Epilogue

Reed Diamante

DECEMBER, THE FOLLOWING YEAR

Petra’s laugh echoes through the kitchen as she, Amanda, and Livi hover around the stove. They get along as if they’ve been best friends since kindergarten. Whenever Amanda flies out, it warms my heart to see them all together. I smile at Petra over the mass of people crammed into our home.

This house was meant to be overstuffed, and the joy of having both our families here for Christmas makes up for the lack of space. It’s odd to have everyone together, since I see Pet’s family more consistently than my own, but we settle into old connections like they’ve never been broken. That’s what it was like with Pet, the day we met. As if we’d been connected all along and simply forgot.

Our place on Rosewood Court is nearly unrecognizable. Holy water, fresh paint, new furniture, new memories—all of it made this house our home. The illustrations from Petra’s book are a point of pride from where they hang in the living room.

My eyes catch hers, and she gives me a slow, secret smile. My fingers tap restlessly against my glass, searching for an outlet for all my anxious energy. The reality is, there’s no outlet until Petra says there is. We came into the night with two plans, but ultimately it’s her call, and I’ll follow her lead .

I make the rounds, laughing with Mom, hugging Anita, stealing Hailey from Darin to swing her around until she laughs. She runs to Janie, and they tear through the house, shrieking with laughter. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Darling Petra,” I greet as I sidle up to her and wrap an arm around her waist. She’s soft and warm, and her brown and green eyes swallow me whole. She blooms more vibrantly each day, especially now. I trace the length of her spine, and heat ignites in her gaze. I wish I had time to pull her into our room for a few minutes. From her expression, she does, too. She’s been insatiable lately, and I’m more than happy to climb aboard that ship.

“How are you doing?” I ask, pushing my need for her aside. “Should you take a break? I can finish dinner.”

Petra kisses me with red, smiling lips. “I love you, but no. You’re a terrible cook, amato , and I’m doing great. You can start putting the sides on the table, but this one needs a few more minutes.”

“Alright. Tell me if you need to sit.” I settle in close to get both arms around her waist, and give her a comforting squeeze. Petra smells like oranges and hot cross buns where I kiss her neck. Her top is loose and flowing, and I use the coverage to sneak my hand under. I stroke two of my favorite marks and trace a heart around them. “Wish we were at your parents’ house so I could secret you away for ten minutes, love.”

“ Spavaldo, ” she chides, a blush spreading across her beautiful cheeks. It sparks an idea that has me itching to set up the microphone for us tomorrow. I laugh, placing a kiss below her ear before I pull back. I rope Tommy and Grant into helping me, and we fill the tables—multiple, to fit us all—with food, while people find their chairs.

Mom smiles at me from the counter, where she pours a diet soda into a glass. “Petra looks especially lovely tonight,” she notes.

I struggle against the giant grin begging to be released. “She does, doesn’t she?”

Mom grins as she pulls me in and squeezes me tight. “Oh, I knew it! I love you both so much!”

“Not a word,” I plead as I let her go. She nods, but she’s still smiling too widely as she walks away.

I tug Holly toward the stove with a raised brow. “Is it just me, or am I seeing sparks between you and Tommy?”

Holly laughs, and it’s good to see her face bright and carefree again. I wouldn’t have had the courage to reach out to her without Petra’s influence—one of the million things I love about my wife. “He’s a player, that Diamante. Grant, though…” Holly sends me a wink. “You could’ve introduced us years ago.”

Sure enough, Grant is watching her. I smile as I top off her wine. “He couldn’t have handled you back then. Be gentle with him. He’s still my brother.”

“I make no promises. Maybe we could both ‘accidentally’ stay at your house in San Diego on the same weekend,” she suggests with a wink. Holly sashays toward Silla, but Grant intercepts her first.

Petra giggles from behind me as she hands me the last dish. When I turn to her, she’s glowing. I want her this happy every day for the rest of our lives. “Matchmaking, Reed?”

I chuckle. “Blame your family’s influence. All those nosy Diamantes.”

“Hey,” she protests. “You’re a Diamante too!”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I tip her chin up for a soft kiss that sweeps through me in waves of gentle warmth. I lead her to the table where she sits gracefully next to me, and search her face for a signal.

Which toast are we about to give? We’ve rehearsed both.

“Papa brought the expensive wine,” Livi says. She reaches between us to set two glasses down. “Try this one. A vintage ‘78. It’s delicious.”

“Thanks, Livi,” Petra says, meticulously unfolding her napkin to place it on her lap.

Livi raises her brows expectantly. “Aren’t you going to try it?”

Petra’s gaze slides over to mine—a silent plea for help. “Not right now, Liv, but thanks. ”

Anita’s eyes spark with recognition across the table. “ Aspetta! ” she shouts. “Are you pregnant?”

Everyone quiets, eyes on Petra, who folds over, giggling, and buries her face in my shoulder. In these moments, she’s still the blushing girl from the grocery store. The girl who dissolved into laughter behind the register, and in her parents’ kitchen before Sunday dinner, and in a hotel bathtub.

“I guess it’s no longer a secret,” she admits, breathless. I’m smiling ear to ear as I pull Petra’s chair closer and cradle her against me. Her and our little one, nearly five months along—healthy and perfect at the last checkup. I love seeing her this way, happy with our choice to try for a baby.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Livi exclaims, anger and happiness both lighting up her eyes. She gently kisses Petra’s cheek before turning to squeeze anyone within reach. There are loud squeals, congratulations, and questions. The reactions of our family are comical, but they fill our home with love and support. The kids are yelling, glasses clink around the table, Anita is crying, and Petra is still shaking with laughter.

To anyone else, our kitchen is a cacophony of noise. Our family is a flock of birds, all screeching in different patterns and rhythms until it builds to a deafening circus. It’s perfect in its imperfections. I hold Petra close as I pull out my phone, set it on the table, and hit record.

“ Ti amo, il mio raggio di sole, ” I whisper, kissing her hair.

“I love you too, Reed.” Her doe eyes catch mine, glistening, the way they always do when I manage some Italian for her. Her love lives in the corners of her mouth, in the wrinkles of her eyes, and the blush in her cheeks.

She trusted me to support her through a leap of faith, and months of uncertainty, to a new dawn. I tilt her chin up for a quick, soft kiss. Her joy spreads through me, and warmth floods my chest. Though it’s the middle of winter, her love still shines brighter than a summer afternoon.