Page 158 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride
“You'll wake me up as soon as it's morning?" Angelica asks, looking between us. "Promise?"
"We promise," I say, incredibly happy to be a part of their traditions, creating new ones together.
I follow Roman down the hallway to Angelica's bedroom.
"Can we have two stories tonight?" Angelica asks, snuggling under her princess comforter.
Roman raises an eyebrow. "It's already past bedtime."
"Please?" She looks at me with hopeful eyes. "Isabella can read one too."
I sit on the edge of her bed, smoothing her hair. "How about I read one tomorrow night?"
Angelica considers this, then nods.
As Roman begins reading about a mouse's Christmas adventure, I watch them together, his deep voice softening for different characters, her eyes wide with wonder.
I never imagined finding this kind of peace in an arranged marriage, especially one that began as imprisonment.
When the story ends, Angelica looks up at me with serious eyes. "Isabella?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Since you're married to Daddy now…" She fidgets with her blanket. "Can you be my second mommy?"
My breath catches. The question pierces straight through to my heart.
I glance at Roman, uncertain how he'll react to Angelica connecting me to Emilia's memory this way.
His eyes meet mine, soft with emotion. There's no jealousy there, no pain, just warmth and love.
"I would be honored." I take her hand in mine. "More than you know."
She grins, revealing the gap where a tooth recently fell out. "What do you call second mommies?”
“Whatever you want, I suppose.”
She presses her finger at the corner of her chin as she thinks. “Mama-Isabella?”
“It’s a mouthful,” Roman remarks.
“Mama-Bella?” Angelica suggests.
“I love them both. You choose.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Daddy. Goodnight, Mama-Bella.”
Roman's hand finds my shoulder, a gentle squeeze that says everything words cannot.
“Goodnight, Angel.”
After Angelica finally drifts off to sleep, Roman and I tiptoe back to the living room.
“I think Santa is here,” he says, dragging out the ginormous bag of presents.
"I hope she likes this play sewing machine," I whisper, placing a large box beneath the lowest branches.
Roman nods. “She’s going to go nuts over it.”
