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“Are you facilitating a way to import and export french fries?” Kye asks.
Nereus laughs, but he shakes his head. “I’m sorry to say that isn’t high on the priority list.”
“And you guys say you love me,” Kye pouts.
“Wait, I’m sitting up for this,” I say. “I want to look at both of your faces when I say this. And as soon as I do, we need to tell the others.”
They help me sit up—not that I need it, they’re just both gentlemen—and my gaze flits between them as my hand falls to my stomach. “Guys,” I say. “I’m pretty sure I’m pregnant.”
Kye’s eyes widen as a smile creeps upon Nereus’ face, and then they’re inching closer to me, talking over each other, asking me when I knew, how I knew, if I need anything—they’re overwhelming me, and all I can do is laugh at the way they’re both looking at me, my heart swelling when I see the love in their eyes.
“I want to name her after my mother,” I say.
“Of course,” Nereus says. “Little Evelyn. Future queen of Homeworld.”
“Has a nice ring to it,” Kye says. “And you get to choose, Fi. You’re queen.”
He’s right. I am queen.
After everything that’s happened, I’m the fucking queen of Homeworld.
And I’ll be okay.
We’ll all be okay.
Me, my men, and my daughter.
For the first time since they took me from that rooftop, I believe that deep in my bones.
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