Page 186 of Made in Love and Blood

“See,” he said, “he’s dancing.”

She laughed. “Or playing soccer.”

“It could be both.”

The song ended, changing to something he wouldn’t personally dance to. Frankie lowered the volume coming through the Bluetooth using her phone as Nico lifted the first layer of flowy tulle to get better access to her stomach. One couldn’t see how she’d grown with their child under the red gown made up of layers that fell wider and wider from her upper waist, straight down to the floor.

A beautiful distraction.

The lowcut chest, and exposed shoulders where loose sleeves fell over her glowing skin only added to the spectacle of youth and beauty. A black cherry smoky eye look, and deep red lip framed her delicate features. He’d been surprised to find her walking down the stairs earlier in very short heels, less than an inch high, and no jewelry except for the engagement ring that no one ever asked her to take off.

Tonight was the night. Everybody would know...well, about the engagement, anyway. The baby had to wait.

Nico pressed a kiss to the top of her belly.

Baby boy hadn’t turned yet, so that was his head. As far as Nico knew, thanks to an ultrasound two weeks earlier that also confirmed the gender they both suspected.

“We’ll get back to that later, little man,” he told her stomach.

Frankie stared down at him. “I still like Nicky.”

“No.”

“Come on, wouldn’t it be so sweet to retake that name for yourself? How could you not love it when it’s your son’s? Your first son?”

Nico sighed, rubbing the side of his face against his baby. “And then he always gets to be Little Nicky for the rest of his life? No way. He’s not carrying that on. He gets to be whoever he wants to be.”

She used the tip of a pointed fingernail to stroke along the edge of his face. “What’s the one you like again?”

“Like you don’t remember.”

She grinned. “I just like hearing you say it.”

“Damiano.”

It rolled off his tongue smoothly.

Dah-me-awn-oh.

“That’s what I’ve been calling him when you sleep.”

Her hand swatted at him playfully at the confession. “Nico!”

He just grinned up at her all over again.

“Damiano Nicky Russo.”

Frankie let out a soft sigh. “Okay.”

Her fingers found his hair to tangle in and scratch gently at his scalp. That helped the tension crawling over his shoulders and settling deep into his gut.

“You’re not worried for tonight, are you?”

“Completely.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” he said, standing then. Keeping one hand on his child, he used the other to catch her chin between his pointer finger and thumb. Tipping his head down, he caught her painted lips in a kiss and then let her wipe whatever red it left behind on his away with her thumb. He caught her hand and kissed her fresh, red manicure, too. “Better?”