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“If you tell me-“ Viscountess Kate Bridgerton, eyes ablaze and arms crossed defiantly over her chest, says in a low, threatening voice, “-that I am not allowed to play Pall Mall because I am with child, I will give new meaning to the term ‘Mallet of Death,’ do you understand?”
Across from her, hands on his hips, Anthony Bridgerton freezes with his mouth open, seemingly prepared to tell her that she shouldn’t be engaging in any sport “in her condition.”
“I just think-“
“No.”
“If you would just-“
“Absolutely not, Anthony.”
His mouth settles into a pout, so Kate turns to Daphne, wearing a practiced blank expression to conceal her amusement. Benedict, Eloise and Colin are doing nothing to hide their own amusement, openly snickering at the showdown before them.
“Daphne,” Kate says sweetly. “You are also with child. Do you feel prepared to play?”
“She is not as far along-“ Anthony attempts.
“I was not addressing you, Anthony,” Kate interjects with a glare. Anthony purses his lips. “Your Grace?”
“I do feel prepared to play, Kate,” Daphne responds smoothly. “And if I may, I’d say you look perfectly capable of playing.”
“This doesn’t concern you,” Anthony snaps. Kate rolls her eyes. Anthony looks to Simon, holding his mallet with the same practiced neutral expression his wife wears.
“Simon-“
“This does not concern me,” Simon says firmly. Kate’s lips curl into a smirk as he very deliberately does not look at Anthony at all. Kate sighs, tired of this conversation and eager to play. She plucks the Mallet of Death from the other mallets.
“Anthony, tell me, have you ever been with child?” she asks, picking up the black ball as well. His mouth presses into a thin line.
“No.”
“Will you ever be with child?”
“No.”
“Then it’s settled,” Kate says cheerfully, lifting the Mallet of Death up. “Who will begin?”
Eloise practically sprints to get away from the argument, and Benedict and Colin both pat a clearly disgruntled Anthony on the back before following after her. Daphne waits a moment, asking Kate with her eyes if she needs more backup, but Kate inclines her head, allowing her to go on.
She approaches Anthony, face still stuck in a frown and eyes on the ground, and takes his hand.
“Anthony,” she murmurs, “Look at me, please.” He obeys, brown eyes lifting to look upon her face, and her heart breaks a little. He told her, early in her own pregnancy after she threatened to kick him from their bedroom if he did not stop hovering, of his mother’s difficult birth with Hyacinth, of the impossible choice that had been put in his hands. She knows a part of his mind relives that night every time he looks at her.
“I do not mean to stifle you,” he says quietly. “It is my duty as your husband to protect you, it’s in my vows, Kate…”
“And you have done so,” Kate assures him, bringing his hand to her lips and pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “But I am not a child or a porcelain doll. You do not dictate what I can or cannot do.”
He nods, eyes shut, turning his hand so that it is him holding her hand.
“I love you,” he murmurs, eyes opening. “I cannot lose you.”
“Nothing could separate me from you,” Kate replies. “I would not allow it.”
His lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile, and he nods.
“I am going to play this game,” Kate says firmly. “And when our child is born, I will tell them how you couldn’t even beat me in my frail condition.” With that, she pulls her hand from his with a grin as his face morphs into outrage — far preferable to the dark memories of Hyacinth’s birth she saw reflected in his worries just moments ago.
They catch up to the others quickly enough, reaching the group just as Simon takes his first turn. He knocks his ball roughly halfway to the first wicket.
“I see you still have your head, brother!” Benedict says in greeting.
“I am trying to decide if your incessant kissing from last year was better or worse than your protective streak,” Colin adds.
“I prefer the kissing,” Kate says, gently bumping Anthony’s leg with her mallet before she sets up her shot. She would never admit it out loud, but maneuvering with her ballooning stomach and increasingly swollen ankles is not necessarily easy. The wicket is rather close to a suspiciously puddly area, and as fun as her first romp in the mud with Anthony was those years ago, she has no desire to repeat it. She gives her ball a whack, and it takes a shallow arc right to the left of the wicket.
Hm. Unfortunate.
“Bit of an awkward swing there, my love,” Anthony comments sweetly, a grin on his face. “But luckily, you’re in peak physical condition, so it must have just been a matter of luck.”
“I should rather like to see Anthony attempt anything while carrying a child in his body,” Daphne comments.
