Page 30 of It Must Be Fate

“You bought me a star?” she asks incredulously.

“A hundred stars,” I correct.

Tipping her chin back up heavenward, I settle her against my chest once more and point at the sky.

“They’re spread out across the galaxy. Some you can see, some you can’t. They’re minor constellations; I’m still working on the major ones but encountering some resistance at the IAU.” I look down at her face, at the sheen of tears in her eyes. “Every time you look up at Sirius now, I want you to know he’s being well looked after.”

Six throws her arms around my neck and kisses me. Her lips move passionately over mine, her tongue dipping into my mouth. I let her take the lead, content to have my wife taking what she needs from me. My hands roam up and down the length of her back, keeping her pressed against me.

After a few minutes, she pulls back and looks up at me with heavy-lidded eyes.

“I’ll take it you like the gift then?”

Her hands stay on the back of my neck, her nails raking up and down the smooth expanse of skin and sending a lethal shiver down my spine.

Her words are tender and warmhearted when she speaks. “Sometimes it feels like you know me better than I know myself, Nix.”

“That’s the benefit of having loved you for more than half my life, baby.”

She smiles and I feel like I come out winning in the trade. Because I got her some measly stars but she just gave me the most beautiful sight in the world.

“Merci, ça me touche énormément,” she says in French. “Thank you for getting them for me.”

“It’s only the beginning, wild girl,” I say, finding her lips once more. “When I’m done, the whole sky will belong to you.”

***

Five years after graduation

Chapter Nine

Nera

A shrill cry pulls me from a deep slumber.

“I’ll get him,” Tristan says before I’ve even fully reached consciousness. He kisses my cheek, throws back the covers and skips out of the room just as his words finally hit my brain stem.

I’ve never seen someone so giddy to be woken up at three in the morning, literally sauntering out of our bed like he was just given jolly good news, but that’s Tristan as a father for you.

Within a month of the twins being born, he’d been able to recognize their cries and know which baby needed us. Their crying sounds identical to me, but he tells me that the cadence of Kiza’s screams is about an eighth of a second faster than Cato’s.

I rolled my eyes at him when he first said it, but, amazingly, he hasn’t gotten it wrong a single time since.

Correct yet again, he walks back in minutes later with a still crying Cato cradled in his arms.

Of the two, he’s definitely the fussier baby. Kiza is quiet, so quiet that sometimes I’ll assume she’s sleeping only to look in her crib or carrier and see that she’s simply examining the worldaround her like she understands it better than she possibly could at six months.

Tristan sets Cato down next to me then slips back under the covers and snuggles close.

“Hi, little love,” I coo at my son.

He immediately quiets at the sound of my voice, his wide eyes finding mine in the darkness.

Tristan says he has my eyes; that we have the same shape, the same depthless intensity in our gazes. Looking into them now, I agree with one major difference. They’re the same minus the hardened edges. Cato is unblemished and unhurt by the world, his stare is open and full of love and exuberance, and I intend to keep it that way forever.

It’s true what they say about motherhood changing you, because the protectiveness I feel for my children is unmatched.

“He’s obsessed with you.”

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