Epilogue 1
Two weeks before Skye's birth
“The decorator’s team could have done this,” I say from the doorway of our little girl’s bedroom while my husband measures the wall to determine the space needed for the last shelf.
My intention had been to find out the baby’s sex only on the day of the birth, but without knowing about our wish, a nurse let it slip during my last ultrasound.
Poor thing. I thought the woman was going to have a heart attack under the look the obstetrician shot her.
Rodrick frowned too, annoyed, but I ended up feeling sorry for her with how much she apologized. I hope she didn’t lose her job.
“I can handle it,” he says simply.
He’s a bit obsessed with Skye’s arrival. He checks even more than I do whether we have everything necessary for our little girl’s debut.
“Yes, sir,” I tease.
He looks back. “Did I sound like a control-obsessed maniac?”
“No. More like a papa bear.”
He drops the tape measure to the floor. “I don’t want to smother her. I’ll stay vigilant, but without trying to make decisions for her,” he says, as if trying to convince himself.
I go to him and hug him. Sometimes I feel like a little girl and that he’s like the most world-weary man alive. Other times, like now, I see the vulnerability of a boy who only ever wanted to be loved.
“It’ll be a long time before she needs to make decisions for herself. Why don’t you, for now, settle for loving the two of us?”
“That’s the easiest task in the world, princess.”
The day of Skye’s birth
Rodrick wanted to be present for the delivery, which was a natural birth. I felt a little embarrassed. I was raised to be a princess, beautiful and always put together. There’s no such thing as screaming elegantly, so I was afraid that after seeing me like that, part of the magic might be lost.
That wasn’t my only concern, of course, but also how he would feel about our little girl.
As much as he has been the best husband I could have wished for throughout the pregnancy, deep down there was still the fear that he might not be able to love her.
Yes, it wasn’t a rational thought, because he’s deeply in love with me.
My anxiety, however, was that he wouldn’t want to form a bond with her.
Even knowing that, with his controlling personality, she would be well cared for if something happened to me, raising someone and loving them are different things.
I quickly realize that the best thing that could have happened for both of us is his presence at the birth, because the moment he hears Skye’s cry announcing to the world that she has arrived, he cries.
And I, of course, fall apart with him.
As I absorb bits and pieces of what the doctors and nurses say, a movie plays in my mind.
Our entire story unfolds: when he kidnapped me on Vicenzzo’s yacht, my crazy marriage proposal, the love and trust that was built between us, and also, of course, because life isn’t made only of happy days, the memory of how my husband suffered as a child.
He is a survivor. He had to fight monsters alone and defeated them—both the real ones, made of flesh and bone, and those that hid inside his mind.
My personal hero. My love.
I watch him gaze in fascination at our daughter, whom the nurse has just placed in his arms.
“Come here,” I call.
When he embraces me, cradling my body and our little girl, I give thanks for the blessing of having my family.
“I didn’t think I could love you more than I already did, duchess, but you always surprise me,” he says, gently stroking Skye’s cheek with his knuckle. “I’ll protect you, my daughter. Daddy will always be part of your life.”
“We’ll be by her side, Rodrick. Always together, and always by her side.”