Page 60 of Her Possessive Dominant Fake Husband

“You don’t think it’ll be confusing to call him Alexander?” he asked, as if we hadn’t had this conversation a thousand times already.

I smiled, shaking my head as I reached out, brushing my fingers lightly over our son’s soft, downy hair, avoiding the soft spot before pressing a kiss to his forehead. He shifted a little, making a little squeaking, snorting noise.

“No,” I whispered, my gaze shifting between them—the man I loved and the tiny life we had made. “He’ll know exactly who he is. And who you are.”

Alexander exhaled, the corner of his mouth lifting in something close to a smile, though there was still that trace of hesitation—of quiet awe.

A year ago, I couldn’t have imagined him holding a tiny little baby. But there we were, and he doted on his son, not with gifts, but with time. He talked endlessly to him, handled diapers, and would dance with him to calm him down.

He shifted slightly, adjusting the baby in his arms, and I watched the care in every movement, the silent devotion woven into the way he held him—heldus.

“You really think I’m good at this?” His voice was quiet, almost careful, as if worried he’d wake up the little man. I bet our families would have loved that, just to pass him around and cuddle for hours until Alexander fought them back and took his son. But all in love and joy.

“You are,” I said simply, reaching for his hand, pressing my palm against his. “You don’t even realize it.”

He looked down at our intertwined fingers, then back at me—like he wanted to believe it but hadn’t quite let himself yet.

Then, a soft laugh from across the room—my brother, watching with something teasing in his expression. “You two gonna stare at each other all night, or can we hold the kid?”

Alexander huffed, shaking his head, but he didn’t protest when my mother reached for our son, lifting him carefully from his arms, cradling him with the same tenderness that felt like second nature.

I watched the way she swayed slightly, the quiet hum of something soothing passing her lips, and my heart ached in a way I hadn’t expected. I remembered that song, she hummed it to my siblings, and no doubt hummed it to me when I was too little to remember.

The sight of love stretching across generations, binding us all had tears in my eyes. I’d blame the postpartum hormones for making me weepy, but in this crowd, I didn’t need to justify anything, ever.

Alexander exhaled beside me, his hand still wrapped around mine.

“We really did this,” he murmured.

I turned to him, squeezing his fingers.

“We did,” I whispered back. “And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Michael, never one to let a moment be too sentimental without injecting some humor, leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “Alright, I think it’s time we make this official.”

My mother, still swaying gently with the baby nestled in her arms, lifted a brow. “Official?”

Michael pulled something from behind his back—a graduation cap, slightly worn but unmistakably his. “Every new member of this family has to have their moment of glory.”

Alexander let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re not seriously—”

But Michael was already carefully settling the oversized cap atop the baby’s tiny head, adjusting it just enough so it didn’t completely swallow him. The sight was absurd—this impossibly small newborn beneath the heavy symbol of achievement—and yet, somehow, it was perfect.

It reminded me of all the sacrifice to get here, how hard my brother had worked, how hard I’d worked to help him stay in school. And how Alexander had taken over, paid his full way through college, and offered to pay for any further education he wanted. Alexander had been a blessing in our lives, but not just because of his wealth. He and Michael had grown close enough that they acted like brothers. It got annoying sometimes, but I loved it.

Laughter spilled into the room, warm and easy. My mother covered her mouth, trying in vain to stifle her giggles. Alexander’s mother let out a quiet, amused sigh, shaking her head in fond exasperation.

“Oh, we need pictures,” my mother said, her voice thick with emotion even as she grinned and pulled out her phone.

Alexander was already reaching for his phone, angling it carefully as he captured the moment—the cap, the baby’s wide, curious, blinking eyes as he woke, the way my brother beamed proudly as if he’d just bestowed some great honor upon him.

I leaned into Alexander, his warmth settling against me as he wrapped an arm around my waist. “You know, I think he’s taking this better than you did when Mom tried to makeyouwear it for photos.”

Michael scoffed. “First of all, I was an actual graduate. He’s like two weeks old. It’s different.”

Alexander smirked. “Not sure it is.”

Michael shot him a glare but couldn’t keep the amusement from his face.

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