30. Cassian
CASSIAN
Ayear passes like water through open fingers.
The wedding happened in the summer—small ceremony upstate at my father's estate, just family and close friends.
June served as flower girl with the seriousness of someone defusing a bomb.
She wore a white dress with purple flowers and informed everyone she met that her parents were "getting officially married now. "
Amara walked down the aisle in ivory silk, hair loose, carrying white peonies. I'm told I teared up. I don't remember. What I remember is the way she looked at me when she said her vows, like she was handing me something precious and trusting me not to drop it.
Now it's late October, and we're in the bedroom of the brownstone we bought in Brooklyn. June picked it because it has a backyard. Amara picked it because the top floor gets perfect northern light for her studio. I picked it because they both wanted it.
June's asleep down the hall. Six years old now, first grade, reading at a third-grade level and asking questions that require actual research to answer.
She's been obsessed with volcanoes lately.
Yesterday she informed me that pyroclastic flows move at four hundred miles per hour, which she knows because she Googled it during computer time at school.
Amara sits on the edge of the bed, still in the paint-stained shirt she wore to the studio today. Her hair's pulled up in a messy knot, face bare, feet tucked under her. She's been quiet since I got home from Black Lake, distracted in a way that made dinner conversation feel slightly off-kilter.
I close the bedroom door, lean against it. "You okay?"
She looks up. "Yeah. Just thinking."
"About?"
"Come here first."
I cross to the bed, sit beside her. She takes my hand, threads our fingers together. Her palm is warm, grip tight.
"I need to tell you something," she says quietly.
My stomach drops. The tone is too serious, too measured. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. Nothing at all." She turns to face me fully, brings my hand to rest on her stomach. "I'm pregnant."
The words don't land immediately. They hover in the air between us, waiting for my brain to catch up with what my ears just heard.
"You're—"
"Pregnant. About eight weeks. I took three tests this morning to be sure."
Pregnant. Amara's pregnant. We're having another baby.
The realization hits like a freight train. This time, I get to be there. For all of it. The appointments, the cravings, the way her body changes, the kicks, the birth, those first terrifying weeks. Everything I missed with June, I get to experience now.
"Cassian?" Her voice pulls me back. "Say something."
I cup her face, kiss her hard enough that she makes a small surprised sound. When I pull back, she's smiling.
"I take it you're happy about this?"
"Happy doesn't cover it. Ecstatic. Overwhelmed. Fucking thrilled." I press my forehead to hers. "We're having a baby."
"We are." Her hands slide up my chest, fingers curling into my shirt. "I was nervous to tell you. Didn't know if you wanted more kids, if the timing was wrong, if?—"
"The timing's perfect. You're perfect. This is perfect." I kiss her again, softer this time. "Thank you for telling me. For letting me be here for this."
"Where else would you be?"
"I don't know. But with June, I missed everything. Every milestone, every moment. This time I get to be present."
"You're going to be insufferable, aren't you? Hovering, reading pregnancy books, downloading apps that track development."
"Absolutely. I'm going to be the most annoying supportive husband in history."
She laughs, that sound that still makes my heart soar. "I can live with that."
I kiss down her neck, hands sliding under her shirt. She tilts her head back, breath hitching when I find the spot behind her ear that makes her shiver.
"We should celebrate," I murmur against her skin.
"What did you have in mind?"
"Let me show you."
I pull her shirt over her head, toss it somewhere behind us. She's not wearing a bra—hasn't been lately, I realize now. Her breasts are fuller, nipples darker. Signs I should've noticed if I'd been paying attention.
"They're sensitive," she warns when I cup one.
"I'll be gentle."
I lower her onto the bed, settle between her legs. My mouth finds her collarbone, trails down to take a nipple between my lips. She gasps, back arching, hands fisting in my hair.
"Cassian—"
"Tell me if it's too much."
"It's not. It's good. Really good."
I lavish attention on both breasts, alternating between gentle suction and soft kisses, learning what makes her moan versus what makes her squirm. Her body responds differently now—more sensitive, quicker to react. I file away every detail.
My hands find the waistband of her leggings. "Can I?"
"Please."
I slide them down along with her underwear, pull them off completely. She's already wet, thighs falling open in invitation. The sight makes my cock strain against my jeans hard enough to hurt.
"You're so beautiful," I say, kissing the inside of her knee. "Always, but especially now."
"Sweet talker."
I kiss up her thigh, take my time, savor every inch of skin. By the time I reach her center, she's trembling. My tongue traces a slow line through her folds, circles her clit. She tastes the same—salt and musk and everything I'm addicted to.
"Oh God…"
I grip her hips, hold her steady while I work her with deliberate strokes. She's more responsive than usual, every touch drawing sharper reactions. When I slide two fingers inside and curl them upward, she cries out loud enough that I'm grateful June sleeps like the dead.
