Jenna leaned over Lily and Stella, showing them how to press the dough into muffin tins. They were willing students, earnest and careful, wanting to get everything perfect.

“We don’t want to make it too thin,” Jenna said. “But we don’t want it too thick either.”

“How do you know, Mummy?” Lily asked, watching as Jenna rolled a piece of dough between her hands.

“You just feel it, love. And I’ll tell you a secret: it won’t actually hurt anything if it’s too thick or too thin, so have fun.” She turned to the bowl of dried fruit. “And when we’re done getting the dough into the tins, we want to spoon about this much of the fruit into the dough.”

She demonstrated by scooping some of the mixture into one of the mini-pies.

“Let me try,” Lily said.

“I think you’re ready,” Jenna said, handing her a spoon and giving another one to Stella. “I’ll be right here if you have any questions.”

She watched as they took a tiny handful of dough and rolled it between their palms like Jenna had showed them. They each had a muffin tin, and Jenna watched as they worked the dough into the bottom of the wells, then spooned some of the dried fruit into it.

“Brilliant,” Jenna said. “Santa Claus is going to be so grateful to have these pies after his work tonight. When we’re done filling them, I’ll show you how to cover them with more dough.”

Confident the girls had everything under control, she sat on one of the chairs at the island and let her eyes travel over the busy kitchen.

At one end, Isabel and Sofia were shredding chicken for the tamales that were their contribution to Christmas Eve dinner. Near the stove, Charlotte was basting a ham with, of all things, a can of Coca-Cola. Jenna had been surprised by the “secret” recipe from the refined and elegant Charlotte, but she swore by it, and Jenna couldn’t help being intrigued.

Angel moved easily among the chaos, prepping side dishes and cutting the sugar cookies that the girls would decorate later to leave with the pies for Santa.

The men had offered to help more than once, but Angel had put them in charge of pre-dinner cocktails and wine for the meal, and Jenna had to admit she was enjoying the abundance of estrogen in the kitchen.

The air was rich with the salty scent of cooking ham, the warm sugar of the cookies fresh from the oven. Angel had put Christmas music on the sound system, and the girls were happily engrossed in their tasks.

Jenna was feeling content and secure when Nico walked into the kitchen asking for last-minute requests before he and Farrell made a liquor run.

“Is Christophe still on the phone?” Charlotte asked.

There had been a problem in Paris, and Christophe had retreated to Nico’s study to attend to it.

“As far as I know,” Nico said.

Jenna watched his eyes land on Angel, felt the shift in the air as he came toward her, wrapped an arm possessively around her waist. He bent his head to kiss her, oblivious to everything but her.

“Daddy!” Stella said. “Stop kissing Mommy. We’re cooking.”

Nico gasped dramatically. “Cooking? That is serious business.” His eyes lingered on Angel as he stepped toward Stella, dropping a kiss on her blonde head. “I’ll get out of your way so you can get back to work.”

He was on his way out of the room when he stopped in his tracks, alarm passing over his features as he looked at Jenna, still sitting at the kitchen island.

“Jenna?” He hurried toward her, set a strong but gentle hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

She hadn’t realized she was crying.

She swiped at her tears, feeling foolish, not wanting to alarm him or Farrell, not knowing how to explain her feeling that she and Farrell would never be as secure — as sure — about their lives together as Nico and Angel.

That while she and Farrell would always love each other, would always set each other on fire, they would never want exactly the same thing.

Because she knew now that she did want to be married to him.

Not for the sake of being married but because she adored him. Because she couldn’t imagine her life without him, because it was the only way to tell the world she had chosen him.

And she wanted him to choose her, too.

She wanted to be his wife and she wanted him to be happy about their new baby.

Nico leaned down, looking hopelessly at her like he wasn’t sure what to do.

“It’s all right,” Angel said, hurrying over. “The holidays make us all a little tenderhearted. I’ll step outside with Jenna. You go and get that liquor, and plenty of it. Everything’s fine.”

She ushered Nico out of the kitchen.

“What’s wrong, Mummy?”

The tears fell faster at the sound of Lily’s voice, small and sad. She was trying to choke out an answer when Angel smoothed Lily’s hair back.

“Your mummy is fine, sweetheart. You know how mummy’s are! We have to cry sometimes. She just needs a little air.” She turned to Jenna. “Let’s step outside, shall we?”

Jenna scooted off the chair, trying not to think too hard about how quiet the kitchen had grown, about the look of alarm on the faces of Isabel and Charlotte and the girls.

Jesus. What was the matter with her?

She followed Angel out the glass doors onto the terrace. When they got there, Angel leaned in and wrapped Jenna in a warm embrace.

“What is going on, sweetie? Talk to me.”

