Page 223 of Bride By Coronation

I bounce our baby boy, Zavier, on my lap and point, murmuring, "Look, there's Mommy."

Fiona's off to the side in the corner of the stage. Her face lights up, and she waves at Zavier.

"Gah, gah, ma," he babbles.

I pin my forearm against him, bouncing my leg, loving every second I spend with our nine-month-old.

Fiona wanted to name him after me, but I wasn't overly thrilled with the idea. One day she'd declared, "Zavier means new beginnings."

"Zavier," I'd mumbled, liking how strong it sounded.

She'd beamed. "Zavier Kirill Petrov. That's perfect!"

I'd caved, and didn't argue about my name being his middle name.

The music changes, the lights darken, and flashes of gold ignite.

More excitement fills me. I whisper, "Here are Mommy's designs."

Fiona's worked so hard for this moment. She created her line while pregnant and kept moving forward even after she had Zavier.

Several models wear her clothes, strutting down the runway.

The crowd erupts in cheers.

I rise with Zavier, cheering with others.

A horrified Fiona points at me, mouthing,"Sit down."

I can't. I'm too proud of her.

She puts her hand over her face, laughing and shaking her head.

Skylar glances over at me and then rises along with Adrian, Blue, and the rest of their family. I look to my other side. Bridget and Dante, Sean and Zara, and Valentina and Brax also stand, cheering. I look behind me, happy to see that not one person is sitting, making me giddier.

Fiona's models continue to swagger down the runway, and it's over not long after it started. The lights change, and the next designer's models get ready to strut.

Everyone sits, but I move through the crowd, entering the backstage area. I shout, "There's Mommy."

Fiona turns, excited. "That was good, right?"

"You knocked it out of the park," I assure her, then kiss her.

She beams at me and then leans close to Zavier's face, cooing, "Hey, sweetie. What did you think?"

He tilts his head. "Gah."

She laughs and then reaches for him, holding him to her chest. He buries his face in the curve of her neck, settling in, and my heart squeezes, filling with more love.

I put my arm around her and kiss the top of her head, praising, "I'm so proud of you."

She grins and teases, "Well, you made me do it."

"I didn't make you do anything," I claim.

"Don't you think you had a little bit of influence?"

"Nope. It was all you," I say.

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