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I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this nervous around Carlo.
It was silly.
I’d been sleeping beside him for months. He’d watched me recover—right from day one. And through it all, nothing had scared him off.
Not sore, leaky breasts. Or having to wear actual mommy diapers.
Carlo hadn’t so much as blinked at any of it.
Instead, he’d given me everything I needed. Even when that meant cold packs at three in the morning. Or heating pads at four.
Through it all—he’d stayed by my side. Even when I’d told him to leave. Even when I really didn’t want him around.
He stayed.
He looked after me.
And he looked after Dani.
And Marcello.
Not once had he complained that it was too much.
That he was tired.
Not once had he slept through a feeding.
No.
If the baby so much as made a peep, Carlo was up and out of bed before I even knew what was happening.
Then he’d quietly change Marcello and bring him over to me to feed.
He’d ask me if I needed anything, and then he’d lay there—watching us.
Most of the time, I fell back to sleep again, the baby at my breast, Carlo’s loving eyes on us.
And his big, fierce, protective body beside us.
I felt safe with him here.
Not once in three months, had I thanked him for taking such wonderful care of us.
But tonight, I’d show him how thankful I was for everything he’d done.
I walked out of the bathroom, my entire body a bundle of nerves. If Carlo had changed his mind, and he didn’t want to have sex with a woman whose breasts still leaked whenever they felt like it, or whose stomach was anything but flat—I wouldn’t blame him.
But I’d be devastated.
I wanted this.
I wanted Carlo.
I wanted us.
When I took one step into the bedroom, I smiled.
Carlo had candles all around the room and soft, romantic music playing in the background.
