He asked me again in March.
Charlotte was six weeks old.
She was — everything I had thought she would be and nothing I had expected. She was determined in the specific way that I recognized as her father's and curious in the way I hoped was mine and she had his eyes — dark, nearly black, the specific quality of eyes that would look at the world someday with that complete focused attention.
She had Victor Romano completely under her power from day one, which amused me more than I could say.
She had Marta in a state of devoted organization.
She had Dante — completely, entirely, without reservation.
I had watched him become a father in the six weeks since her arrival and it had been the most quietly extraordinary thing I had witnessed in my life. Not dramatic. Not performed. Just — pres
