Bond could hardly believe that an entire year had passed. As he watched his daughter playing tag with two other children at the park nearest to their home, smiling and giggling, he couldn't help but be contaminated by that joy as well. He'd always figured fatherhood wasn't for him—first and foremost because of his job as an agent—always travelling, always in danger—never having a home. Until one fated evening, he met Vesper Lynd on a blasted train ride to Montenegro…

From then on, Bond had pictured them living happily in France or Italy, but never a baby—Vesper didn't seem like the type. But perhaps with time… Bond would never know. After her death he lost all hopes to find love and family, that notion, that secret desire, it had drowned away along with her.

And then, years later, when he least expected it—James Bond was mesmerized by a pair of brown eyes and a moving and haunting voice. He fell in love with Ana and married her, against all odds, the two of them making plans to live in a small village by the sea and he leaving his job and following her around on her music tours. Before they could accomplish any of those dreams, came the surprise one very hot Portuguese evening—Ana carried their child inside her.

And that child was a girl of six years now, the prettiest and most intelligent little thing he'd ever seen. It was Bond's daughter the woman of his life—the one he would love forever, no matter what.

…

They were eating their sandwiches sitting at their favorite park bench, under the shade of a large magnolia tree, in full blossom—the scent of the flowers mixing with the sunshine and the smell of grass, earth and Olivia's lavender baby cologne. It was the end of summer.

"Dad, do old men fall in love?" She asked out of nowhere, in between bites.

"From what I've heard, Livie, there's no certain age for that."

"Well, you should fall in love—avó Maria thinks so too."

"Avó Maria has been watching too many soap-operas for her own good." Olivia chuckled and nodded.

"Ms. Portman is very pretty and she's not married."

"I don't know Olivia—I would rather it be just us three—you, me and Maria." Olivia sighed exasperated.

"But we've already invited her to dinner!"

Bond couldn't believe it; he was being set up by his own daughter… Although in all honesty, Ms. Annalise Portman was indeed a very beautiful, caring and smart woman—he'd thought of her quite often the past few months—always bumping into each other in the hallways of Olivia's school… He liked her, but he didn't know that he loved her—it wasn't anything extraordinary and mind-blowing like his feelings for Vesper had been—or even the feelings he had for Olivia's mother.

He would give it a try—this dating thing—it couldn't be that bad…

…

James Bond kissed his sleeping daughter goodnight and crossed the hall to his bedroom. She was there, the woman he loved, glasses on and dark hair falling onto her face—concentrated on a book. It hadn't been bad at all.

She looked up at him, Annalise, and tenderly smiled, patting the spot beside her for him to lay with her.

"You know James, you're still owing us that trip to Thailand…" He chuckled and pulled out an envelope from the drawer of his nightstand. Annalise eyed him suspiciously and upon reading the contents of them, smiled brightly. Four tickets to Thailand—they would be set to leave on their winter holiday.

"Oh, James, I just hope that by then I'll still be able to wear that bikini—you know, that lovely green one, what with a giant pregnant belly and all…" The way she said it, nonchalantly… the information nearly escaped him.

James looked into Annalise's eyes for confirmation and she smiled, nodding—her cheeks turning a bright pink.

"See? Family life isn't so bad." James kissed her on the lips. Of all things, that he had not expected.

THE END