Epilogue
DOMINIC
At seven months old, our daughter has decided most food belongs on the floor.
A piece of banana lands beside my shoe. I look down at it, then at Emilia seated in the high chair between Elena and me.
“Your argument for more banana has been weakened by the evidence.” The words are dry, but my chest is so full it aches.
She responds with a delighted squeal and slaps the tray with both hands.
Elena bites back a smile and returns her attention to her laptop.
She has been home for less than twenty minutes and is still wearing the charcoal suit she chose for this morning's board presentation.
Her hair is pulled into a low knot, smooth this morning but now loosened around her face.
She kicked off her heels near the kitchen island, set down her bag, and came directly to us.
I handle dinner while she reads the questions Maya sent from the board committee. That was the plan, anyway. The baby spots her, squeals, and reaches.
Elena catches the reaching fist with one hand and keeps scrolling with the other.
“You're being manipulated,” I tell her.
“I’m aware.” Her tone is just as dry as mine, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.
“You're rewarding the behavior.”
“I’m acknowledging a reasonable request.” A tiny crease appears between her brows, the one that forms when she’s focused, and I know I’ve already lost.
Another piece of banana hits the floor.
“The request appears to be escalating.”
Elena closes the laptop and lifts our child from the high chair. Sweet potato immediately transfers from the bib to the lapel of her suit.
She glances at the orange smear. “This jacket was expensive.”
“You own other jackets.”
“That isn't the point.”
“I'll clean it.”
“You don't know how.”
“I employ people who do.”
She gives me a flat look. “That's the most billionaire thing you've said all week.”
“It’s Tuesday.” A smile breaks free before I can stop it. That sharp, dry edge to her humor is one of my favorite things about her.
Her mouth twitches. She shifts the baby against her hip and wipes a small, sticky hand with the cloth I pass her.
“How did the presentation go?”
“The independent directors approved the restructuring proposal.”
“I know.”
Her eyes narrow. “How?”
“Evan texted me.”
“Evan wasn't in the meeting.”
“He heard from Olivia.”
“Olivia wasn't in the meeting either.”
“She heard from Maya.”
Elena closes her eyes. “Of course she did.”
“They're proud of you.”
“They're incapable of respecting normal information channels.”
“Both can be true.” I nudge her shoulder with mine, watching the tension from the board meeting finally leave her face. “I’m proud of you, Elena.”
Her phone rings against the island. Maya's name appears on the screen.
“You should probably answer that.”
“I'm eating dinner.”
“You aren’t eating.” I point this out gently, knowing exactly where this is going.
“I'm supervising.”
“You were reading committee notes.”
“That too.”
She picks up the phone. “Hi, Maya.”
I remove the tray and carry it to the sink while Maya's voice comes through loudly enough for me to hear her congratulating Elena again.
“Yes, I saw the questions,” Elena says. “No, I’m not answering them tonight. Dominic made dinner.” The simple, declarative fact of it calms something deep inside me. It’s a boundary she’s drawing for us.
I turn on the faucet.
“No, that does not mean he ordered it,” she adds.
“Tell her I'm offended.”
“He says he’s offended.” She doesn’t look up from unsticking the baby’s fingers from her hair, but the corner of her mouth is twitching.
“I heard him,” Maya says.
The baby grabs a loose piece of Elena's hair and pulls.
“Ow. Okay, we're done with that.” Elena carefully opens the small fist. “Maya, I'll call you tomorrow morning. Send anything urgent to my work email. If it can wait, let it.”
She ends the call and leaves her laptop closed.
I watch her rub her nose against our baby’s cheek, getting sweet potato on her face, and think about the woman who will walk into the office tomorrow and be the sharpest person in the room.
She’ll challenge my recommendations in front of the board and tell the independent committee my projections are too aggressive.
We keep our disclosures updated and my recusal absolute, but this is the truth of it: the woman with a board of directors wrapped around her finger is right here, with a smear of orange puree on her chin.
I hand her another cloth and watch her wipe a smear of sweet potato off her own face. “Bath?”
She looks at the food covering the baby's hands, sleeper, and half of her jacket. “That seems necessary.”
“I'll do it.”
“We’ll do it.” That one word—we—still hits me with the force of a physical blow. It’s the simplest term in our contract, and the one that took the longest to mean this.
I take the baby while Elena removes her jacket. One small hand immediately catches my tie and shoves the end into a damp mouth.
“That tie was expensive,” Elena says.
“I own others.” I echo her earlier words, and the sound of her laugh is the only validation I need.
