Chapter 102
Aria pov
“Shut up.” But my fingers hovered over the screen. I read his message again. Then saved it to my favorites folder before I could stop myself.
“You saved it.” Olivia’s voice was smug. “You’re so gone for him p>
“I am not”
“You are.” She poked my shoulder. “And it’s cute. Terrifying, but cute p>
I set my phone down, face-down so I couldn’t see if he texted again. My coffee had gone cold. I dumped it in the sink, the dark liquid swirling down the drain.
“I’m being practical,” I said, rinsing the cup. The water ran hot over my hands. “He’s Noah’s father. We’re co-parenting. That’s all p>
“Co-parents don’t save flirty texts p>
“We’re not having this conversation.” I dried my hands on a towel, the fabric rough against my palms.
“We absolutely are.” But Olivia was laughing. “Fine. Back to party planning. How many pizzas for eighteen four-year-olds p>
“Too many.” I pulled up a calculator on my phone. “Way too many p>
That Evening
Noah burst through the door, his backpack flying as he launched himself at me. “Mama! Guess what p>
“What, baby?” I caught him, laughing.
“Daddy said I can invite everyone! Even Tommy who picks his nose!” He was vibrating with excitement. “It’s going to be the best birthday ever p>
“It definitely will be.” Damien followed more slowly, his jacket slung over his shoulder, tie loosened. He looked tired but happy. “Sorry. He’s been talking non-stop since I picked him up p>
“I can imagine.” I set Noah down. “Go wash your hands. Dinner’s almost ready p>
“What are we having?” Noah bounced toward the bathroom.
“Spaghetti!” I called after him.
“With meatballs p>
“With meatballs p>
His cheer echoed through the penthouse. Damien moved closer, his hand finding the small of my back. “You made dinner p>
“Olivia helped.” I gestured to the kitchen where pasta was boiling. “Don’t get too excited, it’s just spaghetti p>
“It’s perfect.” His voice was soft. “This is perfect p>
I looked up at him. “What is p>
“This.” He gestured around. “Coming home to you and Noah. Dinner as a family. Birthday planning, all of it p>
“Damien”
“I know.” He cut me off gently. “I know we’re not there yet. That you’re still not sure. But Aria—this is what I want. Every day. For the rest of my life p>
“You can’t know that”
“I can.” His hand moved to cup my face. “Because I’ve lived without it and that was hell. This—even with all the uncertainty and fear and complications—this is heaven p>
“You’re very dramatic p>
“I’m very in love.” He leaned closer. “And I’m very grateful you’re giving me this chance p>
“I haven’t given you anything”
“You’re here.” His thumb stroked my cheek. “You let me pick up our son. Let me help plan his party, you let me be part of this. That’s everything p>
Noah came running back. “I’m clean! See?” He showed us his hands.
“Very clean.” I forced myself to step back from Damien. “Go set the table p>
“Can I use the special plates?” Noah asked hopefully.
“Birthday boy gets special plates every day this week,” Damien declared.
“Damien”
“What? It’s practically a law p>
Noah looked between us. “Is it really a law p>
“No.” I shot Damien a look. “But yes, you can use the special plates p>
“Yes!” Noah raced off.
“Stop spoiling him,” I told Damien.
“Can’t help it.” He grinned. “He’s got you wrapped around his finger. Both of us do p>
“That’s not”
“It absolutely is.” He moved to help with dinner. “And I love it p>
We worked in comfortable silence, moving around each other with surprising ease. He drained pasta while I plated meatballs. I poured drinks while he grabbed napkins.
Like we’d been doing this for years instead of weeks.
“This feels normal,” I said without thinking.
“It is normal.” Damien set plates on the table. “Or it could be. If you’d let it p>
“It’s not that simple”
“Mama! Daddy! Come eat!” Noah called from the dining room.
We joined him, settling into our usual spots. Noah between us, chattering about his day while we ate.
“And then Jessica said dinosaurs can’t fly but I said pterodactyls can and Miss Morgan said I was right!” He took a huge bite of meatballs. “So I was the smartest today p>
“You’re the smartest every day.” Damien ruffled his hair.
“I know.” Noah nodded seriously. “But today was special p>
I caught Damien’s eye across the table. He was smiling, his whole face soft with love as he watched our son. This was dangerous, this domesticity. This feeling of rightness. Because it made me want things I shouldn’t want. Made me hope for things I shouldn’t hope for, made me believe in impossible things.
“Mama?” Noah tugged my sleeve. “Are you listening p>
“Sorry, baby.” I focused on him. “What did you say p>
“I asked what kind of cake we’re having.” He bounced in his seat. “Can it be chocolate? With chocolate frosting? And chocolate chips p>
“That’s a lot of chocolate.” I laughed.
“It’s my birthday.” His logic was flawless.
“He’s got a point.” Damien was trying not to smile.
