Page 240 of My Husband’s New Fiancée

A brief silence.

“I’m coming.”

He’s there less than three minutes later. The moment he crosses the doorway, his eyes sweep over me quickly.

Then his shoulders relax.

“Tell me.”

I smile at him.

“I stabilized the formula.”

*

The next day, we’re supposed to paint the nursery.

Of course, it would be easier to hire someone to do it—and they’d probably do it better than we would.

Dante had insisted on doing it himself. He was convinced our baby would feel all the love poured into that room.

And when he gets an idea into his head, he never lets it go.

After long debates over colors, we finally chose a soft, luminous green. Dante then spent hours selecting the perfect paint—completely non-toxic for the baby.

We’re now standing in the room itself, Dante dressed in work clothes while I sit in an armchair beside a small table under strict orders not to touch a single paintbrush.

He sets down a mug of herbal tea, fruit, and pastries on the table.

In other words, I’m fully equipped to survive a siege.

I pick up my mug.

Then the show begins.

He opens the paint can, pours some into the tray, dips the roller in, and starts painting.

Focused on what he was doing, he looked ridiculously handsome—and me?

I shamelessly ogled him.

From where I’m sitting, the view of his ass in those jeans is absolutely perfect. And don’t even get me started on the muscles flexing under that shirt.

Discreetly, I pull out my phone and start filming him.

“I know exactly what you’re doing,” he says without turning around.

“What? No. Absolutely not.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Valeria.”

I don’t answer. I just quietly laugh to myself before sending the video into the group chat titled: Baby on Board.

Almost immediately, messages start flooding in.

AMELIA: I can’t believe this. How did you pull that off? He never wanted to paint anything in our house.

BERNADETTE: Send him over afterward. My living room needs repainting.