“OH MY GOD, she’s so precious,” I croon, completely enraptured with my new niece’s little face.
Her mother is holding baby Iris, who is wrapped in a soft blanket of the palest pink, her eyes wide open and staring into mine. I touch her cheek with my finger, amazed at how soft it is, yanking my hand away when she squirms and makes a fussing noise.
“Did I upset her?” My gaze flies to Summer’s, who offers me a kind smile.
“No, she’s just cranky like her daddy.”
“Hey, watch it,” Whit says mildly. He’s planted right by Summer’s side, his arm around her shoulders, his gaze fixed on his daughter. He looks amazed. Like he can’t believe he made that and I have to admit …
I can’t believe he made sweet baby Iris either. And her big brother August. They are the most adorable children on the planet.
I am, of course, biased because they’re my niece and nephew, but I think everyone can admit that Whit and Summer produce beautiful children.
West and I came to visit them a week after Iris was born. Whit called me and invited us to see her and, of course, I said yes. While they’ve been sending lots of photos in the group text chat we have, seeing Iris in the flesh is such a better experience.
“Do you want to hold her?” Summer asks me.
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“Just do it,” Whit interrupts, glaring at me. “Don’t be scared.”
I swallow the lump of fear in my throat and nod once. “Okay.”
I settle more comfortably on the couch next to Summer, holding out my arms like she instructs before she carefully settles the bundle into them. I hold Iris awkwardly, staring down at her with awe. She doesn’t move. Her face is smooth, her eyes now closed, her little rosebud lips pursed.
She is absolutely beautiful.
“Aw, I love her.” My body slowly relaxes as I continue holding her, and I bring her closer, leaning down to press my lips to her soft black hair. I breathe in her sweet baby scent, pulling away slightly when her eyes flash open, locking with mine.
I know a baby’s vision isn’t the best when they’re born. But I feel like this child is looking deep into my soul, and she understands it. Understands me.
Then she screws up her face and begins to cry.
“Oh no, I’m so sorry. Shh.” I start to bounce her like some sort of natural instinct and she stops crying immediately, little whimpers still leaving her, her butt wiggling beneath my palm. A loud noise sounds from her diaper and I jerk my head up, panicked.
Whit and Summer start to laugh.
“She’s very gassy,” Summer says.
“The girl puts up a nasty stink,” Whit adds.
“Here.” Summer holds out her arms and I give her back her daughter. “I’ll go change her.”
She leaves the living room so it’s just me, Whit and West. My brother leans back against the couch, spreading his arms out, contemplating me before his gaze shifts to West.
“You two are serious, huh?”
My stomach clenches. “Define serious.”
At the same time West offers a simple, “Yes.”
Whit sends me a look. “You’re basically living together. I call that serious.”
“Do you disapprove?”
“Not at all. Whatever makes you happy. Just watching out for you.” He sends a skeptical look West’s way. “Congratulations on the sale of Fontaine, by the way.”
“Thank you.” West nods.
“What are your plans now?” Whit’s gaze shifts to mine.
“I’m going back to London soon.”
“To dance?” Whit’s eyebrows shoot up.
“To retire,” I amend. “I’m done dancing.”
“Wait a minute. Are you serious? You love dance. That’s all you’ve done the majority of your life. Why give it up now?”
“That’s what I told her,” West says.
“Was the injury more serious than you let on? Is that why you’re quitting?” Whit asks me.
“No, not at all. I just … I love dance, but I will never be a prima ballerina. Not like I want to. And while I don’t regret all the years I dedicated to dance and ballet, I think it’s time for me to hang up my toe shoes, so to speak.” I shrug, not knowing how else to explain it.
I will miss dancing. It’s been a part of my life for so long, it’s going to be difficult giving it up completely. Though maybe after a couple of months, I will want to go somewhere and dance again; for now, I need to take some time for myself and figure out what I want to do next. I’m only twenty. I have my entire life ahead of me.
Perhaps West and I can travel the world. I truly believed that would happen with the internationally acclaimed dance troupe I joined someday, but that’s not going to happen for me. So, I’m going to make my own plans.
Do my own thing.
“You’re going to have a lot of free time then,” Whit observes.
“Well, I think West and I are going to travel for a bit.” West smiles at me, nodding his confirmation that, that is definitely our plan.
“And after you get tired of traveling?”
“We’ll see what happens next.” I shrug, actually enjoying that there’s nothing on the horizon for me. I used to be so rigid. I needed a plan for everything. I had to know what was going to happen at least five to seven steps ahead.
