What a difference a year makes.

Only twelve months ago, my siblings and I were nearly homeless, but now we’re living in a huge mansion on Miami Beach’s Star Island, rubbing elbows with other moguls and a cluster of celebrities behind the guarded gates.

The kids are utterly charmed by the lazy days on the waterfront dock, the gazebo that overlooks the jewel-blue bay, and the splashing fountains. Inside there are elegant marble floors that somehow complement all the state-of-the-art details, such as a home movie theater, a high-tech kitchen, and everything else that Owen had in New York.

Now he has the kids and me, as well.

He’s due to arrive back home tonight from his main office in Manhattan, which he flies to twice a month so he can continue to run his flourishing business. Otherwise, he’s all ours, too.

And I do mean all of us.

After I’ve finished a few phone calls to the art collectors who have become the clients I now advise, I pop into the kitchen where Jemma is helping Chef Thomas prepare a fancy dinner, as usual. She’s already wearing an oversized NYU shirt in anticipation of starting business school there, now that we have the money.

She and the chef look up at me with smiles, elbow-deep in chopping the ingredients for a ragu, and god, how I wish Mom and Dad were here to see how grown up she is now.

“Don’t you look flushed with excitement,” she says to me as Chef turns back around to continue chopping his parsley, garlic, and onions.

“Four hours and counting,” I say.

Even though Jemma is now too “mature” to get excited herself, I can tell she’s looking forward to Owen’s return home. He’s been guiding her in how to combine her cooking interests with business, and they spend what seems to be hours in entrepreneurial conversation.

I wink at her and leave her with Chef, only to hear a ruckus going on at the front of the house.

Once I get to the grand marble foyer, I find Jason and Jake dressed in board shorts and T-shirts. They’re carrying their surfboards and wetsuits through the house, trailed by little twelve-year-old Jasmine, who’s also got her surf gear.

“Wait up!” she says as they head for the door.

“Excuse me?” I say. “Where’s everyone off to?”

Jason, a supercool sophomore, rolls his eyes. “We’ve got lots of time before Owen gets back. We were going to let you know that we’re off for a surf sesh.”

“Jeez,” Jasmine says. “You’re too awesome to say session like everybody else in the world?”

Jake stands by his older brother, not as tall yet, but getting there. “I don’t know what you’re doin’ here, Jazzie, but you won’t be having any kind of sesh with us. Get lost.”

As Jazzie starts to protest, Nat, who came down here from New York to help run the household as well as some of our business interests, scurries in. She’s traded in her strict bun for a looser ponytail and her dark dress for a brighter, lighter one. But she’s still got the cleaning cloth in hand.

“Now what are you kids doing?” she asks mildly. “You’re getting sand in here.”

Jason says, “We already rinsed things off outside, Nat. We always do.”

Jazzie speaks up. “I told them we should go around the side of the house instead. Sand gets everywhere.”

It looks as if Nat is about to say something about dirt and debris, but she merely stuffs her cloth back into a pocket. Things have sure changed during this year, but there are still some old habits that take a while to fade. Nat’s working on the ones she developed in Owen’s ultra-clean New York mansion.

Sometimes messes are okay.

Jake gives her a cheesy smile. “Ready to drive us to the beach, Nat? You said you would!”

She looks to me, and as I survey the kids’ please-oh-please-say-yes expressions, I think again of Mom and Dad, who’d love to see how incredibly happy we are now. There’s still such deep sadness from the loss of our parents, but they would’ve been so proud to see us moving forward in life and making the most of every day.

Just as I’m about to tell the kids that Nat can take them to the beach as long as it’s a short surf sesh, I hear the front door ease open behind me.

A thrill dances up my spine, and even before the kids squeal in delight, I know Owen is back.

And he’s early, which means he couldn’t bear to stay away.

In the moment before my brothers and sister put down their surf gear and clamor over to him, I turn around to see the man I love.

My husband.

He’s still impressive in a navy designer suit, still tall and imposing and dark in so many ways, but his gaze is aglow as it meets mine. A low vibration warms my belly during that one, hot, fleeting second.

Then the kids smack into him. Jazzie hops into his arms, and even though she’d be too big for most other men to handle with such ease, Owen lifts her as if she’s a feather.

“Owen, you can go surfing with us now!” Jason yells.

“Yeah,” Jake echoes, “come on! Let’s get in some board time!”

Jazzie merely hugs him tight, and my heart melts.

“How about tomorrow?” Owen asks, laughing at their puppy-doglike enthusiasm. “I only just stepped off the jet.”

As they try to talk him into going now, Nat comes up beside me. We exchange a subtle yet joyous smile that says it all: Who knew that Owen would someday come out from behind his walls to be this kind of a father figure to anyone, much less a bunch of noisy, sloppy kids? Who knew that he’d be this relaxed, confident, loving, and kind—a man who conquered his demons?

I knew, because even during our darkest times, I could see flashes of the good-hearted man beneath all those icy barricades he put up around himself. I could see glimpses past everything he built to protect himself from the chaos of his past and the world around him.

Even his parents, who’ve made such strides in their treatment back in their New York home, would agree.

Nat, as efficient as always, moves forward to greet Owen and then cajole the kids into leaving.

“How about a compromise?” she asks as she opens the door. “Today you can have a short surf sesh amongst yourselves, tomorrow a longer one with Owen.”

The boys grumble a little about how Owen shouldn’t ever turn down some good waves as they grab their gear and leave. After Owen puts Jazzie down, she gives him one last hug before scrambling to get her stuff and follow her big brothers and Nat out the door.

That leaves Owen and me, finally alone. My heartbeat seems too loud, bouncing off the marble and right back at me with breath-stealing thuds. From the hot look in eyes, he’s feeling it, too.

Then I run to him, and he swoops me into his arms, burying his face in my hair.

“God,” he says. “I couldn’t stay away from you another hour. I had to get back home, give you a surprise.”

Home.

Ours.

“They say absence makes the heart grow fonder,” I murmur against his cheek, where stubble is beginning to scratch. “But I don’t know how my heart could get any fonder of you.”

With a growl, he draws me into a kiss, and I go liquid in his arms. I feel a sense of forever in the way his lips caress mine, in the way he holds me, promising that he’s always going to come back to me.

When the door suddenly opens and Jazzie scoots back inside, laughing as she sees us and running to grab the wetsuit that she left behind, Owen continues to hold me.

“Bye, you lovey-dovey birds!” she says, a sweet little storm coming and going and slamming the door behind her.

After we laugh again, I cup his face in my hands. I can feel his heart beating against me, but I think my own pulse is going faster.

“Talk about a mess,” I say. “Jazzie’s a hot one.”

“Sometimes I think we’ve got four hot messes to varying degrees.”

My throat tightens as I see the affection in his gaze, not just for me, but for all of us.

I swallow, because I have something else to tell him. Something I’ve been waiting to share until he got home.

“How would you feel,” I whisper, “if we had five hot little messes in this house?”

For a moment, it’s as if he has no idea what I’m talking about. Then his gaze becomes tender, surprised.

He lets me slip down the front of his hard body, but I never look away from him. Not even when he runs his hand to my belly, which is still flat, even though there’s a wonderful gift inside.

“Are you saying…?” he asks.

I nod, then finally find the words. “We’re having a baby.”

The old Owen would’ve backed away, putting up his barriers at the thought of bringing something so messy into this dark, threatening world. But he only rubs my belly so very gently, then brings me into another kiss.

One that keeps healing, just as we both have been healed.

One that promises a wonderful, open future ahead for all of us.