Emilia went in first, but I held her hand, right behind her. Trent looked good. Happy. Fucking glowing, even. He held a tiny little thing in his hands, wrapped in a white blanket, with a light pink and baby-blue wool hat on her head. She looked so peaceful and sweet. Valenciana was lying in her bed, speaking in Portuguese with her mother who sat beside her.
“Brazilian, African American, and German,” Trent said, introducing his baby to us, and Emilia squeezed my hand.
“That’s a pretty long name. How about we use the initials and call her “Bag” for short?” I quirked a brow, and Trent laughed.
It was hard to tell, but I thought his daughter might be as good-looking as both of her parents, which was terrible news for the rest of the male population. Her skin tone was a light brown, and her eyes were grayish. Like Trent’s.
“That’s her heritage, dickbag.”
“Trent!” everybody in the room shouted in unison, and I grinned like the asshole that I was.
“Tsk-tsk,” I said, shaking my head. “So what are you going to call her?”
He handed Emilia the baby without asking her if she wanted to hold her, but by the smile that almost split her face in two, I knew she was game. She clutched the baby tight to her chest and cooed.
Then Trent looked at Valenciana, and she looked at him. Something passed between them. I knew they weren’t together. Even more than that, I knew this baby probably wasn’t an accident. Trent was one of the richest people in his Chicago zipcode, hot as fuck, and was bound to become even richer as we expanded. But none of it mattered right now, because it was clear that despite everything, they were both committed to this baby and loved her a whole fucking lot more than some married parents loved their kids.
“Luna,” they both said.
Emilia was close to fainting from happiness. She smiled and cooed some more and held Luna closer, mumbling about how it was a perfect name for a perfect girl.
Finally, it was Melody’s turn to hold the baby, and she took her from my fiancée before the latter managed to run away with her. The room was buzzing with excitement and laughter, and I kicked back, sat next to Emilia and smiled.
This was my family.
My fiancée.
The HotHoles.
And even the nameless chicks they brought with them.
“I changed my mind about babies,” Emilia said through the chatter, leaning into me. “Maybe not right now or in a few years, but down the road, I want it. I think I really want it. What do you say?”
I smirked. Emilia LeBlanc of Richmond, Virginia was asking me to put a baby in her.
Then I shrugged and leaned back into her. “Don’t worry. I won’t stop trying to impregnate you, even after you get pregnant.”
She laughed.
“Deal?” I asked.
“Deal.”