Page 168 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

Sophie pauses outside one of the rooms. The door creaks open slowly, revealing an empty space bathed in soft yellow light. A single rocking chair sits in the corner, waiting.

“I figured this could be the nursery,” I say, suddenly unsure of myself.

She steps inside, fingers brushing the doorframe. Her throat bobs.

“It’s perfect.” She turns back to me, her expression unreadable, her eyes shining. “You’re really all in, aren’t you?”

I take her hand, lift it to my lips, and kiss her knuckles.

“With everything I’ve got.”

That night, we lie curled together on the couch. The house is still mostly empty, but it doesn’t matter. Her head rests on my chest, her hand draped protectively over her belly.

She shifts slightly, her voice a whisper against the quiet. “Are you scared?”

I don’t lie. “Terrified. But I’d rather be terrified with you than fearless without you.”

She tilts her head up, eyes meeting mine. “We’ve been through hell, haven’t we?”

“Yeah.” I press a kiss to her temple. “But we came out the other side. Stronger. Together.”

We fall into a comfortable silence, the kind only earned through war and survival.

Then I shift to face her fully, my voice low and full of something unshakable.

“When they're old enough, I want our child to look at us and see two people who fought like hell for each other. Who chose each other. Every time.”

Sophie presses her forehead to mine, her eyes brimming.

“They will.”

Because after all the scandals, betrayals, and heartbreak…

We chose love.

EPILOGUE

SOPHIE

It’s been seven and a half months since I screamed through childbirth, swore I’d never touch Alessio again, and then promptly fell in love with him all over again the moment our daughter wailed into the world.

Today, for the first time since, it’s just the two of us. Gloriously, deliciously alone. And God, it feels like breathing again.

No diapers. No late-night feedings. No lullabies on repeat.

Just us.

My father, who’s somehow become the baby whisperer, has taken Ariella for the afternoon.

I didn’t ask questions. I just handed her over, kissed her chubby cheeks, and practically shoved him out the door.

Now I’m sprawled on the couch in a T-shirt that used to be Alessio’s, legs tangled with his, the afternoon light spilling through the windows.

His lips trail down my neck. “I don’t know what magic spell your dad learned, but I’m not wasting it.”

Pregnancy sex had its moments, sweet, sometimes spontaneous, sometimes awkward. But this? This feels like rediscovering a part of myself I’d tucked away. And nothing compares to it.

I arch beneath him, every nerve sparking back to life, every inch of my body remembering what it feels like to be worshipped, not as a mother, but as a woman.

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