“You don’t think I’m only here now because I’m pregnant?”
“I don’t care why. Just that you’re here, with me.”
“That sounds like an unhealthy mindset.”
A half-smile pulled on his lips. “You have no idea.”
I rose to my tiptoes and kissed him. Heat burst in my chest, sinking into my blood. He held my face and kissed me back. Soft and slow yet deep enough it touched my heart.
I breathed against his lips, “Tell me you love me again.”
“I love you, malyshka.”
“I love you, too, you know?”
He stilled, and then a rough sound rumbled in his chest. He lifted me so my eyes were level with his, brushed his lips across mine, and said in a deep, almost apologetic rasp, “I’m never letting you go now.”
I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten here. How the next few years would play out, let alone days. Or the problems we might face. But one thing was for sure. As I walked down the street, with a bag of bread and a hoard of vitamins, holding the hand of one of the most morally questionable men in the city . . .
I knew I loved him.
One Year Later
TAP, TAP, TAP.
The ticking of the clock and thick curiosity filled the silence as Sasha Taylor eyed the motion of my finger on the armrest.
“I didn’t think I’d see you in my office again.”
“Why?”
“People go to a therapist—which I’m not, by the way—to seek advice, or to talk about themselves and their problems. You don’t like to do either.”
My gaze dropped to the US quarter I rolled between my thumb and pointer finger. “Do you believe in fate, Sasha?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
She tilted her head. “I’m not a religious person, but I’m also not naive enough to believe everything can be explained without some form of supernatural intervention.”
“I always thought if I believed in fate, I couldn’t believe in choice.” My voice was thoughtful, as I turned the quarter to let a ray of sunlight shimmer across it. The year was 1955, and the silver was dull and cloudy. Twenty-nine years ago, when I’d stolen it from someone’s pocket, it held an optimistic shine. That shine had brought me here, to the United States, to my wife and daughter.
Sasha’s gaze caressed the coin in my hand and then slid to the ring on my finger. “You’ve been married how long now?”
“A year.”
To be exact, three-hundred-and-eighty-five days. I’d proposed to Gianna again with a ring, a bended knee, and even a nice dinner. She hadn’t wanted another wedding, so we’d gotten married at the courthouse. I had the date tattooed on my ribs right next to Andromeda.
“And your daughter? Katherine, isn’t it?”
A smile touched my lips. “We call her Kat. She’s five months now.”
To be exact, one-hundred-and-forty-eight days.
“And how has it been, adjusting to a newborn?”
“Kat’s colicky—doesn’t sleep very well.” Just like me. When she woke up multiple times each night, I got up with her, sometimes fed her a bottle Gianna had pumped beforehand, and held her until she fell back to sleep. Gianna had insisted she do it all at first, but I’d quickly ended that. “She looks like my wife.” That was the only thing I needed to see to know she was mine.
My chest grew full as I thought of them. I checked on them when they were out. Knew where they were every minute of the day. My fleeting conscience told me it was morally questionable, but we all did sketchy shit just to gain some peace.
“And how is she adjusting to the baby?”
Yesterday, I’d arrived home to find Gianna teaching an attentive-eyed Kat how to make carbonara. She was a more caring and devoted mother than I’d ever witnessed before. She’d read book after book about how to take care of Kat during her pregnancy. Now, she was on to some ridiculously-optimistic-colored novel about how to be the best parent you could be.
There wasn’t much I liked to do more than watch them together.
I didn’t deserve them.
But in the end, that was a moot point—just as Sasha had once said.
“Does that coin mean something to you?”
I drew my gaze up to her, a flicker of amusement passing through me. Getting to my feet, I set the quarter on the table between us. The clink of silver on hardwood was subtle, but the finality of it rang like a church bell.
Her words stopped me with one hand on the doorknob.
“You said believed in fate, as in, you are a believer now.” Her voice touched my back with inquisitive fingers. “What made you change your mind?”
The thought of Gianna and Kat never existing without me in the picture wasn’t possible. They were a static pair. I’d merely reached into the right pocket at the right time and made them mine.
“I stole someone else’s fate, Sasha.” I twisted the knob and opened the door. “And I’m not going to give it back.”
She raised a brow. “And if someone comes looking for it?”
A smile pulled on the corner of my lips. “Let them come.”
And then I shut the door behind me.
I wrote this book throughout a few pivotal and difficult times in my life, and I have many people to thank for helping me complete it.
To my husband, who survived on macaroni & cheese for a month while I worked toward my deadline and who has unfailingly supported me in every way.
To my family, whose messages of encouragement came when I needed it most.
To my friend and fellow author T.L. Martin, whose help and critique have become invaluable.
To my editor Bryony. Your insight has made this novel one-hundred times better.
To Sarah at Okay Creations for the beautiful cover, and Stacey Ryan Blake for the formatting.
And to the bloggers/reviewers who have gone above and beyond to spread the word about this book. I am eternally grateful.
Love,
Danielle xo
Sign up for my newsletter to receive information on upcoming releases and sales.
Like my author page on Facebook.
Follow me on Instagram for pictures of my dinner.
Follow me on Amazon.
And don’t forget Twitter.
www.authordaniellelori.com
[email protected]
The MADE Series
The Sweetest Oblivion
The Maddest Obsession
The Alyria Series
A Girl Named Calamity
A Girl in Black and White
A Girl with a Tragic Ever After (Coming Soon)
The Maddest Obsession (Made Book 2) Page 31
