Page 66 of His Gift
He grinned at me, and I could feel his lust through our bond as well as his affection. “Would it be too cheesy to say that you’re the best Christmas gift anyone has ever given me?”
I laughed. “Yes, that’s definitely cheesy,” I answered. “But considering the fact that I’m now a hundred percent certain that Caden Kuhl and Hamish Farrow set us up for the auction event, it might just be accurate.”
“Remind me to send them the biggest basket of Christmas pears and chocolate ever,” Shawn said.
“They’d probably prefer a basket filled with ropes, fetish-wear, and ball gags,” I snorted.
Shawn laughed. “They probably would get a kick out of that.”
I would have said more, but we were interrupted by one of the photographers covering the event, who said, “Could we haveall of the Wythe family members over by the Christmas tree for a portrait?”
“Go on,” I said, stepping away from Shawn and nudging him. “Your family needs you.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked. “You’re part of the family, too.”
My eyebrows jumped up, but I guessed he was right. He had just proposed to me, after all, and I’d said yes.
We headed to the Christmas tree, where Mr. and Mr. Wythe were already waiting. They weren’t just standing there like it was their job, though. Anthony stood up against Tristan with his arm around Tristan’s back, and Tristan had a protective arm around his husband’s shoulders. They invited us in, and Mr. Wythe clapped a hand on Shawn’s shoulder, like he was proud of him.
“Are you sure you want me to be in this picture?” Walt asked as he waddled toward us, accompanied by Dr. Brendan, I noticed.
“Yes, of course,” Anthony answered. “Come and stand next to me.”
“I can hold a present or something, if you don’t want it to be obvious that I’m, you know, carrying a bastard child,” Walt said, a hint of his old sourness in his voice.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mr. Wythe said. “Your child isn’t a bastard, it’s a Wythe.”
Walt nearly tripped as he shifted into place. “Really?” he asked, sending his dad the most hopeful look I’d yet seen from him.
“Of course, son,” Mr. Wythe said, his smile loving, but also apologetic and a little sad. “I was wrong to ever think otherwise.”
“Thanks,” Walt said, his eyes going glassy and his lower lip wobbling.
“You look great,” the photographer said, gesturing for us all to stand a little closer together. “Now say ‘candy canes’.”
“I will not,” Anthony muttered, as if that was deeply beneath him.
That made me laugh, though, which made Shawn smile, and everyone else, too. The camera clicked a few times, and even though I wouldn’t see the pictures until later, I was a hundred percent certain the portrait that had just been taken of us all was a hundred times better than the one on the cover of the orientation materials at Wythe Industries. They were a family now, and soon they would be growing. I could already feel the love that I was now a part of, too, softening and expanding. And that was what Christmas was all about.
EPILOGUE
Shawn
“Push, baby, push,” I encouraged Enzo as I sat on the birthing bed beside him, one arm around his back for support. “You can do this.”
Enzo gritted his teeth and grunted something that I was fairly certain was a curse that would make even the seasoned midwife pale.
“The baby is crowning,” the midwife said, completely focused on her work.
“I can’t do this, it’s too hard,” Enzo panted before pushing again.
“Maybe a warm towel around his neck would help?” my Papa suggested from where he stood off to one side, ready with a receiving blanket for as soon as my and Enzo’s baby was born. “Warm towels did a world of good for your brother when Holly was born.”
I glanced up from where I was focused on the midwife, who was concentrating between Enzo’s spread and shaking legs. “I don’t think so, Papa, but thanks,” I said.
Walt had had his baby back at the end of January, a little bit before his due date. Holly’s birth had been smooth and simple, thank God. Papa had been there, and Walt had requested that Enzo and I were there, too. He didn’t have an alpha…yet, although I understood things were going well with Dr. Brendan…so I’d pitched in to help where I could. Our dad had been invited to attend the birth, too, but he was still too traditional to think an alpha had any place in the birthing room.
“It’s coming, it’s coming,” the midwife said, standing from the stool she’d been sitting on as Enzo labored. “A few last pushes and we’ve got this.”
