He’s had his moments, but I can’t think of those right now. All I can think of is that, from the moment he discovered the truth about Tabby’s existence, Brendan has been thrown into the car crash of our lives in the most epic style, and the man hasn’t batted an eye. Not only has he stumped up unthinkable sums of money to secure her good health, but he’s spent a good half of his time pulling his weight in doctor’s offices and on hospital wards in recent weeks.

Showing up for someone doesn’t get more powerful than that.

I let my head fall to his lovely broad shoulder, and I proceed to soak his shirt with my tears.

BRENDAN

‘How are you doing, sunshine?’ I ask Tabby as I reach out to clasp her little hand. Marlowe and I were both there when she came around about half an hour ago, but Marlowe’s just popped to the loo.

Tabby is groggy but lucid. She smiles goofily at me, and my heart constricts.

‘I’m good.’

‘That’s excellent to hear. You feeling sore?’

She shakes her head. I’m sure they still have her on strong painkillers. Some discomfort will be inevitable, but the important thing is that the operation went perfectly.

Thank God.

I glance down at her hand. ‘Do you know what your sats are right now? You’ll never believe it.’

Her eyes go big and round. ‘What?’

‘A hundred per cent. How about that? Little overachiever.’ I bend over the hospital bed so I can press a kiss to her forehead. ‘I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.’

Her brown eyes dance over my face. ‘You sound like a daddy.’

I go completely still. Tears well in my eyes instantly. Like, immediately. I brush my thumb over her knuckles.

‘Do I?’ I manage.

Her smile is shy. ‘Yeah.’

‘Do you think I’d make a good daddy?’ I press. This might just be the highest-stakes conversation I’ve ever had in my life.

She cocks her head. ‘Yes. A lovely daddy.’

Okay, this next question is seriously fucking out of order, but there’s no sign of Marlowe, and I may as well ask it.

‘Do you think one day you could imagine me being your daddy?’ I ask, my voice thick with emotion.

Her pale little face lights up, and it’s all the answer I need.

CHAPTER 59

Marlowe

When I knock on Brendan’s office door, his face is a picture. I watch with delight as his expression goes from shocked to downright feral. His eyes skim over my face and drop down, down, down. This dress is made from silk in a soft blush colour, with a swooshy skirt that ends just above my knees. It’s one of my favourites from the selection Brendan bought for me at the start of the summer.