“How could I not? That’s all I think about. You, me, a baby, unimaginable happiness.” Reaching out, he brushed the tears from her cheeks. “I’m glad you like it. I bought everything they had that wasn’t blue or pink. I’ll bring in the rest of them later.”
“You must have made some shop clerk’s day.”
“Maybe. So long as I make your day, that’s all I care about.” Sliding his hands under her legs, he picked her up with ease and sat back down on the chair with her in his lap. “There are some cute little shoes made in France too—one pair is high tops in bright green leather. They’re for either boys or girls,” he added just in case. “I have no preference.”
“I thought every man wanted a boy.”
“It doesn’t matter to me. I only want to make you happy.”
“Is that why you wrote your love letter?” Her voice was buoyant, her gaze sunshine bright. “I’ve never had a love letter before.”
“Then we’re the perfect pair because I’ve never written one before.” He reached back, pulled a folded envelope from his jean pocket, and handed it to her. “Don’t judge me too harshly.” He smiled a slow, lovely smile. “It’s an amateur effort.”
She opened the envelope, pulled out the single page, and unfolded it; Dominic’s script was bold and vigorous as ever, like the man himself.
He watched her read what he’d written on the plane and given to Max when he wasn’t sure he’d survive his meeting with Gora. He’d always been fatalistic, indifferent to his future. That was the first time he’d cared whether he lived or died.
Dear Katherine,
By some great act of fortune, you’ve been brought into my life and I find myself in the unlikely position of caring deeply about another human being. For the first time. For the very first time. And I am overcome with fear.
If I don’t return, I want you to know that I love you with all my heart, my soul such as it is, and my once purposeless spirit—that now has purpose. I only knew hopelessness before I met you and now I know hope. You’ve given me my life. And for that and a thousand other nameless wonders, I love you.
With you always in my thoughts,
Dominic
She looked up with tears in her eyes. “You really didn’t know if you were coming back?”
He shrugged. “An issue with one of those unsavory characters. But the gravity of the situation made me realize that you were the only person in the whole world who mattered to me.” A faint smile warmed his eyes. “And now junior or juniorette is added to my list. It helps if there’re two”—he ran his hand over her flat belly, then glanced up at her and smiled—“when it comes to dealing with a baby. We’ll be happy—all of us. My word on it.”
She looked at him, thinking that maybe miracles did come true, that if you wanted something badly enough some benevolent spirit conferred it on you. “I’ve only ever wanted you—from the very first.”
He smiled, remembering her letter in Hong Kong. “With reservations.”
She smiled back. “Despite reservations.”
“You’ve had me from the first, baby,” he said tenderly. “In some deep, strange, new place I didn’t even know existed. And you have me now”—his smile was soft with love—“and forever and a million years after that.”
“Don’t ever leave me again,” she whispered.
“I won’t. Not ever.” He dipped his head and held her gaze. “May I kiss you now? I’m asking because I don’t want to frighten you. I’ve been too long in the wilderness.”
“I may frighten you back.” She suddenly went still, afraid she was coming undone.
He shook his head. “Never, baby. Won’t happen.” Then he very gently took her face in his hands, lowered his head, and just before his lips met hers, whispered, “We’ll get it right this time. I promise.”
“You must have made some shop clerk’s day.”
“Maybe. So long as I make your day, that’s all I care about.” Sliding his hands under her legs, he picked her up with ease and sat back down on the chair with her in his lap. “There are some cute little shoes made in France too—one pair is high tops in bright green leather. They’re for either boys or girls,” he added just in case. “I have no preference.”
“I thought every man wanted a boy.”
“It doesn’t matter to me. I only want to make you happy.”
“Is that why you wrote your love letter?” Her voice was buoyant, her gaze sunshine bright. “I’ve never had a love letter before.”
“Then we’re the perfect pair because I’ve never written one before.” He reached back, pulled a folded envelope from his jean pocket, and handed it to her. “Don’t judge me too harshly.” He smiled a slow, lovely smile. “It’s an amateur effort.”
She opened the envelope, pulled out the single page, and unfolded it; Dominic’s script was bold and vigorous as ever, like the man himself.
He watched her read what he’d written on the plane and given to Max when he wasn’t sure he’d survive his meeting with Gora. He’d always been fatalistic, indifferent to his future. That was the first time he’d cared whether he lived or died.
Dear Katherine,
By some great act of fortune, you’ve been brought into my life and I find myself in the unlikely position of caring deeply about another human being. For the first time. For the very first time. And I am overcome with fear.
If I don’t return, I want you to know that I love you with all my heart, my soul such as it is, and my once purposeless spirit—that now has purpose. I only knew hopelessness before I met you and now I know hope. You’ve given me my life. And for that and a thousand other nameless wonders, I love you.
With you always in my thoughts,
Dominic
She looked up with tears in her eyes. “You really didn’t know if you were coming back?”
He shrugged. “An issue with one of those unsavory characters. But the gravity of the situation made me realize that you were the only person in the whole world who mattered to me.” A faint smile warmed his eyes. “And now junior or juniorette is added to my list. It helps if there’re two”—he ran his hand over her flat belly, then glanced up at her and smiled—“when it comes to dealing with a baby. We’ll be happy—all of us. My word on it.”
She looked at him, thinking that maybe miracles did come true, that if you wanted something badly enough some benevolent spirit conferred it on you. “I’ve only ever wanted you—from the very first.”
He smiled, remembering her letter in Hong Kong. “With reservations.”
She smiled back. “Despite reservations.”
“You’ve had me from the first, baby,” he said tenderly. “In some deep, strange, new place I didn’t even know existed. And you have me now”—his smile was soft with love—“and forever and a million years after that.”
“Don’t ever leave me again,” she whispered.
“I won’t. Not ever.” He dipped his head and held her gaze. “May I kiss you now? I’m asking because I don’t want to frighten you. I’ve been too long in the wilderness.”
“I may frighten you back.” She suddenly went still, afraid she was coming undone.
He shook his head. “Never, baby. Won’t happen.” Then he very gently took her face in his hands, lowered his head, and just before his lips met hers, whispered, “We’ll get it right this time. I promise.”
