Riona’s eyes dart over to her briefcase, open in the breakfast nook, though turned at such an angle that I don’t know how Raylan managed to peek inside it.

He’s grinning at Riona, thoroughly pleased with himself. She’s not happy at all.

He hands her the gin and tonic, garnished with a twist of lime.

“Very astute,” Riona says, coldly. “But you missed one thing.”

“What’s that?” Raylan says.

“I fucking hate lime.”

Riona upends her gin over the sink, dumping it out. Then she sets down her glass with an agitated thump, and flounces out of the room.

Raylan looks over at Simone and me. He grins.

“I think she likes me,” he says.

An hour later, the littlest Griffin comes into the world. He’s small, furiously angry, and blessed with a thatch of curly dark hair very like his mother’s. When he opens his eyes, they’re as blue as Callum’s.

While Enzo, Fergus, and Imogen are meeting their grandson, I’m having a reunion of my own in the waiting room.

My father brought Henry to the hospital with him. Henry’s wearing an old Tupac t-shirt that once belonged to Nero, and his hair looks freshly washed. He runs over to Simone and hugs her like he hasn’t seen her in years.

Simone wraps her arms around our son, and I hug them both. It’s our first time together as a family. What I feel in this moment can’t be put into words. All I can say is that everything I suffered was worth it. More than worth it. I’d do it again a thousand times, just to hold Simone and Henry against my chest.

There’s no joy without pain. The greater the pain, the greater the joy. At least for me.

All three of us are crying. I’m not ashamed for my son to see it. It’s proof that I loved him all this time. Part of that hole in my heart was from him, even before I knew he existed.

After a while, Nessa Griffin pokes her head into the room, calling to us.

“Come see the baby!” she says, smiling her gentle smile.

We file into the hospital room. Aida looks sweaty and tired, but thoroughly pleased with herself.

“Look what I made!” she tells me.

I look at the infant in his bassinette, tightly swaddled in hospital linens. He’s still frowning, though he’s been subdued for the moment.

“What’s his name?” I ask Aida.

“We still haven’t agreed on one,” Callum says. He looks exasperated, but too happy about the baby to actually be mad.

“Nothing felt right,” Aida says, serenely. She’s not worried. Much like Long Shot, my sister always believes things will turn out in the end.

“What about Matteo?” my father says, suggesting a family name.

“Or Cian,” Fergus says, probably doing the same.

“I like Miles,” Henry says, quietly.

Aida perks up. “Miles Griffin?” She considers for a minute. “I like that.”

“And you’re alright with Griffin as the last name?” Callum says, willing to accede to any first name, as long as he gets the last one.

“It sounds good together,” Aida agrees.

Henry flushes with pleasure. He touches the baby gently on the cheek.

I put my arm around Simone, resting my chin on the top of her head.

Aida smiles at us. She looks almost as pleased to see us here together as she is to have successfully brought her son into the world.

“Good to have you back, Simone,” she says.

47

Simone

It’s springtime again. A little too early in the spring to be sitting out in the park, but I’m always hot now, so it doesn’t matter.

Dante and Henry are keeping warm on the basketball court. Dante’s showing Henry how to shield the ball with his body as he drives to the hoop. Henry tries to imitate his father, failing twice, before he successfully makes it past and shoots his shot. The ball spins around the rim, then falls in.

“Nice!” Dante shouts, clapping Henry on the back.

As if in response, I feel the baby turn over inside of me, her little feet now pressed firmly against my side. She kicks her heels, sending ripples across my belly. I press my hand on the other side of my flesh, feeling her feet tap against my palm.

I got pregnant that day at the motel, just like I knew I would.

Dante swept me up in his arms when I told him, with a new gentleness. Even though I hadn’t started to show yet, he lifted my shirt and kissed my stomach a hundred times.

He’s come to every doctor’s appointment with me. Every midnight run for orange juice and a particular kind of Parmesan cheese I’ve been craving.

I’m flushed with energy. I’ve been filled with a mad creative spirit, stronger than any I’ve felt before. I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy, or being with Dante, but ideas flow through my brain all day long. I’ve filled sketchbook after sketchbook with designs.

After the baby is born, I’m going to start my own fashion line. Dante’s already helping me find a warehouse where we can manufacture the clothing right in Chicago.

He goes with me to pick out textiles, asking me what I love about each one. Asking me to teach him why particular colors and shades pair well together.

“I like seeing them through your eyes,” he tells me.

I carry my daughter along as a silent passenger on this journey. Someday soon I’ll show her all these things, like I show them to Dante and Henry. She’ll join us, and our little family will be complete.

My feelings about this pregnancy could not be more different than the last time. There’s no fear or worry. Just a deep sense of anticipation.

But my feelings for the baby are just the same as for Henry—I love her already. With all of my heart.

“I hope she’s exactly like you,” Dante says.

I hope she’s better than me—prettier, smarter, kinder. But most of all I hope she finds her perfect match someday. I hope he tumbles into her life like Dante did into mine.

Because I know better than anyone that no amount of beauty or brains, or fame and success, can make up for a hole in your heart.

That hole is healed now. My heart is full. Full to overflowing.

I never knew there was so much happiness in the world.

Raylan returns for Riona in Broken Vow!

Enjoy a sneak peek right now! →

Riona Griffin

I’m sitting in my corner office, working on land purchase documents for the South Shore Development. People think that being a lawyer is all about arguing, but in fact you only spend a tiny percentage of your time in court, or in settlement negotiations. The vast majority of my hours pass by right here in this room, writing, reading, or editing.

I don’t mind being alone in here. It’s my sanctuary. I have control over everything inside these doors. I have my desk set up just the way I like it, facing the two-sided view of the Marina City Towers, Michigan Ave, and the Chicago River spread out below me.

Everything in my office is pewter, brass, cream, and blue — shades I find soothing.

I’ve got three watercolors by Shoutian Xue on the walls, and a sculpture by Jean Fourier in the corner. It’s his piece called Building Blocks, which is supposed to represent the interior of an atom. To me, it looks more like a model of a solar system.