EPILOGUE
NINA MARCHESI
EIGHT MONTHS LATER
“Little Fae! Is it possible you don’t hear a single word I say?” Nero whines from a distance, pacing across the sand.
I look at my husband walking toward me with long, hurried strides. He looks upset.
“Hi, love,” I greet him, playing dumb—but he doesn’t fall for it.
“Love nothing, look at this, Nina! You’re all red!” he complains, tilting the beach umbrella so it fully covers me. “The sun is way too strong for you at this hour.” His hands, slathered with sunscreen he pulled… out of his pocket? cover my shoulders, which don’t have a single red mark.
“Did you bring sunscreen in your pocket, Nero?” I laugh while he spreads far more cream than necessary over my body.
“And you?” he yells at his brothers. “You bunch of idiots! Where are your cars?” He looks around. “All parked miles away!” he answers himself. “I can’t rely on you for anything!” he shouts so his words carry all the way to the water.
“Nero, breathe. We just came for a quick walk on the beach,” I say, trying to calm him down when none of my brothers-in-law bother to respond to my husband’s tantrum.
“How did you get here?” he asks, not pausing between complaints.
“On foot, Nero. It’s fifteen minutes from the house. Don’t exaggerate.”
“And did you bring the hospital bag? Because I don’t see it anywhere,” he grumbles, hands on his hips, scolding me. “What is this, Nina?” He lifts a nearly empty bag of chips. “Did you eat this?” he asks, alarmed. “You didn’t eat this, did you?”
I try to stand, but my massive, fully thirty-eight-weeks-pregnant belly doesn’t allow it.
After thinking about it, I’ve reached two possible conclusions: either the universe thinks I’m some enlightened being meant to be part of every possible exception when it comes to birth control, or Nero’s sperm is mutant.
Even after taking medication to regulate my cycle for years, I still got pregnant the very first time we had sex—at the lake house.
Nero joked about whether we’d get a girl since we’d had sex without a condom again.
Well. Looks like it was some kind of premonition. Iris could arrive at any moment now.
My husband helps me stand, gently, as if I might break. I press a kiss to his lips.
“Thank you,” I say simply, looking deep into his eyes.
“For what?” he asks suspiciously, hands on my belly as if he could share its weight just by touching it.
“For giving me the family I always wanted,” I declare, hugging him as best I can with my belly between us.
His eyes fill with tears. His mouth brushes my lips lightly, then my forehead.
“I love you, Little Fae,” he says—but his emotion lasts less than three seconds, because Kael’s shrill scream reaches us.
“Kael, get out of the water! Now!” Nero orders.
“Why, Daddy?” my son challenges, and I sit back down in the sand. With the same urgency he had helping me up, my husband helps me sit again.
I don’t know what’s funnier—Nero turning into a grumpy old man, or Kael developing the habit of not taking his father’s overprotectiveness seriously, just like Drako taught him.
“You don’t know how to swim!” Nero explains, crossing his arms as he watches our son get tossed over Atlas—who’s acting as the net in a game where Kael is the ball, bouncing between Apollo and Drako.
“My uncles catch me, Daddy. Or I float. I know how to float,” Kael shouts between laughs.
“Out of the water!” Nero repeats, then turns to me. “Your mother is waiting. She came to visit. You all stress me out so much I even forgot,” he complains, sitting in the sand beside me. Together we watch Drako bring our son back dangling by his ankles, leaving a trail of water behind them.
“You need to relax, Nero. Or you’ll have a heart attack before Iris is born.”
“If my brothers and my wife would cooperate, it’d be a lot easier,” he grumbles. He raises the chip bag toward Apollo. “Didn’t I tell you not to eat junk food in front of my wife?”
Apollo grabs the bag from his hand, turns his back to me, and dumps the remaining chips into his mouth all at once. He turns back around, cheeks ridiculously full.
“Happy, Grandpa?”
“Not even a little. I’m banning you from my house!” Nero threatens, standing up and picking Kael up before offering me his hand, hesitating for a second about whether that support is enough or if he should put Kael down.
When a strong contraction pulls through my body, my belly tightens and I tremble, trying to control my breathing. Everyone notices—but no one says anything so they won’t scare Kael.
The water running down my legs, however, triggers total panic.
“Calm down!” Nero says to everyone, even though his hands are shaking. I’d laugh if a second contraction didn’t hit me right then. “We have a plan!” my husband insists.
“We do,” Apollo agrees, rolling his shoulders back like he’s preparing for a marathon.
“Alright! I’ll take Kael home,” Atlas announces, already throwing my son over his shoulder. Kael bursts out laughing.
“Bye, Mommy. Bring my little sister home! Don’t let her try to fly, okay?
” he says, kissing my cheek. I laugh—my son simply can’t separate the idea that hospital trips must involve flying.
“Take good care of both of them, Daddy. Really good,” he instructs Nero, and my husband takes a two-second break from his pre-labor meltdown to properly say goodbye to our son.
“Why did he get the easiest job?” Drako asks once Atlas is already gone with Kael.
“I’ll grab the hospital bag from my car,” Apollo says, already heading off.
“So I’m the one who has to carry the watermelon?” Drako complains. “Next time you give birth, Nina, I’m staying out of the plan. This one’s costing me credit.”
“Shut up, Drako!” Nero snaps, nervous. His brother positions himself on my left while my husband stays on my right. They hook my arms over their shoulders and we start walking slowly. “This isn’t working,” Nero complains, stopping.
“Calm down! There’s still plenty of time!” I warn.
“I saw on TV a woman who gave birth in an elevator because it was all very fast,” Drako decides is a good thing to mention, and I squeak when Nero slides one arm behind my back, the other under my knees, and lifts me.
“Nero!” I protest, but he doesn’t care.
He simply carries me across the sand for meters and meters as if it’s the easiest thing in the world—and it’s impossible not to laugh or love him a little more because of it.
***
The walls are just as white as the first time. The surgical clothes on my body are just as blue as the first time. There are the same number of doctors on the team as there were the first time—and yet, everything is completely different now.
I squeeze Nero’s hand hard when another contraction hits. That’s one of the biggest differences. He’s here—truly here—to hold my hand, not just in my imagination.
This afternoon, there’s no fear consuming me, no worry about what I’ll do once the baby leaves the safety of my womb.
This afternoon, I feel the pain of the contractions coming faster and faster without needing to wonder whether I’ll see my daughter’s little face when she’s born—because I know I will. I grunt, clenching my teeth through the pain.
“That’s it, love. That’s it,” Nero encourages when I squeeze his hand even harder. His eyes never leave my face for a single second. I have all his attention, all his support.
“Alright, Nina. It’s time to push,” the obstetrician says, and I nod. “On three, okay?” he asks. My answer is a growl, but everyone understands. “One, two, three.”
I push, sweat streaming down my face as the pressure between my legs increases exponentially.
“Again, Nina!” the doctor says, and I bare my teeth as I push again, screaming. “That’s it, Nina. Just a little more now. One more.”
“She’s coming, love. Our little girl is coming,” Nero says, pressing his forehead to mine, and I push one last time.
The room seems to fall completely silent for a few seconds—until it’s broken by the most beautiful cry.
Tears keep rolling down my face now, no longer from pain but from emotion, and when the nurse places a little bundle in my arms, I study every tiny piece of her—her face, her hands, her toes—and I look at Nero beside me, openly sobbing.
“She’s perfect, love,” he says through tears, and I’m not much better at answering.
“She is.”
“And she’s ours,” Nero adds, lowering his lips to kiss Iris’s little head, then my forehead. “Thank you, Little Fae. Thank you. I love you.”