Triplets Under the Tree

Fun, plus an excuse to stay in his presence under the pretense of guiding his steps toward fatherhood—but with the added distance the babies would automatically create.

Then she remembered his headache. “You don’t have to if you’d rather be alone. I don’t want to push you into a role you’re not ready for.”

“I’d like to,” he said, surprising her.

He followed her upstairs and into the nursery. Leon stood in the center of his crib, both chubby hands gripping the edge to support his wobbly legs as he yowled like a wet cat. Annabelle sat with her back to the room banging one of the crib slats with a rattle while sweet Antonio Junior lay on his back staring at the mobile above his crib.

“There you go,” Caitlyn murmured to their father. “This is a perfect encapsulation of your children’s personalities. Leon does not like being forced to do something and he isn’t a bit hesitant to tell you how unhappy he is. He’ll be the first to learn how to climb out of his crib, mark my words. God help us then.”

“Why?” Antonio eyed first his son and then Caitlyn as she boosted Leon from his crib and into her arms, which predictably, quieted down his protests.

“Because then he’ll be a holy terror, climbing out in the middle of the night while we’re asleep.” She nodded to the baby. “Would you like to hold him?”

“Yes,” he said decisively and then his brows drew together as Caitlyn handed over the baby. “Do I have to do anything?”

“Nothing special, just make sure he feels secure.”

She laughed as Leon peered up at his father suspiciously, as if trying to figure out whether he was okay with this new person. They’d learn the verdict in about two seconds.

Thankfully, Leon waved his fist around, which was his way of saying things were cool. Antonio’s gaze never left his son’s face, and his clear adoration shot straight through Caitlyn’s heart with a painful, wonderful arrow.

Caitlyn spun to busy herself with Antonio Junior before the tears pricking at her eyelids actually fell in a mortifying display of sentiment. It was just a dad with his kid. Why should it be so tender and meaningful?

There were so many reasons locked up in that question, she could hardly start answering it—but first and foremost, because it was her kid, too, one she’d created with this man in a most unconventional way, sure, but that didn’t make it any less powerful to watch the two interact.

Then there was the compelling contrast between this tender version of Antonio and the fierce warrior he’d been in the ring. The dichotomy created an even more compelling man, and he was already so mesmerizing, she could hardly think.

Antonio Junior hadn’t made a sound since they’d entered the room, so Caitlyn checked on him as she often did, just to be sure he was still breathing. He’d always been quiet, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and it bothered her that he’d adopted such a grave demeanor.

He definitely took after his father in that respect, where Leon was a demanding prima donna like Vanessa.

“That’s my serious little man,” she crooned to Antonio Junior and slid her fingertips across his fine dark hair as he refocused his gaze from the mobile to Caitlyn.

The sheer beauty of her child nearly took her breath. She’d always thought he looked like Antonio, but it had been an academic observation based on memory and expectation—they both had dark hair and dark eyes; of course the comparisons would come.

“Is he serious?” Antonio asked with genuine curiosity.

“Very. He’s also quiet. Annabelle would probably be content to sit in her crib until the cows came home as long as she could make noise,” Caitlyn called over her shoulder and, dang it, her voice caught on the emotion still clogging her throat. She cleared it, hoping Antonio had been too caught up in Leon to notice. “That’s her favorite thing. Noise. She likes it best when she can bang on something and then imitate the noise with her voice and, trust me, she practices a lot.”

“I don’t mind,” Antonio said softly, and she sensed him come up behind her long before she heard his quiet intake of breath. He peered over her shoulder into Annabelle’s crib. “Hi, there, sweetheart.”

Annabelle tipped her head up to focus on her father, her upside-down face beaming. “Gah.”

“Is that her imitation of banging the rattle?” Antonio asked with a laugh. “Because she should practice some more.”

“No, that’s how she says hello.”