“But he plays so poorly already, it would not be fair!” Eloise adds. Anthony’s mouth falls open.
“You, Eloise, have never beaten me!” he says indignantly. Kate snorts out a laugh, and he turns to her. “Watch and learn, my dear wife.”
“I’m petrified,” Kate deadpans as he takes a hard swing, sending his ball just over the wicket and into the soggy grass behind it. “Was there something specific I was supposed to learn from that, Anthony?” she asks sweetly.
“A minor setback,” Anthony proclaims, stalking over to Kate and pressing a smacking kiss to her cheek. “I will dedicate my impending victory to our growing family.”
“Lord, it’s endless!” Eloise huffs. “My turn!”
Kate adjusts to playing with her changed body as the game goes on, keeping pace with both Anthony and Daphne when both Colin and Benedict fall behind after hitting each other’s balls into a mess of shrubs. Eloise, solidly in the middle with Simon, seems content enough to be ahead of them.
She doesn’t want to tell Anthony lest he believes himself to have been right all along, but she does grow tired near the end of the game, using a turn to knock Anthony’s ball back a ways so she can lumber up to Daphne and quietly admit, “I feel as if I am lugging around a bag of stones and not a child.”
Daphne laughs, understanding. “We’re almost done, worry not. Give me three more turns and I’ll have secured my victory.”
Kate narrows her eyes, smirking. “What of my victory?”
“An acceptable second option,” Daphne relents. “Let us agree on this, then: whoever wins today will not be one of our husbands.”
Kate shakes her hand.
“We have an accord, Your Grace.”
Kate, much to her chagrin, finds herself to be an object of fascination for the ton as the social season begins. Benedict and Colin often accompany her for promenades while Anthony is at Parliament, and each time, she is approached by some well-wisher whose eyes almost always fall to her swelling stomach and never beyond.
The balls are even worse. Eager to avoid being even more of a target for the ton’s curiosity, Kate does not dance, content to follow Anthony as he makes the rounds, sipping lemonade and then remaining with Lady Violet when Anthony goes to talk with the other gentlemen.
“Edmund was much like Anthony when I was carrying him,” Violet reveals. Daphne beside her, smiles. “He was constantly finding fruits or cheeses to put before me and asking if I needed to lie down. At one point I had to tell him that if he kept bringing me biscuits, I would likely give birth to one.”
Kate chuckles as Daphne asks, “So did your victory at Pall Mall calm my brother down any? Or is he still hovering?”
“He tries,” Kate says, drawing snickers from both women. “I think having his duties at Parliament and the general business of the season is helping him put all of his nervous energy elsewhere.”
“I could say the same of Simon,” Daphne says. “The latter half of my pregnancy was during the off-season, and he was a menace.”
“I suppose I am lucky in that regard,” Kate chuckles. She looks to Violet and bites her lip. She’s had an idea, floating around in her head for weeks now, and has felt near-crippling shyness every other chance she’s had to ask. But this is her best opportunity, and it feels right for Daphne to be around for it. “Lady Bridgerton, might I ask you something?”
“You are Lady Bridgerton now,” Violet says kindly. “But yes, anything.” Kate takes a steadying breath.
“I have been considering names,” she says, hand coming to rest on her stomach. “And if Anthony and I have a son… I would very much like to name him Edmund.”
Violet’s expression shifts, a thousand memories dancing in her eyes as she takes a staggered breath.
“Kate,” she says, deliberately, “I cannot imagine a greater tribute to my husband than naming the heir to the Bridgerton family after him.” Eyes brimming with tears, she reaches out, hand covering Kate’s on her stomach. “We are so blessed that you are a part of this family.” Daphne’s hand covers her mother’s, and when Kate meets her eyes they are also filled with tears.
“Do you think you will have a son?” Daphne asks.
“I would be happy no matter what,” Kate says, “-but I have a feeling.” She savors the smiles she shares with Violet and Daphne, a sisterhood of mothers she is preparing to join. She feels sheer terror, sometimes, about how adept she will be at motherhood, the balance she will have to strike between maintaining her independence and supporting a soul.
But, as she needs to remind herself less and less as time goes on, she is anything but alone.
She peers out into the crowd, and has to contain her laughter at the sight of her husband seemingly trapped in conversation with Lady Cowper and Miss Cowper. As if sensing her attention, his eyes wander, and when they find her, his frown flips into a smile. Cressida follows his gaze, and when she sees the object of his attentions, her mouth presses into a thin line.