She laughs and follows us upstairs.
One bath, two bedtime books, and three attempts at the same lullaby take forty-three minutes. By the end, all three of us are tired; only one is asleep.
Elena stands beside the crib with one hand on the rail. Her hair is down now; she’s replaced her suit with soft black pants and one of my T-shirts. She watches our child sleep while the monitor on the dresser sends a quiet hiss through the room.
I slide my hand around her waist. “Come downstairs.”
“I want to make sure.”
“We've been making sure for seven minutes.”
“One more.”
I stay with her.
She leans back against me, and I kiss her temple. The baby turns toward the side of the crib, releases a small sigh, and settles deeper.
Elena finally lets me lead her into the hall.
In the kitchen, I pour two glasses of water while she opens the refrigerator and inspects the leftovers.
“You cooked,” she says, her voice soft with an exhaustion that has nothing to do with work. “I’ll clean.”
“I already cleaned.”
Her head appears over the door. “When?”
“While you were looking for the blue pajamas.” I don’t tell her I like it—these small acts of order in the chaos. Loading the dishwasher feels like an anchor in the day.
“I didn't find them.”
“They're in the dryer.”
“Why?”
“There was an incident this afternoon.”
“What kind of incident?”
“One that doesn’t need describing before you eat.”
She closes the refrigerator. “Fair.”
I hand her a glass. “Cliff called. He wants to know whether we've booked the New York flights.”
“We haven't.”
“I know.”
Elena lowers the glass, her gaze steady on mine. “You could’ve booked them.” It’s a test, and a fair one.
“We agreed to look at your schedule after today’s presentation.” A year ago, I would have arranged it all and called it care. I know better now.
The trip is simple. Four days in New York next month so Cliff, Rachel, Sophie, and Theo can spoil the baby while Elena and I discover how much equipment a very small person requires.
Elena has a committee session that week.
I know her calendar well enough to book around it, but it isn't my decision to make alone.
“Thursday night through Monday morning? You won’t have to miss the session.”
“And your investor dinner?”
“Evan can handle it.”
“You've already missed two dinners this quarter.”
“I assigned them to someone else.”
“That’s a rather fine distinction.”
“It's accurate.”
She studies me over the rim of her glass. “Thursday through Monday works.”
“I'll book it tomorrow.”
“After you send me the itinerary.”
“Obviously.”
She sets down her glass and crosses the kitchen. I catch her hips when she reaches me.
“I need you to take tomorrow morning.” She says it without looking away. “Six until eight. I need two uninterrupted hours before the committee call, and after the last three nights, I'm going to be useless if I handle another early wake-up.”
The request is plain and direct. Months ago, she would've spent twenty minutes proving she could manage alone if I said no.
“I’ve got it.” The answer is immediate, without calculation. A year ago, I would have checked three calendars first.
“Even if you have a call?”
“I’ll move it.” The decision takes less than a second. For twenty years, my calendar was fixed. Now, it’s just paper.
She nods. “Thank you.”
I pull her closer and kiss her forehead. “Go to bed.”
She stays against me.
“Elena.”
“I said I'm tired.” Her hands slide down my chest. “I didn't say I want to sleep.”
I’m already hard by the time she reaches my belt.
“That’s an important distinction.” Her eyes are dark, the pupils dilated.
“I thought so.” My voice is rougher than I intend.
Elena takes my hand and leads me upstairs.
She checks the monitor inside our bedroom, turns up the volume, and sets it on the nightstand.
The baby remains asleep.
Elena turns to me, her eyes dark in the low light. “I want you.”
No excuse. No practical reason she can hide behind. She asks because she wants me. My cock hardens as I cross the room and cup the back of her neck.
“Tell me how.” The words are a command, but my whole body is asking a question. “Let me give you exactly what you want.”
Her lips part, but I kiss her before she answers. I start slowly. She wants more than gentle. She fists my shirt, pulling me closer until there’s no room for restraint.
She reaches between us and grips me through my pants.
“Fuck, Elena.”
“I want this off.”
I catch the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head. She watches my hands move to my belt.
“No,” she says.
I stop.
Her eyes lift to mine. “Let me.”
I lower my hands.
She opens the buckle while watching my face. She knows the effect she’s having, and she wants to see how long I’ll let her draw it out.
I wait until my pants and boxer briefs hit the floor.
Elena wraps her hand around my cock and strokes me once from base to tip.
My stomach tightens and my hips push into her grip.
My voice is rough. “You’ve been thinking about this.”
“During the second bedtime story.”