"Right there, don't stop, please don't stop?—"
I don't plan to. My fingers pump steadily while my tongue circles her clit in tight patterns. Her thighs shake against my shoulders. Her hands grip my hair so hard it stings.
Then she breaks. Body going rigid, inner walls clenching around my fingers in rhythmic pulses. My name falls from her lips between gasps. I work her through it until she's pushing at my head with trembling hands.
When I look up, she's staring at me with dark eyes. "Get up here."
I kiss back up her body, settle between her legs. My jeans are still on, creating friction that's both frustrating and necessary. Amara reaches between us, works my belt open with masterful grace.
"Off," she says. "All of it. Now."
I comply, stripping faster than dignified. When I'm finally naked, she pulls me back down, legs wrapping around my waist. My cock presses against her entrance, slick and hot.
"I want you," she says. "Need you inside me."
I push in slowly, watching her face. Her mouth falls open, head tilting back against the pillow. She's so tight, so wet, gripping me perfectly.
"Fuck, Amara."
I pull out halfway, thrust back in deeper. She gasps, nails scraping down my back. I set a rhythm that's steady but not rough, conscious that her body's different now, more sensitive, carrying something precious.
"Harder," she breathes. "I'm not breakable."
"You're pregnant?—"
"And I want you to fuck me like you mean it. Please, Cassian."
The please undoes me. I shift angles, drive deeper, give her what she's asking for. She meets every thrust with her hips, takes everything and demands more. Sweat builds between us. The headboard hits the wall with each movement.
Her hand slides between us, finds her clit. I watch her face—the way her eyes roll back and lose focus, the small sounds escaping her throat growing sharper. She's close, I can feel it in the way she tightens around me, in the rhythm of her breathing going ragged.
"Come for me," I say against her ear.
She does. Her body locks up tight, inner walls clenching in waves that drag my own orgasm up from somewhere deep and primal.
I bury myself as far as I can go, holding there while everything releases in a rush that whites out thought.
Warmth floods between us as I spill inside her, pulsing in rhythm with her contractions, both of us suspended in that singular moment where nothing else exists.
We collapse together afterward, breathing hard, bodies tangled and slick with sweat. I'm careful not to put my full weight on her, propping myself on one forearm even though every muscle protests the effort. She keeps me close anyway, arms locked around my back, refusing to let me pull away.
She laughs suddenly, the sound breaking the heavy silence.
The vibration travels through both our chests, intimate and warm.
I roll sideways carefully, immediately pulling her with me so we don't lose contact.
She tucks herself against my side without hesitation, one leg hooking over mine, fitting into the spaces between us like they were designed for her specifically.
"We're having a baby," I say into the quiet.
"We are."
"June's going to lose her mind."
"Completely. She's been asking for a sibling for months. I kept telling her maybe someday." Amara's hand finds mine, guides it back to her stomach. "Guess someday is now."
I spread my palm flat, feeling nothing yet but knowing what's growing beneath. A whole new person. Ours.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
"For what?"
"For this. For building this life with me even when it scared you." I kiss her forehead. "For saying yes when I proposed on that ridiculous sidewalk."
"It was a good proposal. Terrible timing, perfect execution."
"I'd been carrying that ring for weeks. Couldn't find the right moment."
"So you picked the most chaotic day possible?"
"Seemed appropriate for us."
She tilts her head up, kisses me soft and slow. "I love you. Even when you make questionable decisions about when to propose."
"I love you too. Even when you threaten to throw up on expensive shoes."
"That was one time."
"A memorable time."
We lie there while the city hums beyond our windows. June's bedroom is silent down the hall. Tomorrow she'll wake up and demand pancakes and probably ask a million questions about volcanic ash before breakfast ends.
And soon, there'll be another person in that equation. Another set of questions, another personality, another heartbeat in this house we've built.
"Boy or girl?" Amara asks sleepily.
"Don't care. As long as they're healthy."
"Such a dad answer."
"I am a dad. Officially now."
"The most insufferable dad."
"You love it."
"I really do."
She falls asleep first, breathing evening out against my chest. I stay awake longer, hand still resting on her stomach, mind already spinning through everything ahead.
Doctor's appointments. Nursery planning.
Telling June she's going to be a big sister.
Watching Amara's body change. Being present for ultrasounds. Holding her hand during labor.
Everything I missed with June, I get now. The gift of being there from the beginning.
This is it. The life I wanted, the family I thought I'd lost, the woman I've loved since college, asleep in my arms, carrying our child. June safe down the hall. A brownstone in Brooklyn with a backyard and perfect northern light.
Everything I didn't know I needed until I finally earned it.