Now? I’m throwing caution to the wind and seeing where I land. And it’s the most liberating feeling.
“How about you come work for me?” Whit’s expression doesn’t change a bit. He sounds and looks like he could be talking about the weather.
“Work for you? Doing what?” I laugh.
Whit’s face is dead serious. He doesn’t say a word. In fact, I think I offended him by laughing.
I clamp my lips shut, resting my hands in my lap. “Come on, Whit. What are you talking about?”
“I’m starting a nonprofit. For kids who were … abused.”
His words sink in slowly, leaving me silent for a moment as I absorb exactly what he’s saying. “What do you mean?”
“It’s still in the works. Sylvie wants to help. It’s going to take a while to build, but I’ve been talking to people and we want to do something to help out children.” Whit glances down at the baby blanket that was left behind and he smooths his fingers over it. “I have my own now. I can’t imagine anyone—and I mean anyone—wanting to hurt their own children to benefit themselves.”
His words sink in, letting me know who he’s referring to.
Our own mother.
Sylvie and I have been talking a lot. She’s told me some things that made me uncomfortable, but that I needed to hear. Mother was definitely abusive toward her. Both mentally and physically, and I don’t think Sylvie is over it. She’s in therapy. She has Spencer. She will be okay.
“I want to help too,” I tell Whit, and he smiles at me, the relief on his face obvious.
“I was hoping you’d say that. You two have about a year. Maybe eighteen months. And then I’ll need you.” Whit glares at West. “So don’t go and move out of the country or anything like that.”
“I’m not the one who wants to live outside the US. That’s on her.” West points at me and I start laughing again, unable to hold back. They both join me and I realize that we’re all going to be okay.
Despite everything.
I say exactly that to West when we drive back to our place.
“We’re going to be okay, you know,” I tell him, resting my hand on his thigh. The very hand with the ring that he gave me on my middle finger.
“I know.” His hand drops from the steering wheel to cover mine briefly. “I’m glad you feel that way. I know it’s been a tough few weeks on you.”
“A tough month,” I say in agreement. “I need to go back to London.”
“When?”
“Soon. I already called my landlord. He’s looking into leasing out my flat, but I need to get my stuff out of there. Plus, I have things at the studio. At the theatre.”
“Let’s plan to go over there soon and pick up your things,” he suggests.
“I’m sure my father would let me use the plane.” We have a private jet because, of course, we do. “I’ll need it to load up all of my things.”
“What are you saying? That you’re going to bring furniture back?”
“No, not at all.” I grip his thigh, giving it a squeeze. “I just have a lot of clothes and things. You know, stuff.”
“Stuff.” He shakes his head. “You could probably leave it all and not miss it.”
“That’s not true.” I think of my pointe shoes. My favorite leotards and sports bras and I can’t just leave that stuff behind. It all belongs to me. “I want it.”
He grabs my hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing the back of it before he places it back in my lap. “Then we’ll go get it.”
I love how he just assumes I want him to go with me—which I do.
“After that, what should we do?”
He stops at a light, glancing over at me. “What do you want to do?”
“I’ve always wanted to go to Australia.” A dreamy sigh escapes me as I stare off into the distance.
“You’ve never been?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“We should go.”
“You’re right.” I smile over at him. “We should.”
“Let’s plan the trip when we get home.”
Excitement floods my veins. “Are you serious?”
“Definitely. We’ve got the time and the money.” He grins, hitting the gas as soon as the light turns green, the wheels squealing. “We can do whatever you want. As long as I’m always with you.”
“I don’t want to do this without you,” I admit.
“Do what?”
“Life. I need you by my side. In my heart.” I stare at his handsome profile, exhaling softly. “On my skin.”
His grin is adorable. “You’re stuck with the tattoo.”
“Not that I regret it.”
“I don’t regret mine either.”
I wish I could grab his arm and kiss the very tattoo I drew on him, but I can’t since he’s driving, so I restrain myself. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Are we really going to do this?” I laugh, turning to stare out the window as we speed past the tall buildings. The city is nothing but a blur of light, and the night air is still warm. The sky as clear as my heart.
I’ve never felt lighter.
“Fuck yeah, we are.” He jerks the BMW to the right, pulling up to the empty curb and putting the car in park, the engine rumbling. Leaning over the console, he reaches for me, cupping my face, forcing me to look into his eyes, his thumbs streaking across my cheeks. “We’re in this together, Carolina. You’re stuck with me.”
“There’s no one else I’d rather be stuck with,” I admit, just before he kisses me.
No one else.
Just him.
