"I'm going to be a big brother! I'm going to be a big brother!"
Adrien's voice was a joyful siren echoing through the master suite.
He was practically vibrating, his small feet thumping against the plush carpet as he did a victory lap around the bed. The news of the pregnancy had transformed him from a quiet, observant child into a whirlwind of excitement.
Kieran sat on the edge of our massive bed, a rare, genuine chuckle vibrating in his chest. In his hands, he held a piece of crinkled paper—Adrien's latest masterpiece. It was a classic "stick-man" drawing: three figures standing hand-in-hand under a yellow sun.
"Is this me?" Kieran asked, pointing to the tallest, somewhat jagged stick figure with a lopsided crown.
"Yes! And that's Mommy," Adrien chirped, pointing to the figure with long, loopy hair. "But wait! I forgot! I have to add the new one!"
He gasped, his eyes widening in realization. "I have to go get my crayons! I need to draw the sister!"
"A sister, huh?" I teased, leaning against the vanity. "What if it's a brother, Adrien?"
"No, a sister," he insisted with the absolute certainty only a child possesses. "She needs to have a dress like yours."
Before we could say another word, he bolted out of the room, his small frame disappearing into the hallway as he headed for his playroom to "update" the family portrait.
The silence that followed was heavy with sweetness. Kieran looked down at the drawing again, his thumb brushing over the stick-figure version of me. He looked so domestic in this moment.
I walked over, and stepped between his knees. Kieran immediately dropped the drawing and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His touch was possessive, yet careful—as if I were made of the finest glass.
"He's already obsessed," Kieran murmured, his face burying into the crook of my neck.
"He takes after his father," I whispered, running my fingers through his dark hair.
Kieran pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. His gaze was intense, darker than usual. "I think it's high time we get married properly, Aurielle."
I blinked, my heart skipping a beat. "What do you mean? We are married, Kieran."
"No," he said, his voice dropping into that authoritative tone that made my toes curl. "I mean a real wedding. In public. A massive celebration that the entire world will see. This 'contract'—it isn't enough anymore. I want everyone to know that you are mine. Permanently. Officially."
A huge wedding? The thought of standing before the world as the D'Angelo matriarch was terrifying, but the way he looked at me made me feel invincible. I wanted it. I wanted every socialite and every enemy to know that I wasn't just a guest in this mansion; I was the Queen.
His Donna.
"Yes," I breathed. "I want that too."
I leaned down, capturing his lips with mine. The kiss started sweet, a promise of a new beginning, but it quickly deepened into something hungrier. His hands tightened on my waist, pulling me closer until there was no air left between us.
"Mommy! I found the—EWW!"
We snapped apart so fast I nearly tripped. Adrien stood in the doorway, his hand over his eyes, his other hand clutching a box of crayons.
"Gross! No kissing!" he squealed, turning around and sprinting back down the hallway.
Kieran and I burst into laughter. He stood up, checking the hallway to make sure our little spy was gone, before locking the door with a firm click.
He turned back to me, crossing the room in two long strides, lifting me off my feet and tossing me gently onto the bed. He was over me in seconds, his hands moving hurriedly to undo the tie of my robe.
"Wait," I gasped, breathless as he peppered kisses down my throat. "But, Kieran... you said I need to rest right now."
"I lied," he growled against my skin, his movements turning frantic, his fingers tangled in the silk of my gown. "I want you, Aurielle. But I'll be careful. You're carrying a D'Angelo now."
I gripped his shoulders, pulling him down harder. "I don't want careful, Kieran. And I don't want gentle. I want you to remind me exactly who I belong to."
His eyes flared with a dark, satisfied fire. "With pleasure, Mrs. D'Angelo."