“Dorothea.”

Dammit. She was doing it again, wasn’t she? “Sorry,” she said, wrenching her eyes away from her phone and placing it, screen down, on the table. “Just making sure everything is okay.”

“For the fifth time in the last ten minutes?” Sylvain teased, reaching for her hands; his were as warm as his smile. “I get that you’re worried, but Ashe and Petra can more than handle a single evening of babysitting.” He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Are you not the one who’s been going on about how badly you need a break? Quite vocally, if I recall. You were very close to throwing things.”

Her ears burned with embarrassment, though she knew Sylvain didn’t fault her for it. They’d endured a rough six months; even with a live-in nanny—and every day she thanked the goddess that they could afford the extra help—they were both still running on four hours of sleep a night, best-case scenario. Dorothea had cried almost was much as their newborn daughter had, and Sylvain was starting to get a little too comfortable describing his anxiety dreams in gross detail. When he surprised her with a one-night reservation at one of the highest-rated luxury hotels in Enbarr for their anniversary, Dorothea nearly wept tears of joy rather than exhaustion.

“I know,” she said. “I’m thrilled to be here, really. It’s been ages since I’ve had you all to myself.” There was a new set of lacy lingerie waiting for her in their hotel room, too—though she wouldn’t be surprised if both of them passed out before they could take proper advantage of it. Even now she wanted little more than to tuck herself into bed and order room service. But that would hardly be much different from collapsing at the end of a long day at home, defeating the purpose of their trip. Life would go back to normal eventually; she needed to remind herself what that looked like.

“Likewise,” Sylvain said with a grin, releasing her so he could peruse the menu. “We should figure out what we want to eat. I hear the grilled octopus is to die for—and I know what you’re thinking, but it tastes nothing like fish—”

He was cut off by the low buzz of Dorothea’s phone vibrating against the table. She saw his jaw tense at the same time her hands squeezed into fists, resisting the urge to immediately pick it up.

“Don’t,” he murmured, a hint of pleading in his voice.

“What if it’s an emergency?” she whispered through gritted teeth.

He gave her a sympathetic look. “I think I got the same text,” he said, fishing his own phone out of his pocket. “Let me check for you.”

She nodded, silently coaching herself through a slow breath. Everything is fine, she thought with an inhale. You’re still a good mother, she reminded herself on the exhale. Then her gaze flicked back to Sylvain, who was staring at his screen with an unreadable expression that unraveled all the hard work she’d just done to calm herself down. “Hey, um…” His brow was furrowed in concentration, eyes shimmering, his knuckles pressed to his lips. “Sylvain,” she said, her heart starting to race. “What’s wrong?”

“Huh?” He blinked in confusion, as though snapping out of a trance. “Nothing’s wro—”

But it was too late; Dorothea had already sprung from her seat, rounding the table to see what the hell had him so damn mesmerized. “Don’t you ‘nothing’s wrong’ me—”

The words died in her throat as she caught a glimpse of his screen. Ashe had sent a photo to their group chat of Petra cradling Fiona in her arms, both of them looking happy as a clam. The caption read: ‘About to put her to bed. She’s been a perfect angel. Enjoy your night out, you two!’

“Oh,” Dorothea cooed, her heart swelling at the sight of their daughter’s face. “She’s the most precious thing in the universe, isn’t she?”

“She is,” Sylvain said, his voice cracking, and Dorothea realized he was trying not to cry. “Y’know, it was hard to tell when she was a wrinkled little gremlin, but look—she has your nose.”

“D-does she?” Dorothea asked, finding his sentimental mood contagious. “The eyes are yours, though.”

Sylvain slipped his free hand into hers, planting a kiss to her knuckles. “Think she’ll grow up to be a heartbreaker like her parents?”

“Maybe,” Dorothea said with a clipped laugh. “But I hope not. Not as bad as we were, anyway.” She heaved a sigh, the weight of parenthood sinking in all over again.

“Almost makes you want to rush back home to her, doesn’t it?” Sylvain asked, smiling up at Dorothea. There was so much love in his gaze, a much-needed reminder that they were on this journey together—all three of them. And she wouldn’t trade that for the world.

“‘Almost’ being the key word,” she said, leaning in to take his lips in hers. “She’ll be waiting for us in the morning.” The words were as much for her as they were for him. Everything is fine. You’re still a good mother.

“I know how difficult that is for you to say,” Sylvain teased, cradling her face in his hand. “But I’m very glad to hear it.”