Chapter 34
"I did say that," Dante admitted. "But I was wrong. You can call me Papa if that's what you want. I like it when you call me Papa."
Rhysand's face broke into one of his rare, genuine smiles—the kind that made his eyes crinkle and showed the gap where he'd lost his first baby tooth last month. "Good. Because you're my Papa. You make me breakfast and lunch and you check all the ingredients and you teach me things and you dance with me. That's what papas do."
Dante felt his throat close up with emotion. "Yeah, buddy. That's what papas do."
He turned back to the lunch packing, blinking away unexpected tears. This kid—this brilliant, serious, wonderful kid who wasn't biologically his but felt like his in every way that counted—had just defined fatherhood better than any textbook
