Epilogue 1 Holly #3
Shelby fishes in her bag and slaps the keys into his hand. “Van’s out front.” Then to me: “And for the record, your timing is appalling. I was just making tea, you know. The cake’s not even sliced yet.”
Another cramp rips through me, and I wince. “Trust me, I’d rather be having cake.”
When the contractions become too unbearable to walk, Dexter scoops me up in his strong arms and carries me the rest of the way to my sister’s Berlingo. Normally, I’d be impressed with his show of strength. Right now? I’m too busy not dying.
Shelby’s right behind us, hospital bag slung over her shoulder.
She tosses it into the back, rattling off where the hospital is (as though Dexter hadn’t already memorized every possible route).
“St. Thomas’ is quickest. Go round the park, past the Palace, mind the roadworks at Westminster.
Once you’re over the bridge, the hospital’s on the right.
Text me as soon as you’re settled.” She presses a quick kiss to my forehead.
“And don’t worry. Everything’s under control here. ”
Dexter gets me strapped into my seat. “Breathe, gorgeous.”
Then we’re tearing out of the lot, tires squealing.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Dexter, already starting to pant from exertion. “I never answered your question.”
His eyes stay fixed on the road. “Don’t worry about that now.”
“But it’s a… yes.”
That earns me a quick glance. “Yeah? You sure?”
Another contraction hits, harder this time. I clutch his hand so tight I’m afraid I might break bones. “Give me my ring. Now. Hurry!”
He cuts me a look, even while handling the wheel. “At the next red light.” He angles his head a fraction. “Unless I change my mind.”
“You wouldn’t.”
His mouth twitches. “I might.”
“It’s not funny.”
“Right, it’s not. It’s hilarious.”
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Absolutely. Best day of my life.”
Giggling, I catch my reflection in the window, and I almost scare myself. I’m flushed, swollen, hair everywhere… and oh good, I’m sweating through my dress, right under my boobs. “This is the sexiest I’ve ever been, isn’t it?”
His grip tightens on my hand. “You’ve never looked more beautiful,” he says, voice low, dead serious, kissing my knuckles without taking his eyes off the road. “Like a goddess. My goddess.”
He really means it.
Heat blooms in my chest, cutting right through the pain. It’s ridiculous, but I’ll take the distraction. It makes everything else feel manageable, even this.
We hit the light. He whips the ring out and slides the diamond onto my finger. My lips crash against his in a shaky, desperate kiss.
Cars behind us start honking.
“Green,” I pant against his lips. Of course he’s not panicking. He’s Dexter.
“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, gunning it, one hand back on the wheel, the other still gripping mine.
“I love you, babe,” I manage.
He squeezes my hand, eyes on the road. “I love you too, Mrs. Thorne.”
Through the pain, I burst out laughing. “Did we seriously just get engaged at a red light? While I’m pregnant. Mid-contraction?”
“Yeah. With half of London giving us their blessing.”
I don’t get a chance to admire the maternity ward since I’m more preoccupied with the fact that a tiny human is trying to come out of me. No—two tiny humans.
Dr. Hughes is already there, her stern voice softened by kind blue eyes. “Well, looks like the little ones are eager,” she says while the nurses bustle around, checking monitors and getting me settled.
“How far apart are the contractions?”
“Less than ten minutes,” Dexter answers before I can.
“Is that normal?” I ask, panting. “I was told it usually takes longer with your first.”
“Not always,” Dr. Hughes says. “Every labor is different. Let’s see how you’re doing, shall we?”
I grip Dexter’s shirt the moment she checks. That’s the last composed thing I do. After that, it’s a blur of pain, sweat, and tears. Dexter is there for every second, sponging my forehead, holding water to my lips, and holding my hand whenever I feel like I’m slipping under.
Shelby calls, but I can’t even form words. Dexter promises her she’ll know the second it happens. She understands. She knows this moment belongs to me and him.
Hours stretch until I finally beg for the epidural. The midwives looked thrilled I’d lasted this long “trying gas and air first,” but I’m done pretending. Give me the drugs. The relief is so beautiful I could cry from gratitude.
Before I know it, Dr. Hughes says the words. “Time to push.”
So, I push.
And push.
And push.
It feels like hours, but it’s only about thirty minutes.
And then, I hear it. A cry. Our baby’s cry.
Dr. Hughes lifts a tiny girl into the air. And, I push again, and only seconds later, another cry, much louder. A determined boy sees the light of day.
It’s like everything around me melts.
My hands are shaking as I reach for them, but Dexter’s hands come around mine to steady them and help bring our daughter and our son to my chest. Both settle the moment they feel my skin, tiny bodies warm against me, and I look up at Dexter in awe.
He leans close. “They are perfect,” he rumbles, kissing my temple, stroking my cheek, and looking at me in as much awe as I am. If not more.
This man.
No one can make me as happy as Dexter.
With him, I don’t have to keep my armor on. I can breathe, be myself, stop bracing for the hit. He’s always there, unshakable, calm when I’m not, strong when I can’t be, and I know he will catch me when I fall. I know he will keep me safe.
Me and the babies.
“They really are perfect.”
“Hey, little cutie pies,” he says softly, brushing his finger over our daughter’s cheek and over our son’s. “We’ve been waiting for you. Do we have a hell of a story to tell you someday.”
Her eyes are his. She’s got a little dusting of dirty-blonde hair like mine, while our boy’s already showing signs of inheriting Dexter’s unruly dark hair.
Tears blur my vision as I hold them close.
I feel everything all at once.
Joy, fear, awe, love—every emotion tumbles one over each other.
Finally, I’m a mom.