“Lady Cowper wishes for you and Anthony to attend her ball next week,” Lady Violet says. “I believe her hope is that if you are there, certain… relatives might also be obliged to attend.”
“So… the Princess?” Kate deadpans. “She is not to return to London until it is nearly time for me to have my baby.”
“Lady Cowper does not know that,” Daphne says.
“Or, more likely,” Lady Violet says with a chuckle, “She does not care.”
“Mama!” Daphne chides, though her eyes laugh.
“I am not the lady of the house anymore, decorum does not so much matter,” Lady Violet jokes. Turning to Kate, she adds, “Though I do think your particular version of decorum is far more entertaining than mine.”
“A Viscountess for a new age,” Kate drolls, and the women burst into laughter again.
“I received a letter this morning,” Anthony tells her as they walk through the park, Simon and Daphne a few paces behind them. Kate raises an eyebrow, indicating for him to continue. “From Vienna,” he adds. Kate blinks.
Oh. Oh.
“Miss Rosso?” Kate checks, carefully. Anthony nods stiffly. “Fascinating.”
Kate finds it amusing when the ladies of the ton assume she is not perfectly aware of Anthony’s past exploits — she considers herself his final scandalous encounter with a level of smugness that is likely beneath her, but she doesn’t care . He’s told her as much as she can stomach, admitting fully to being tangled in the sheets with more ladies of the night than he cared to admit.
And he, of course, has told her of Siena Rosso. The opera singer who had broken his heart and informed his insane decision to seek a marriage without love or feeling. She had been his escape from his life and duty, an act of self-sabotage he still regards as one of his worst mistakes.
“She is one of many women who deserved better from me,” he had told her before their wedding, regret and shame swimming in his eyes.
Anthony pulls the letter from his coat and hands it to her to peruse.
“She’s in London for a performance,” he says. “And she wishes for me to attend.”
Kate nods. “And will you?” He turns to her, surprise etched across his handsome features.
“You would allow it?” he asks in surprise.
“What have I to fear?” Kate asks, amused. “Do you still have feelings for the woman?”
“Of course not!”
“Do you think she will tempt you into breaking your vows?”
“No, I just-“
“Are afraid to face her,” Kate finishes, bemused. “And you’re afraid that I might doubt your loyalty to me.” Anthony blinks.
“How do you do that?” he asks.
“Do what?” Anthony stops them, turning her to face him directly.
“Read my mind.” He leans down, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
Kate smiles fondly. “You are not as dark and mysterious as you believe yourself to be, my lord.”
“Oh, is that it?” Anthony chuckles as Simon and Daphne catch up to them.
“Taking a break?” Simon inquires. “I wouldn’t dare assume Lady Bridgerton has grown tired.”
“Smart man,” Kate teases. She looks to Anthony, asking with her eyes if he’d be willing to share with his old friend. He hesitates, but she latches back onto his right arm and gives his bicep a squeeze in support.
“I was informing my wife that I had just received a letter,” Anthony says, finally. He meets the Duke’s gaze. “From Siena Rosso.”
“Oh!” the Duke says, simply. Beside him, Daphne sends Kate a questioning look, but Kate just shrugs. “Is she returned to London?”
“It would seem so,” Anthony says. “How things change, is that not so, Hastings?”
“Change indeed,” Simon agrees. “I hope you resolve things… amicably.”
Simon and Daphne take the lead on the walk, allowing Kate and Anthony to linger behind. Kate can still feel the tension radiating off her husband.
“I would understand if you wish to see her,” she offers. “Given how things ended, I would not deny you closure.”
“There is no such thing as closure with that woman,” Anthony mutters. Kate frowns. “I don’t mean… that my feelings are unresolved. I simply fear that my wish to let her see that I have changed will not be what she seeks.”
“You believe she seeks a reunion,” Kate surmises. He nods. “That would be a far simpler situation if you did not love your wife.”
He gives her a sidelong glance. “But alas, I do love my wife, even though she is currently tormenting me.”
“However so?”
“By not just telling me that I am forbidden to see her.” Kate rolls her eyes.
“I would be quite the hypocrite if I started giving you orders,” she points out. He narrows his eyes for a moment but relents. “Anthony. I trust you. Otherwise I would not have married you. Get the closure you desire, and when you have it, come home.”
