Page 162 of Reverie
“What do you mean it’s mine?” she asks, her thumbnail going to her mouth. I grab her hand and wind my fingers between hers, gripping her tight.
“I mean, what’s mine is yours, yes. But I got this for you. I just didn’t know it when I bought it five years ago.”
She smiles, and it’s luminous.
“I have another surprise for you, though,” I say.
“Another one?” she asks, her voice going higher.
We’re at the main entrance now. The lights are on, as per my instructions, along with soft music that pipes through the outdoor speakers.
I don’t respond to her question. Instead, I open the door to the foyer.
She gasps when she catches sight of what’s inside, but she’s otherwise speechless. Fresh roses adorn every visible surface—there have to be at least a thousand roses of all different colors on the counters and on the floor, all leading to the massive living room that overlooks the other side of the island.
“Hunter,” she says, her voice wispy.
“How did you…? When did you…?” she stammers.
It took a lot of effort and coordination to get this right for Winter. She deserves all this and more.
She deserves what I promised her.
“I couldn’t give you everything I wanted to give you, but I could give you this,” I say.
She puts her hand on my chest. “I don’t want things,” she tells me. “All I need in this life is you. Our family.”
She kisses me—a sweet, gentle caress of her lips against mine.
“Will you show me our bedroom?” she asks, her eyes darkening.
I pull on her hand. “With pleasure,” I reply.
“What doyou think they’ll be like?” Winter whispers in the darkness. We’ve made love for the entire day, dozing off and grabbing meat and cheese plates from the fridge when our stomachs started to growl.
I made sure to feed Winter more frequently and nuked any cold cuts, which she despised. She further resisted my attempts to provide her with food because, as she proclaimed proudly, she could survive on dick and dick alone.
I run my fingers against hers, trailing up her palm until I hit her wrist and reverse directions. The bed we’re in is as comfortable as the one back home.
Home being Amelia Manor. But where the bed at our home estate is solid wood, this one is a breezy metal canopy bed with gauzy curtains pinned back to the four posts at the corners.
The sound of the ocean comes through the open patio doors. I probably should close them now that the sun has gone down, but there really isn’t much that appeals to me more than laying here in this bed with my wife.
My. Wife.
“I think they’ll be human,” I say.
She sucks her teeth. “Be serious!” She pats me on the chest, a ghost of a slap.
“I am being serious. Our baby will be a human, which means that as they grow, they will do human things like learning concepts, trying new things, and making mistakes.”
Winter hums at that.
“I think I felt the baby move yesterday,” she says. “I couldn’t be sure, but it felt like what Veronica described when she was pregnant with Summer.”
Her voice turns sad.
“You never told me what happened when she left,” I say.