Page 90 of The Devil's Canvas

My breath catches.

“Would that be so bad?” he asks softly.

I don’t answer right away. Because it wouldn’t be bad. Not exactly. Not with him. But it’s not about bad. It’s about everything I don’t know. “I don’t know if I’d be good at it,” I say finally, barely more than a whisper. “Being a mother.”

Julian doesn’t rush to answer. He just watches me, quiet.

“I had no role model. No one to show me how. My mom died. My father is a fuck. I can’t even share this with Bella. The ache hits fast and sharp—like a shadow I didn’t realize was still clinging to me.

Julian doesn’t rush to answer. He just watches me, quiet.

Finally, he asks softly, “Why can’t you share this with Bella? Or Rosalind?”

The words catch me off balance. He’s not pushing—just opening a door I didn’t expect.

“You don’t have to cut them out completely,” he adds. “And… you think love and softness are the only traits that make a good parent?”

I rest my head against his shoulder, eyes burning. His voice lowers to that quiet, careful place he only uses when he’s trying to steady me. “That’s not the only kind of strength a child needs.”

I exhale slowly, the words catching at the edges of my breath. And even though I don’t have an answer yet, I understand what he’s trying to say. What he’s giving me permission to feel.

Maybe this is just something I’ll have to face—if I’m pregnant. When I’m ready.

His face changes—subtle, but I catch it. That faraway, hyper-focused look he gets right before something stupid happens.

“What’s up with your face?” I ask, squinting at him.

He sighs like this is the greatest burden ever bestowed on a demon. “Someone’s calling me.”

“Calling you? Like mentally?”

“Yes, Lia. With their brain.”

“Who?”

He gives me a flat look. “My dad.”

Julian tilts his head, clearly trying to soften the blow. “He wants to… talk to us.”

“Us?” My voice spikes. “Like together? Like some sort of post-claim check-in?”

Julian shrugs, but there’s amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Apparently word got around.”

“Word got around? What the hell does that mean?” I fling my arms out. “Who told? Who was watching? Are there demon paparazzi? Is there some Hell-wide newsletter?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s too busy laughing.

“This isn’t funny, Julian!” I start pacing, grabbing a throw pillow just to squeeze the life out of it.“I haven’t even figured out if I’m pregnant and now I’m supposed to meet the head of the Duvain line like we’re doing some demonic dinner party? What do I wear? Do I bow? Do I address him as Your Infernal Majesty? What if I mess it up and he incinerates me?”

Julian’s shoulders shake with quiet laughter, which just fuels my spiral.

“I’m serious! What if he hates me? What if I say something offensive and he banishes me to a subrealm filled with lava and guilt? What if I—”

Julian grabs my wrist and pulls me back to him with an infuriatingly calm smile. “Ophelia. Breathe.”

I glare at him. “Don’t you dare demon-meditate me right now.”

Julian just grins. The kind of grin that should come with a warning label. “You know what I think?”

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