Kate has seen the likeness of Siena Rosso. She knows what a beautiful woman she is, knows the depths of her talents. She respects her, too, for making a living in a cruel world of men on her own terms — and for understanding when to leave a futile situation. But she also knows that Siena holds a piece of Anthony’s past that Kate will never touch, hidden memories and hurts that Anthony has divulged, but that Kate can never fully understand. She will not begrudge him whatever it is he needs to move forward.
Even if a tiny part of her heart breaks at the thought.
Anthony gazes at her as they walk, something deep and intense burning beneath his eyes. She keeps her eyes ahead, since someone has to ensure they don’t stroll into a pond, but his eyes remain on her until they reach the end of their walk, and the entire carriage ride home. She does not ask what he is thinking. He will tell her when he is ready.
That evening, Anthony beckons Kate to his office, and tells her to prepare to accompany him to the opera that night.
“We shall see the show,” he says deliberately, “And after, we will leave.”
“Anthony-“
“It is decided.” He rises from his desk and circles it, approaching her and taking her hands in his. “I do not need closure. I want to spend an evening with my wife, and I want everyone — all of London — to know that you are all I will ever desire. If that includes Siena, so be it.”
Kate blinks back tears, the dreadful treacherous things.
“You do not need to do this for me,” she whispers. He smiles.
“No. But I want to.” His hand comes up and gently brushes a stray tendril of hair from her face. “You have consumed me, mind, soul and body, from the moment I met you. I vowed to worship you will all that I am for the rest of my life, but I did not need that vow to do so. I would have been yours had you turned your back on me and walked away in that garden. That is the hold you have on me, Viscountess. Nothing else — and no one else — can compare.”
Kate inhales and surges forward, kissing him with abandon, fingers tangling into his hair and gripping his face to hers as his arms wind around her waist and pull her flush against him.
“You are my choice,” Anthony breathes into her lips. “You are the mother of my child, the lady of my house, the guardian of my siblings. I would not share this life with anyone else, no matter how hard I fought against it at first.” Kate barks out a laugh, pressing her forehead against his. “I cherish your trust in me. But I think you underestimate exactly how little I need from the rest of the world because of what you give me by being my wife.” His gaze falls down to her stomach.
“And you claim to hate poetry,” Kate whispers with a watery smile. Anthony snorts and pulls back slightly.
“That was not poetry,” he protests. “That was prose.”
Kate rolls her eyes and leans forward, kissing him sweetly at the corner of his mouth.
“I will go dress for the opera,” she says. Anthony’s hands move from her waist to her baby bump. The baby, as if sensing his father’s touch, kicks. Kate winces, but the open delight on Anthony’s face is worth her discomfort. “Your child is already as vexing as you are,” she comments. Anthony grins.
“You’re carrying a Bridgerton, after all,” he says. “Vexing you is a requirement of the name.”
Kate quite enjoys the opera. And if she feels the eyes of its star soprano on her during the performance, it is no matter. She far prefers to focus on her husband’s hand in hers.
The doctors suggest that Kate return to Aubrey Hall for the last weeks of her pregnancy, feeling that the fresh air will be good for her. Anthony still has business in town, so Kate assures him that the mere week she will be spending without him will not be the end of the world. Mary and Edwina join her at the estate, along with Francesca and Benedict, both eager to take a break from the demands of the city.
The fresh air is good, as is the distance from the stresses of the social season. Kate spends a good deal of time with Benedict exploring new hobbies as the younger Bridgerton brother attempts to “find his passion.” She spies, though, several unfinished drawings of a young lady, masked, among his things. She declines to push him on it… yet.
Francesca, quiet as always, sticks to her room and the drawing room most days, but she never declines invitations for walks from Kate, and even joins her in Anthony’s study one day as she works her way through some busy work the steward had planned on saving for Anthony’s arrival.
The peace and quiet, however, also gives Kate’s lingering doubts and dark thoughts space to run amok in her mind. Anthony is her best balm for her fears, his very presence silencing the cruelest elements of her mind, but with him in London she does not know where to put her worries.
She failed with Edwina. It was not her work that made Edwina the kind of woman who could marry a prince, it was her sister’s own bravery, bookish nature and open heart that won him over. All Kate ever did for the most important person in her life was make her believe she could not have a mind of her own and nearly force her into a marriage that would have left all parties involved deeply unhappy.
