Age 20 min.
"Marion Lockwood," Tyler mused as they laid in bed together. "Sounds rich."
"She is rich," Damon pointed out, looking down upon their new born daughter. By all accounts, Damon knew he should be in a world of pain right now, but for some reason he couldn't feel any of it.
Little Marion was not a tiny baby. She was healthy and strong. A were-cub indeed.
"True."
"And she'll have my name," Damon added, "Marion Salvatore."
Tyler snorted, "Over my dead body."
"That can be arranged," Damon said causally.
"I'm her father, she should have my name."
"I carried her for over nine months, and eleven hours of labour," Damon said, his voice almost dreamy as he stuck his nose into the black fluff on her head. "Lockwood-Salvatore is my final offer..."
Tyler was sure Damon had gone loopy with the way he was talking. But he had him here. Damon definitely held the victory card in this discussion.
Marion Lockwood-Salvatore.
Marion Salvatore-Lockwood.
Tyler had to admit, Lockwood-Salvatore sounded better. This way she didn't need a middle name.
"No middle name," he said.
"Deal."