Lovely Trigger (Tristan & Danika #3)(100)

He moved his chair until he was sitting up, giving me the Troublesome smile.  The one that had changed my life.

“Come over here,” he said softly.

I looked around.  “I can’t.  We have to stay in our assigned seats.  And besides, there’s no room over there.”

“Come over here,” he repeated softly, his smile even softer.

I glanced around, saw that the two flight attendants in our cabin were working in the galley, then moved quickly around until I was standing in the entrance to his pod.

He didn’t hesitate, pulling me down to sit on his lap.

“We can’t do that!”

He shifted until I was squeezed in next to him, his arm thrown over me.  It was a very tight fit, but I felt instantly better.

His free hand reached for mine, and he threaded our fingers together while I burrowed my cheek into his strong chest, breathing deep as I listened to the steady thud of his heart.

“Stephan told me the trick to ha**ng s*x in an airplane bathroom.  I think the flight attendants are too busy to notice us.  Whataya say?”

I elbowed him hard in the ribs.

He grunted then started laughing.  “Not the time, huh?”

He stroked my hair for a while before he spoke again, voice serious now.  “Everything is going to work out just how we want it to.”  He said it softly against the top of my head.  “In just a few days, we’ll be flying home as different people.  Everything is about to change.  It’s going to be everything we’ve talked about, all we’ve dreamed of.”

I squeezed his fingers until mine turned white.  “I’m just so afraid we won’t get to—”

“We will.  I promise you this: We’re not going home without her, not this time.”

“She won’t understand us.  What if she doesn’t like us?”

“Love has its own language, sweetheart, and of course she’ll like us.  We’re her parents.  It might take some time, but we’ll teach her what that means.  It’s going to be just perfect.  You’ll see.”

Her name was Ming, and I loved her before I ever met her.

I fell in love with a picture, and it was true love.  The unconditional kind.  I didn’t get to take her home with me until she was nine months old, but that didn’t make me any less her mother.

It wasn’t blood that created a mother.  It was love.  Ming taught me that.

Tristan and I clutched hands as we entered the orphanage.  I recognized her instantly.  They had her in an outfit I’d sent her, a little dress with strawberries all over it.  They’d even put her in the matching ruffled shorts and bonnet.

I started crying, but Tristan kept pulling me along.

“I’m a mess,” I told him, patting my cheeks.

“You’ll be fine.  And don’t cry.  I’m not even proposing to you today.”

It helped.  I laughed.

Ming looked right at me, blinking her big dark eyes.

Tristan got to her first.

I hung back, watching.

He crouched down in front of her.  She was being held by one of the ladies that worked there.  Ming seemed attached to the woman, clinging to her.

Tristan held out his arms to our daughter, his smile so tender it made my breath catch.

Ming touched his hand, studying him.  He had to be the biggest person she’d ever set eyes on, but she wasn’t scared.  She looked fascinated by him.

“Hi Ming,” he told her very softly, his voice rough with emotion.  “I’m your daddy.  You have no idea how long your mommy and I have been waiting for you.”

She was too young to understand, and even if she’d been older, she had very little exposure to English.  Still, some communication seemed to make it through to her, and she launched herself at him.  He hugged her tight, straightening.  Her little head looked so perfect, so trusting, laying on his strong shoulder.

Like they’d done it a thousand times.  Like it was fate.

His tender eyes swung to me, and they were bright with tears.  He smiled at me, biting his lip.  “Come here, Mommy.”

I moved as if in a dream, touching her little back, stroking her short black hair.

She pulled away from his chest to look at me, her little face so solemn.

“Hello Ming,” I choked out.  “I’m your mommy, and I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet you.”

She touched my face, running her tiny fingers over my brow, my nose, over my tear-streaked cheeks.

I held my arms out to her, holding my breath, and after one endless minute, she launched herself into my arms.

I held her tight and never let go.

We sat in economy class on the way home, as babies weren’t allowed in first class.  We sat side by side, and Ming was our lap child.  I couldn’t have been happier.

We took turns holding her.  I couldn’t stop staring at her, even when she slept.

“Pinch me, Tristan,” I told him quietly, as we just stared at her in wonder.  “I must be dreaming.  This little angel can’t be ours.”

He actually pinched me.

“Ow!” I said, giving him a dirty look.  I didn’t dare punch his arm with the baby.