She sneaks off near dawn one morning, when her thoughts are swirling in her mind too intensely for her to doze any longer. Jane gives her a disapproving look, but knows better than to try and stop her. She merely hands Kate a walking stick and promises that if Kate is not back for lunch, she will send a party out to search for her.
Kate walks and walks and walks, relishing the cold, foggy air in her lungs and the dew that gently blankets the grass. She walks until she reaches the grave of Edmund Bridgerton, and places a single wildflower she had found on her way at the headstone before sitting on the bench.
She had been ready, before Anthony flipped her world and expectations upside-down, to be a governess. To teach children, to help them grow. But motherhood entails so much more than that. If she has a girl, she will have to prepare her for life in a world dictated by men, a world that will define her by whats he means to them. If she has a boy, she will be raising the next Viscount, charged with forming the mind of a future Lord Bridgerton, but without the burdens that she knows still plague her husband.
“I am not ready,” she whispers to Edmund’s grave. “How did you and Violet do this?”
There is no answer.
She is found, perhaps minutes or perhaps hours later, by Benedict, with a very tired-looking Edwina on his arm. Kate jumps up in surprise — Edwina had not been expected to arrive until the evening.
Her sister runs to her and embraces her tightly before beckoning her to sit. Benedict settles on Kate’s other side.
“This is a rather melancholy place to spend one’s morning,” Benedict observes, perhaps too casually. Kate bites her lip. “Are you alright, Kate?” Kate nods, but Edwina does not look fooled, taking Kate’s hands in her own.
“Didi, you’ve been crying,” she whispers. “What troubles you?”
“I do not want to burden you with-“ Kate tries, but Edwina cuts her off.
“Hush, Kate. I will not have you trying to spare me any stress on your behalf. You are my sister, and you are about to have your first child. No burden is too heavy, no worry too minor.” She meets Kate’s gaze, eyes determined. “What is wrong?”
“I was thinking of how I should like to raise my child,” Kate says after taking a steadying breath. “And all I can think about is how all I have to show for myself thus far is failure.”
“Did you not help raise an actual princess?” Benedict asks, eyes wide.
“Edwina’s accomplishments are her own,” Kate says firmly. “All I did was plant my dreams on her and nearly ruin her life.”
Edwina’s grip on her hands tightens.
“You did no such thing,” she says intensely. “Didi, you must know… I learned what bravery looked like from you. I discovered my love of reading because of you. You taught me dancing, languages… you made me worthy of becoming a princess.”
“But I-“
“You were not perfect,” Edwina interrupts. “But you did the best you could in a difficult situation. And I never, not for a moment, doubted that I was loved and valued. What else could I have asked for?”
Edwina’s voice is firm, and tears well in her eyes as she speaks. Kate could collapse from the sheer intensity of her sister’s words, of her assurances she gives so freely even after everything that passed between them two years before.
Benedict breathes out a heavy sigh, eyes on his father’s headstone.
“I often think of my father,” he says softly. “Of what he would think of me. My failed art career. My restlessness.” He looks to Kate. “It is easy to look at those before us and remember them as perfect. But they weren’t. So why should we be?”
Kate smiles. “Your father would be proud of the man you are.” Benedict returns the smile.
“You ought to be as kind to yourself,” he says easily, “-as you are to me.” Kate grimaces, but has no argument.
“I just…” she trails off, taking another shuddering breath. “I want to be a good mother.”
“And you will be,” Edwina insists. “I know you. You wouldn’t be so worried if you didn’t care — and that care is going to be felt. You have such a deep capacity for love, and you are not alone in this.” She gives her a pointed look. “What would Lord Bridgerton say if he heard you doubt yourself so?”
“I think we know,” Benedict says with a slight smirk. “You can do no wrong in his eyes, Kate. No matter how much he argues with you.” Kate chuckles, chest feeling lighter and mind clearer.
“Enough of me,” she says as she lets go of her sister’s hands and wipes her tears from her face. “Edwina, how was your trip?”
“Most excellent,” Edwina says. “Friedrich sent me with enough chai to last you the rest of your life, so my trip was fragrant and pleasant.” Kate laughs.
“Your husband is kind to think of me so,” she says. Edwina’s cheeks redden.
“He is most thoughtful indeed,” she says. “He regrets that his duties must keep him in court, but he promised me that we can visit together when the season is over.”
