He Almost Said It

Cassandra woke with Dante's hand still resting on her stomach.

The baby had been active all night—tiny flutters, gentle kicks, a constant reminder of the life growing inside her. She'd barely slept, but she didn't mind. Every movement was a miracle. Every kick was a promise.

She lay still, watching Dante sleep. His face was peaceful, relaxed. The lines around his eyes had softened. His lips were curved into a small smile, like he was dreaming of something good.

She thought about how far they'd come.

From enemies to reluctant allies. From allies to lovers. From lovers to... this. Parents. Partners. Two people building a life together.

She reached out, her fingers tracing his jaw. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open.

"Good morning," she whispered.

"Good morning." His voice was rough with sleep. He pulled her closer, his hand finding her stomach. "Did the baby keep you up?"

"All night."

He smiled. "Good. That means he's strong."

"She."

He laughed. "Or she."

---

At breakfast, Dante watched her across the table.

She was glowing—her skin brighter, her eyes softer. She moved differently now, more carefully, more deliberately. Her hand rested on her stomach constantly, a protective gesture that made his heart ache.

He opened his mouth to speak.

I want to marry you.

He closed it.

She looked up. "What?"

"Nothing." He shook his head, reaching for his coffee. "Just... nothing."

She studied him for a moment. She saw it in his eyes—the words he almost said. But she didn't push. She just smiled and went back to her breakfast.

---

They spent the day preparing for the baby.

The nursery was almost finished. The walls were painted a soft cream. The crib was assembled—white wood, delicate, perfect. The shelves were lined with tiny books and stuffed animals. The rocking chair sat in the corner, waiting.

Cassandra stood in the doorway, her hand on her stomach. She looked at the blanket draped over the chair—the pink one with Grace's name embroidered in delicate script.

"I feel her," she said quietly.

Dante appeared behind her. "Your mother?"

"Yes. She's here. I can feel her."

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest. "She's watching over you. Both of you."

---

That evening, they sat on the porch, watching the sunset.

The sky was painted in shades of gold and pink. The air was warm. The world was quiet—no sirens, no gunshots, no screams. Just the sound of birds and the distant hum of crickets.

Cassandra leaned into Dante. Her head rested on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her waist.

"I had a dream last night," she said.

"What about?"

"My mother. She was in a field of wildflowers. She was smiling." Cassandra paused. "She told me to live. To be happy."

Dante kissed her hair. "That's all she ever wanted for you."

"I know." Cassandra looked up at him. "I'm glad. I'm glad I found peace."

"So am I."

Dante looked at her.

The words were there—on the tip of his tongue. I want to marry you. For real. Not a fake engagement. Not a strategy. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to raise our child together. I want to grow old with you.

But he didn't say it.

Not yet.

The moment wasn't right. The ring wasn't ready. The words weren't perfect.

He'd wait. He'd find the right moment. He'd give her the proposal she deserved.

---

That night, Cassandra couldn't sleep.

She wandered into Dante's study, looking for a book. She opened a drawer—searching for a pen—and found something else.

A small box.

Velvet. Dark blue.

She didn't open it. She didn't need to.

She knew what it was.

She smiled, her heart swelling. She closed the drawer gently, careful not to disturb anything. Then she walked back to the bedroom and climbed into bed beside Dante.

He stirred. "Where did you go?"

"Just looking for a book."

He pulled her close. "Did you find one?"

"No." She pressed a kiss to his chest. "But I found something better."