She smiled, covering Gregorio’s hands with her own and closing her eyes, bathing in the moment. “It will be complicated. We’ll have a lot to talk about, since there will be two men involved and we won’t know who the biological father is.”
“Maybe not at first.” Anatol grinned. “But once the child hits adolescence and starts planning a revolution, we might have a clue that Gregorio is the father.”
“And if the boy or girl is peering into our souls at age seven and ferreting out truths we don’t want to face, he or she is probably Anatol’s biological offspring,” offered Gregorio.
“Either way,” Anatol broke in, “we’ll
both
be fathers to the child. The biological parentage will matter little.”
Evangeline’s smile grew larger. It felt as though sunlight had entered her chest—light, bright, beautiful. “And either way, chances are good that the child will be magicked.”
Gregorio stroked her cheek. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Anatol wound his arm around her waist. “So, when should we start trying to make a child?”
Gregorio grinned. “There’s no time like the present.”
“See?” Anatol answered. “We’re already in accord.”
Evangeline allowed herself to be pulled into the embrace—both of them—of the two men she loved most in the world.