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I watch as she makes her way out of the room, a vision of maternal radiance in a dress of midnight blue. And I know, with sudden certainty, that our daughter already has the perfect name. One that embodies the light Talia has brought to my world of shadows.
Hope. Our daughter's name will be Hope.
Talia is gone for several minutes, giving me too much time to think. I’m still bothered by the things that Remy said yesterday. They burrow under my skin and keep pricking at me.
Remy's words echo in my mind, insidious as a black widow spider.You're losing your edge, boy. Getting soft. What's the world coming to when a Morgan man lets a woman lead him around by the nose?
I clench my jaw, staring into the amber depths of my brandy. He's wrong. Talia hasn't made me weak or ineffectual. If anything, her love has made me stronger, more determined to be the man she deserves. A man who rules with wisdom and compassion instead of fear and intimidation.
"Is everything all right?"
I glance up to find Talia regarding me with a furrowed brow, her hand resting on the swollen curve of her belly. She's so attuned to my moods; she sensed my tension even before sitting down.
Smiling, I cover her hand with my own. "Everything's perfect."
Her answering smile lights me up inside, chasing away the last lingering shadows of doubt. How could I ever doubt what we have? My anchor. My compass star.
My hope.
"Shall we have dessert?" she asks. "I've been thinking about that chocolate soufflé all through dinner."
"Your wish is my command, Mrs. Morgan."
She laughs, the sound rippling through me like sun-warmed honey. And I know that Remy is wrong. Talia hasn't made me weak or ineffectual.
She's made me whole.
After dinner, I step away for a moment to take a call about a penthouse listing, instructing Rob to handle the details. When I return to the table, Talia is no longer alone.
Our dining room now holds a new figure, this one a shrew-faced young woman who points directly at Talia. She’s a waitress in a familiar all black uniform. I narrow my eyes, thinking that her face is familiar. Perhaps she served me once?
Then it clicks into place. I do know her.
The waitress used to work at that shitty restaurant that Talia worked at when I first met her. As I recall, she wasn’t especially friendly to Talia in my presence, either.
She hovers by our table and then drops down, giving Talia a sickly sweet smile that turns my stomach. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but her posture is aggressive. I look at Talia’s face. She has gone pale and clenches her hands into fists. My gaze flits to the waitress and I start to gear up.
The waitress is pretty clearly saying some nasty things to my wife.
When I approach, Talia's face is ashen, her lips pressed into a trembling line. The waitress leans forward, punctuating each insult with a jab of her finger.
"Look at you, tarted up like some two-bit floozy. We all know you're no better than you were, spreading your legs for any man with deep enough pockets." The waitress sneers, eyeing Talia's wedding ring. "Or did you finally find some poor sap gullible enough to put a ring on your finger? Like that'll make you respectable."
Talia shrinks into herself, and it takes every ounce of my self-control not to lunge across the table and wipe that smug smirk off the waitress's face. No one speaks to my wife this way.
No one.
"That's enough." My voice is steel, colder than the depths of space. They both startle, the waitress's bravado fading when she realizes just who I am.
"Mr. Morgan, I—"
"You're fired. Get out of my sight before I have you removed."
She stammers an apology and hurries off. I pull Talia into my arms, feeling her tremble. "Don't listen to her poison. You're the light that brightens my world, darling girl. No one can make you small. Not when you're my everything."
Talia clings to me, her tears soaking into my shirt. But she's trying her damnedest to smile.
“How did I ever get so lucky?”