Jenna took a few shuddering breaths. She was catching her breath when the door opened, a delicious assortment of scents drifting outside with the warm air from the kitchen.

Charlotte leaned outside. “Would you prefer privacy?”

Jenna shook her head and Charlotte stepped outside, followed by Isabel.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Luca’s with the girls. He’s in heaven.”

Jenna smiled through her tears, then blurted. “I’m pregnant.”

Isabel’s eyes widened, and Charlotte broke into a grin.

“That’s amazing news,” Charlotte said. She froze. “Isn’t it?”

Jenna started crying again.

“We’re going to need wine,” Angel said, heading for the kitchen door. She rubbed her arms. “And some heat. Can you get the heaters, Isabel?”

“Here, sit,” Charlotte said, leading Jenna to one of the chairs on the terrace.

Isabel started the heaters. A moment later, Angel returned with a steaming mug of tea, three fresh glasses, and a bottle of wine tucked under her arm.

She set the steaming mug of tea in front of Jenna and poured everyone else a glass of wine.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Angel said. “We can sit here and enjoy the fact that Luca’s taken over the kitchen for a bit.”

Jenna laughed a little and shook her head. She drew in a deep breath and started talking, filling Charlotte and Isabel in on everything she’d told Angel.

“And the worst part is, I haven’t even gotten up the guts to tell him,” she finished. “And now things are… weird between us.”

“Weird how?” Charlotte asked.

“Just… tense,” Jenna said.

“How are things in bed?” Isabel asked.

“Isabel!” Angel laughed.

Her eyes widened. “What?” She waved a hand in the air. “Everything else can be fixed, but if the magic is gone…” She shook her head sadly.

Jenna remembered Farrell’s eyes when he’d looked at her the night before, the fierceness with which he’d driven into her, the depth of his kiss when it was all over.

“The magic is definitely not gone,” Jenna said.

“I should think not,” Charlotte said. “Not after that purchase you made in the lingerie shop.”

Jenna’s cheeks grew warm. She wasn’t ready to share the details of her sex life with Farrell.

She would have to take baby steps into this girlfriend thing.

“Isn’t it possible that some of this tension you’re feeling is a result of the secret you’re keeping?” Angel asked.

“It’s possible,” Jenna said.

“But?” Charlotte prodded.

Jenna sighed. “I don’t know. It feels like there’s more to it than that. It’s like we’re not… connecting the way we usually do. Like we’re on different wavelengths for the first time ever.”

“It happens,” Angel said.

“Even to you and Nico?” Jenna asked.

Angel seemed to think about it. “Every now and then.”

The answer seemed designed more to please Jenna than because it was true. She wasn’t naive enough to think that Nico and Angel’s marriage was trouble-free — no marriage was — but she doubted they’d ever had a serious miscommunication.

“This seems like an easy problem to fix,” Isabel said. “Talk to him.”

It sounded so simple. Was simple for so many people.

She and Farrell might prefer communicating sexually over using words, but it wasn’t as if they’d never talked their way through a difficult time.

They’d reconciled after he found out she’d kept Lily a secret from him, had been outlaws throughout Europe, separated from their daughter.

They’d talked. Maybe not as much as most people, but they’d talked.

So why was she having such a hard time coming clean about her pregnancy?

She’d barely formulated the question in her own mind when she found the answer: she was afraid of his reaction.

Any reaction.

If he was happy about the baby, she would wonder if he was really happy or if he was pretending for her benefit.

And if he wasn’t… well, that was a possibility she didn’t want to seriously consider.

“I know you’re right,” Jenna said. “I’m making it more complicated than it is.”

Isabel reached for her hand. “I’m not saying it’s easy. But you have to tell him sometime, and it seems like the secret is more harmful than anything that will come out of telling him.”

Angel smiled. “He’s going to be happy, Jenna. Beyond happy. I know it.”

“I’m not an expert on the pregnancy front,” Charlotte said, “but I have to agree with Angel. If the way he looks at you and Lily is any indication, he’s going to be over the moon. Then all of this will seem like a silly misunderstanding.”

Jenna nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“It’s Christmas,” Angel said. “The most romantic time of year.”

“And New Year’s is right around the corner,” Charlotte said. “It’s a good time to take a leap of faith. I think Farrell will be there to catch you.”

Jenna took a drink of her tea and thought about Charlotte’s words. She didn’t doubt they were true.

Farrell had always been there to catch her.

That was part of the problem; he was so determined to keep her safe and happy, to make sure her every wish was fulfilled, that it had gotten harder for Jenna to determine if he did the things he did — if he said the things he said — because he meant them or because he knew it was what she wanted.

How could she know for sure?