn’t weaker for it. I was stronger.
We shooed everyone out so she could nurse the baby. I sat there, watching as the love of my life tended to our son. She was so good at it, so loving and tender, even though she was one of the fiercest women in the history of the world. Since Cleopatra, most likely.
And she was mine.