“That sounds lovely,” Kate sighs. “Perhaps Benedict can paint a portrait of him so that I may see his handsome face more often.”
“Kate, how improper!” Edwina admonishes, but her words are almost lost in her giggles. Kate smirks. “You and Anthony, I promise, sister, one of these days you two will talk yourselves into quite the scandal.”
“I look forward to the day,” Kate says with a chuckle. Her eyes drift back to Edmund’s grave, and her smile softens. “We are quite fortunate, are we not, Bon?”
Her sister meets her gaze, and it does not take words for them to both understand their fortune, to be able to join families of such warmth and kindness, to be surrounded by the kind of unconditional love cruelly denied to Mary when she chose their father.
“We are, Didi,” Edwina affirms. “We are.”
Kate is a meticulous planner. It’s how she transformed Edwina from a fountain of promise into the Diamond of the season. It’s how she budgeted her family’s trip from India to London. She thinks ahead, and she makes the reality she envisions happen.
But, she muses as she cradles her newborn son in her arms, she has to give credit to the things in her life she did not plan for.
She did not plan to fall in love with Anthony Bridgerton when she came to London. She did not plan to became a guardian to his collection of siblings. She did not plan on her sister becoming a princess, and she certainly never planned to become the Viscountess of one of Englands most prolific families.
She never planned — though she often, in the furthest spaces of her mind, dreamed of it — to become a mother.
But in her arms is a beautiful little boy, perfect in every way and more precious to her than she ever could have imagined another soul being. He is equal parts her and Anthony, he is a future Viscount. He is her son, and she loves him so fiercely that she feels as though her adoration could scorch a path right through the sun.
Anthony is asleep in their room; she had heard little Edmund’s cries when a clap of thunder sounded and likely roused him from his slumber. Anthony, having been in Parliament all day, hadn’t stirred.
“My Appa used to read to me when it rained,” Kate whispers as she gently sways in time with a waltz only her mind can hear. “I do not think you are quite ready for Robinson Crusoe, but I can tell you stories of your Appa instead.” Edmund coos sleepily, and Kate chuckles. “Not all of my stories of him are for your ears, but I can tell you of the time I beat him in a horse race. It is how we met.” Edmund’s eyes begin to close. “He thought I was in trouble and tried to catch me, but I was too fast. It was quite a surprise for me, to find a handsome and charming man my first day in London.” She leans in closer, and whispers. “Do not tell your Appa I said that, or he will be most smug indeed.”
Kate imagines that, with her and Anthony as his parents, Edmund will grow up to be equally smug, which is fine by her. He is the latest in a line of a great family, and her own father’s blood runs in his veins — he will shine.
“Is the little monster asleep?” comes a whisper from the door. Kate turns to see Eloise peering in, hair down and in her nightdress. Kate stifles a laugh as Eloise hesitantly enters.
“Getting there,” she responds softly. “Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to hold him.”
“I suppose I could be convinced at some point,” Eloise relents. “I heard him crying… so I thought I ought to look in.”
“And what would you have done had I not already been here?” Kate asks with amusement.
“I did not think that far,” Eloise responds. Kate grins and gently sets Edmund, now asleep, back in his crib. “Is he like this every night, or is it just the storm?”
“I have to get up often to feed him,” Kate says. “But your brother often helps. I try to do more now, since he has Parliament and other business to attend to.”
“But let me guess: he’s as competitive in raising a child as he is in everything else?” Eloise guesses. Kate winks. “Well, if he’s alright, I suppose I’ll be off. Good night, Kate.”
“Good night,” Kate murmurs, turning back to look at Edmund once more. “Sleep well,” she says gently to him before turning and padding back to her and Anthony’s room.
He’s turned away from her when she creeps into their bedroom and slips back into bed, but as soon as she closes her eyes, she feels his arm wrap around her waist and pull her into him. She hums contentedly and lets her hips settle into his as he presses a warm kiss to her neck.
“Everything alright?” he asks, nuzzling into her.
“Storm woke him,” she responds. “I’m afraid I may have passed my fear onto him.”
Anthony chuckles, still half-asleep, and tightens his grip on her, one of his legs sliding between hers. “I like to think of it as your feud with the weather more than a fear of it.”
"I think you give me too much credit," Kate chuckles. She feels his head shake.
"I think not. My wife is a force of nature, the storm stands no chance."
Kate sighs and relaxes into him, and falls asleep with a smile on her face.