Livia Cartier
Thirty minutes later, dinner was ready. We sat around the long dining room table after making plates from the buffet. Chef Eddie had the whole spread laid out on the sideboards.
The table was loud, with the adults and kids talking over each other. Reek and Big A were arguing about football.
As Royal sat on my lap, his little hands grabbed at everything he could reach. I fed him small bites, wiping his mouth between spoonfuls. He was a big boy now and growing the way he was supposed to.
That still amazed me.
After everything, Royal was here, healthy, and beating the odds like he had never been in a fight for his life.
Icon sat close enough that his knee brushed mine under the table. He had been watching me feed Royal more than he had been paying attention to the conversation around us. His eyes stayed on us with that quiet softness he only showed when he could let his guard down.
He leaned toward my ear so I could hear him over the noise. “You ready for another one?”
I winced a bit as I replied, “I don’t know.”
Icon didn’t push. He waited as I glanced at Royal’s cheeks, at the way he opened his mouth for the next bite.
“I’ve had miscarriages. I had Royal early. We had months of uncertainty, not knowing if he would live. We’ve had so many scares. I’m so scared that any of that will happen again. I can’t take it if it does.”
Icon’s jaw flexed, but he stayed quiet, as if he was thinking.
I looked up at him. “Does that disappoint you?”
His eyes held mine. “No. You have always been enough. I love our son. You know I do. But you have always been enough.” He leaned in and kissed my forehead, and my whole body loosened.
I loved Icon so much because he loved me so well.
He loved me in the day-to-day, in the way he watched me, in the way he made space for my fear without making me feel weak, and in the way he protected my peace as much as he protected our family.
He was the perfect husband in the ways that mattered.
He was consistent. He was patient. He was present.
He made me feel chosen every day, not just claimed.
Sometimes I still could not believe I was married to him.
It did not always feel real that a man like Icon existed and that he was mine.
I turned my head slightly, breathing through the emotions and appreciation, then my eyes drifted across the table.
Sincere sat a few seats down, next to Rhythm.
Sincere kept her close without making it obvious.
His hand touched the back of her chair. He angled his body toward her even while he was listening to everyone else.
He checked her face for food residue the way you checked on someone you cared about.
I noticed his eyes most. Sincere looked at Rhythm with patience, interest, and a softness I had not seen on him since Tempo.
Icon followed my gaze. “What you looking at?”
I leaned in. “Sincere is feeling Rhythm.”
Icon’s eyes narrowed. “How you know?”
“Because I recognize it. He’s looking at her the same way you looked at me when you knew I was the one.”
Icon glanced back at them. “Damn.”
Men like him didn’t look at women like that unless it was serious, and the way his attention stayed on Rhythm felt… familiar. It felt like the start of something.