Chapter 8 - The Heir of Voss
Two months later.
A blinding white blizzard raged across Chicago, burying the city beneath two feet of fresh snow. Lake Michigan was frozen over, the wind howling at fifty miles per hour against the reinforced windows of the master suite at Voss Tower.
Inside, the suite was a sanctuary of warmth, firelight, and sudden, intense drama.
“Declan... ah!” I gasped, clutching the velvet bedsheets as another brutal contraction clamped down across my lower back.
“Breathe, sweetheart, breathe,” Declan said frantically.
The invincible titan of Chicago was currently a nervous wreck. He was kneeling beside the bed in his trousers and an unbuttoned white shirt, holding my hand so tightly his knuckles were white, sweat dripping down his temples.
Dr. Vance and two top neonatal nurses were positioned at the foot of the bed, calm and efficient.
“You’re doing wonderful, Mrs. Voss!” Dr. Vance encouraged, checking the monitors. “Fully dilated! The baby’s head is right there! On the next contraction, I need a strong push!”
“I can’t...” I whimpered, exhausted after six hours of labor, tears streaming down my flushed cheeks. “Declan, it hurts...”
Declan leaned over me, framing my face with his large, warm hands. His grey eyes were fierce with a love so overwhelming it burned through my pain like a blazing sun.
“Look at me, Amelia,” Declan commanded gently, his voice thick with raw emotion. “Look into my eyes. You are the strongest woman in this world. You survived the mountains, you survived my past, and you are going to bring our daughter into this world right now. I’m right here. I’m holding you.”
Another wave of pressure surged through my body.
I squeezed Declan’s hand with every ounce of strength left in my soul, throwing my head back and letting out a long, powerful cry as I pushed.
“That’s it! Keep going! She’s here!” Dr. Vance cheered.
A second later, the heavy sound of the storm outside was drowned out by the most breathtaking, magnificent sound in the universe.
A sharp, loud, healthy cry echoed through the warm bedroom.
“It’s a girl!” the nurse announced joyfully, quickly wrapping the squirming infant in a warm, soft pink blanket. “A perfectly healthy baby girl!”
I sank back against the plush pillows, panting heavily, tears of overwhelming relief and joy spilling down my face.
Declan froze. He stared at the small bundle in the nurse’s arms as if he were looking at a miracle carved from pure light. His hands, which had wielded weapons and ruled an underworld, trembled uncontrollably as the nurse stepped forward and gently laid our daughter onto my bare chest.
“Oh... oh my God,” I wept, sliding my arms around the tiny, warm body.
She was perfect. She had a tiny tuft of dark hair, pale rose skin, and when she let out another tiny squeak, her dark eyes opened, blinking up at us in the soft firelight.
Declan fell to his knees beside the bed. He reached out with one trembling finger, letting the tiny infant wrap her miniature hand around his knuckle. The moment her tiny fingers touched his skin, Declan let out a choked, shuddering sob, bowing his head against my shoulder as tears ran freely down his face.
“She’s perfect, Amelia,” Declan wept softly, kissing my forehead, then kissing our daughter’s tiny head over and over again. “She’s completely perfect.”
“What are we naming her?” Dr. Vance asked gently from the end of the bed, wiping a tear from his own eye.
I looked at Declan, touching the damp hair at his temples, then looked down at our daughter.
“Charlotte,” I whispered softly. “Charlotte Grace Voss.”
“Charlotte,” Declan repeated, the name sounding like a sacred prayer on his lips. “After your grandmother.”
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“And Grace,” I added, smiling through my tears, “because that’s what brought us back to each other.”
Declan leaned up, wrapping his broad arms securely around both of us, pulling his wife and daughter tight against his chest in the warm, quiet sanctuary of our room, while the blizzard outside raged harmlessly against the glass.
