Page 88 of His Enemy's Daughter
“We’re having a baby?”
“We’re having a baby.” Confirmation makes it real, terrifying, and wonderful in equal measure. “Are you okay with this? I know we never discussed—”
“I’m more than okay.” His hands slide to my waist, reverent. “I’m... Regina, this is perfect. Unexpected but perfect.”
“Even knowing what we come from? And the things that we’ve done?”
“Especially knowing that.” His correction is firm. “We know exactly what kind of parents not to be. What kind of life not to create. Our child gets to grow up free, loved, chosen. That’s everything we never had.”
Relief floods through me, sharp and overwhelming. “I was so worried you’d think it was too soon, or too complicated, or—”
“It’s all of those things.” But he’s smiling, that dangerous expression that’s become synonymous with home. “And it’s also perfect. We’ll figure it out together. Just like everything else.”
I lean into him, feeling the future shift and expand to accommodate new possibilities. A child. Our child. Built from love instead of obligation, from choice instead of force.
“Mrs. Barone.” He tests my new name against my temple. “Mother of my child. Builder of empires. How does it feel?”
“Terrifying.” Honest. “And perfect. Just like you said.”
“Then let’s go tell our guests.” He takes my hand, leading me toward the door. “They’re probably wondering if we’ve escaped to consummate the marriage early.”
“Mauricio!”
“What? It’s what I’d be wondering.” But his grin is unrepentant. “Come on. Let’s celebrate everything we’ve survived to reach this moment. And everything that comes next.”
Epilogue
Mauricio
“She has your eyes.”
Regina’s voice echoes through our villa’s nursery, where the late afternoon sun casts a soft, golden glow. I look up from the crib, where our daughter sleeps—three months old and already taking charge of our world with tiny fists and demands that come at ungodly hours.
“She has your stubbornness.” I keep my voice low, not wanting to wake Sara after the battle it took to get her down for a nap. “Last night she screamed for an hour because I held her wrong. Apparently, only you know the correct angle.”
“That’s not stubbornness. That’s good taste.” Regina settles beside me, her hand finding mine as we both stare at the small miracle we’ve created. “She knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to demand it. Sound like anyone you know?”
“You’re saying our daughter is already as difficult as her mother?”
“I’m saying she’s perfect.” But Regina’s smiling, that soft expression she reserves for moments like this—quiet domesticity that a year ago seemed impossible. “Just like her father, despite his claims that I’m the difficult one in this relationship.”
I pull her close, breathing in bergamot and vanilla and the baby powder scent that’s become permanent in our home. “One year married. Three-month-old daughter. A successful import business that is generating more profit than Simeone’s legitimate operations. I’d say we’re doing well.”
“We’re doing perfectly.” She leans into me, and we stand in comfortable silence watching Sara sleep with the intensity only new parents understand. “Though I could do without the three AM feeding schedule.”
“We’re taking turns with that.” My reminder is gentle. “You fed her at one. I’ll handle the next.”
“You say that now.” But she’s already relaxing against me. “Wait until she’s screaming and you remember that sleep is precious and maybe your wife should just handle it since she’s better at—”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, harsh against the quiet moment. I consider ignoring it because nothing is more important than this, than my wife and daughter, and the peace we’ve built. But old habits die hard, and the number showing is one of my remaining contacts from the old life.
“I need to take this.” I press a kiss to Regina’s temple. “Two minutes.”
I slip onto the terrace, closing the French doors behind me before answering. “Christopher. This better be important.”
“Boss.” The voice on the other end carries tension I don’t like. “Sorry to bother you, but you said to call if we spotted anything unusual.”
“What kind of unusual?” I watch through the glass as Regina settles into the rocking chair, her attention still on Sara’s crib.
