Page 119 of Sexting the Billionaire

In the bedroom, she undresses with unselfconscious grace, each motion a reminder of how completely she's transformed my life. When she catches me watching, a slow smile spreads across her face.

"See something you like?" she asks, slipping one of my t-shirts over her head.

"Everything," I say simply, the truth requiring no embellishment.

She comes to me then, her movements deliberate and unhurried. "I never expected this," she whispers afterward, curled against me in the darkness. "Any of it. You. The baby. This overwhelming happiness."

"Nor I," I admit, my hand splayed protectively over her stomach. "I had my life perfectly arranged. And then you sent that text."

She laughs softly. "Best wrong number in history."

The next morning,before the board meeting, I take her to the brownstone. We signed the final papers yesterday, making it officially ours, though we won't move in for several weeks while some updates are completed.

"Why the mystery trip?" she asks as the car pulls up outside. "We have the meeting in two hours."

"I have something to show you," I say, guiding her up the front steps. "It won't take long."

Inside, the house is empty of the previous owners' belongings, the rooms echoing slightly with potential. I lead her upstairs to what will be the nursery, adjacent to our bedroom.

"Close your eyes," I instruct, positioning her in the doorway.

"Roman—"

"Humor me," I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

When I open the door and tell her to look, her hand flies to her mouth, eyes widening.

The room is empty except for a drafting table in the center, holding detailed architectural renderings of a nursery design. I've worked on them in secret for weeks, collaborating with an interior designer friend while incorporating elements from both our childhoods.

"Oh, Roman," she breathes, moving to examine the drawings. "This is... incredible."

The design features a mural of constellations—a nod to her tattoo—and built-in bookshelves modeled after ones mygrandfather made for me. A window seat with storage beneath, a rocking chair in the corner, a crib that can convert to a toddler bed. Every detail considered, every element purposeful.

"Do you like it?" I ask, suddenly uncertain. "We can change anything?—"

"It's perfect," she interrupts, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Absolutely perfect. You incorporated the rocking chair my mother loved"

"I had it reproduced from the photos you showed me," I confirm. "And this—" I point to a small alcove with a custom shelf "—is for your mother's collection of children's books. The ones in your storage unit."

She turns to me, her expression a mixture of joy and wonder. "You remember everything, don't you?"

"About you? Yes." I reach into my pocket, my fingers closing around the small wooden box I've carried for days, waiting for the right moment. "There's one more thing."

I open the box, revealing my grandmothers sapphire pendant nestled on its cushion. It was a gift from my grandfather, retained after my maternal grandmother passed away.

"My grandfather gave me this before he died," I explain, removing it carefully. "He told me to give it to 'someone who matters more than success.'"

Understanding dawns in her eyes as I take her hand.

"I've held on to it for a long time. Holding onto it as the one of the things that connected me to him—the one person who saw me as more than my achievements." I place the pendant on her neck and ensure the clasp is fastened.

"Now I want you to have it. A piece from the best man I've ever known, passed down to the most important person in my life."

Tears spill freely down her cheeks now.

"Roman, I can't take this—it's your connection to him."

"No," I say, my voice rough with emotion. "You and this baby are my connection to him now. To the kind of man—the kind of father—he taught me to be. You two are what matter more than success. More than anything."

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