“Fine, chocolate, everything.” I looked at Noah. “But you’re brushing your teeth extra good after p>
After “Deal!” He held out his hand as I shook it solemnly. “Deal p>
The dining room was a mess. Spaghetti sauce had somehow ended up on Noah’s chair, a small red smear that I’d need to wipe down later. His cup had left a ring of condensation on the table. Damien’s tie hung over the back of his chair where he’d tossed it before we ate.
I stood and started gathering plates. The ceramic was still warm from the food. A meatball had rolled under Noah’s chair—I’d find that later when I vacuumed. The silverware clinked as I stacked everything.
“Let me help.” Damien was already on his feet.
We moved to the kitchen. The faucet squeaked when I turned it on. Hot water steamed up, fogging the window above the sink. I could smell dish soap as I squirted some onto the sponge. The scent was lemon.
Damien stood next to me at the sink. Close enough that I could smell his cologne—something expensive and woodsy that probably had a French name. His sleeve brushed my arm as he reached for a dish towel.
“I’ll wash, while you dry,” I said.
“Okay p>
The water was almost too hot but I didn’t adjust it. I scrubbed at the plates, watching red sauce swirl down the drain. My hands were slippery with suds. Damien took each plate as I finished, his fingers careful not to touch mine as he grabbed them.
The kitchen window showed our reflection in the dark glass. Two people standing side by side, doing dishes like any normal couple. The overhead light was too bright. I could see every detail—the way his hair fell across his forehead, the way I’d tucked mine behind my ear.
Behind us, Noah’s voice drifted from the dining room. He was singing some song from school, his voice high and slightly off-key. Something about a bus and wheels going round.
“He has a good voice,” Damien said.
“He gets that from you too.” I handed him another plate. “I can’t carry a tune to save my life p>
“I remember.” His mouth twitched. “You used to hum while you read. In the library at the mansion p>
I went still, my hands in the soapy water. “You noticed that p>
“I noticed a lot of things.” He dried the plate slowly, not looking at me. “I just pretended I didn’t p>
The water kept running. Steam rose between us as my throat felt tight.
“Mama! Daddy! Can we watch the dinosaur movie now?” Noah bounded into the kitchen, breaking whatever moment had been building.
“Sure, baby.” I pulled my hands from the water and dried them on my jeans. “Go pick a spot on the couch p>
“I call middle!” He raced off.
After dinner, we settled on the couch for movie night. Noah’s choice—some dinosaur documentary that he’d seen a hundred times but never got tired of.
He curled between us, his head on my lap, his feet on Damien’s.
“This is my favorite part,” Noah whispered as a T-Rex appeared on screen.
“Mine too,” Damien whispered back.
I stroked Noah’s hair, watching him watch the screen. His eyes were heavy, fighting sleep.
“He’s going to pass out in ten minutes,” I murmured to Damien.
“Five.” Damien’s hand rested on Noah’s ankle. “He always crashes after dinner p>
“How do you know that p>
“I’ve been paying attention.” His eyes met mine. “Learning his patterns. What makes him happy, what tires him out. Everything p>
“You’re a good father.” The admission came easier now.
“I’m trying.” His voice was thick. “Every day, I’m trying p>
Noah’s breathing evened out, he was asleep.
“Told you.” Damien smiled. “Five minutes p>
“Show-off.” But I was smiling too.
We sat there, neither of us moving, both watching Noah sleep.
“Thank you,” Damien said quietly.
“For what p>
“For letting me be here. For this.” He gestured to our sleeping son. “For giving me a chance to be his father p>
“You are his father.” I looked at him. “That was never in question p>
“But being here—being part of his daily life—that’s different.” His voice was rough. “And I know I don’t deserve it. But I’m grateful for it anyway p>
“Damien”
“I love him so much.” A tear slid down his cheek. “I didn’t know it was possible to love someone this much. To look at them and feel like your heart might explode p>
“I know.” My own eyes filled. “I’ve felt that way for three years p>
“I missed three years.” He wiped his face roughly. “Three years of bedtimes and firsts and just… being with him. I’ll never get that back p>
“No.” I reached across Noah to touch his hand. “You won’t, but you can have it every day from here forward p>
“Can I?” His eyes searched mine. “Can I really have that? Have both of you p>
“You have Noah.” I squeezed his hand. “The rest—we’ll figure it out p>
“I want to figure it out.” He turned his hand over, gripping mine. “I want to be here for every birthday, every bedtime, every ordinary Tuesday. I want it all, Aria p>
“One day at a time.” My voice was gentle. “Let’s just take it one day at a time p>
“One day at a time,” he echoed.
We sat like that, hands linked across our sleeping son, the documentary playing softly in the background.
And for a moment—just a moment—I let myself imagine this was forever. But as Noah slept peacefully between us, as Damien’s thumb stroked my knuckles, as the city lights twinkled outside—I let myself have it anyway.