Night wrapped the little house like a held breath. Only the clock ticked, soft and patient, and the wind pressed itself against the glass.
Inside, the lamp glowed low and golden. Alina lay draped across Dante's chest, her arms curled around his ribs, one leg hooked over his thigh. Her ear pressed right over his heart. It beat slow, steady. She counted each one.
His hand moved along her spine. Palm flat. Fingers trailing up, down, slow circles between her shoulder blades. His thumb pressed gently into the knot of tension there, then smoothed it out.
She sighed and pressed closer.
"Don't worry," he murmured. His mouth brushed her hair. "I'll be there."
"I know, but I am still nervous," she murmured, her voice slightly muffled against his chest. "And you are coming there as Dad of Lucien and Sable."
There was a small pause, then she let out a breath that was half laugh, half sigh. "It feels… serious."
