Chapter 52
Fifty-Two
From Beautiful Chaos.
Because this is why this book exists.
The bedsheets rustle and are pulled off my legs when Hendrix stirs.
“Baby girl,” he sleepily mumbles.
“I’m stopping,” I whisper and shut my laptop, not wanting him to see what I’m getting him for Christmas.
Ryder Cutton, a former street racer who now operates Randy’s Custom Auto in Fallen Brook, is designing a custom Ducati for me to give to Hendrix. From the images he sent, it’s going to look amazing.
Tristan grunts and rolls over onto his back, slapping Hendrix in the head when he throws his arm over his face.
“Fucker,” Hendrix grumbles into his pillow.
Bending over, I kiss his shoulder. “I’m going to peek in on the twins.”
He turns his face but doesn’t open his eyes. “Want me to?”
The baby monitor has been quiet, but I’m still in the habit of checking on them every few hours, not used to them sleeping through the night. That only started happening about two weeks ago.
Classes dismiss for the holidays soon, and I plan to catch up on some much-needed sleep.
Three glorious weeks of being able to take naps with the kids.
Raquelle, Drake, and their son, Troy, will be spending Christmas with us this year.
Alana and Cillian will be here, too. It’s a little weird he’s my stepfather now.
I wish Andie and the rest of the fam could come, but we’ll see them after the New Year.
One week of beach and sun on their private island before I have to be back for the start of the spring semester.
I have three more semesters of laboratory and coursework in medical school before I begin my clinical period.
Two years of that, and I’ll start my residency.
I don’t regret a single sleepless night, no matter how drag-ass tired I was during the day in class.
I’m living my dream, and it’s the most magnificent dream.
I wake up every morning so damn grateful to have my husbands and my children and the life we choose.
I kiss Hendrix’s sleep-softened lips. “I’ve got it. Go back to sleep.”
“Gonna fuck you when you come back to bed.”
He’ll be dead to the world by the time I turn in, but I’ll make sure to wake him with a blow job.
Putting my laptop on the nightstand, I slip out from under his arm and quietly pad barefoot down the dark hallway, stopping at Fénix’s doorway first. He’s snuggled in his father’s arms, the most content expression on his slumbering face.
There is nothing more beautiful than seeing Constantine with our son.
And Fénix is most definitely biologically Constantine’s.
I knew the moment they put him in my arms and those big, dark eyes looked right at me.
But it doesn’t matter who our children resemble.
Their daddies love them to the depths of their souls.
Our home is filled with so much laughter and even more love.
We’ve kept Fénix away from the Society as much as we can, wanting him to have the normal, happy, carefree childhood we never did.
I know the day will come when the three of them start noticing things and have questions.
Questions about my scars or why they have so many daddies or about the Society.
Coal-black eyes blink open. I still lose my damn breath and get those wonderful belly flutters every time Constantine looks at me.
He peers down at Fénix, a smile ghosting his mouth, and shuts his eyes once again.
I just stand there for a few minutes, memorizing the way they look together, wishing I had my phone so I could take a picture.
Heading back down the hallway, I stop to close our bedroom door just in case the babies wake up.
Going into the twins’ room, the nightlight Tristan bought before they were born casts butterflies on the ceiling.
Quiet classical music plays softly from the wireless speaker on the dresser.
The room smells like lavender and baby powder. Baby smell is the best smell.
I check on Niamh first. She’s been a little congested.
Nothing bad, just a bit of a cold. Her perfect pink lips are puckered, and she’s making the cutest sucking noise.
I stroke her satin-soft cheek and brush her silky blonde fuzz.
She’s Hendrix’s mini me and has him wrapped around her teeny finger.
I peek over into the other crib at Caoimhe.
She’s all Tristan. She was born with a full head of thick brown hair.
Her eyes are a mix of mine and his—light brown with a pale-blue halo around the irises.
I had a hetero paternal superfecundation pregnancy with the twins. It’s rare, but it happens. Two separate eggs fertilized by two different fathers.
I tuck their blankets around them until they look like miniature burritos. Snug as a bug in a rug. It’s something Mama used to say to me.
“Love you, sweet angels.”
Hopefully, I can eke in a couple of hours of sleep before they wake up hungry and need to be fed.
Covering my giant yawn, I tiptoe out of the room and go downstairs for a glass of milk.
The house we built northeast of Hillsborough, North Carolina is big.
Not ostentatious—because I can’t stand that bullshit—just big, like Cillian’s place in Boston.
It’s also less than a thirty-minute drive to Duke where I go to medical school, and why we chose this area.
It can be a pain for the guys, but they try to work remotely as much as possible and only travel for business when absolutely necessary, mostly for Society stuff, which is a whole other story.
It took a couple of years to root out the people who were still loyal to Francesco, Patrick, and Gabriel.
Those were difficult, bloody years of infighting and civil war, but we survived, and the Society is better because of the changes we’ve enacted.
“Shit,” I whisper-hiss when I get to the bottom of the stairs and almost trip over the small toy cars that Fénix forgot to put away.
He created a racetrack across the foyer floor using blue painter’s tape and wood blocks.
The boy is obsessed with cars. He gets it from Hendrix.
Fénix is going to go nuts when Santa brings him a go-cart that looks like an F1 race car for Christmas this year.
The guys built a dirt track in the back of the property that Fénix doesn’t know about yet.
The big reveal will be on Christmas morning.
The house sits on a ton of land we purchased, plenty of open country for the animals to free range and the kids to explore.
Along with Cocky B and the hens, we have three horses, two labradors, and a bunch of feral cats and raccoons that keep coming around because Fénix keeps sneaking food scraps to them.
Mostly stuff he doesn’t want to eat, like broccoli and fish.
I can’t wait to see what kind of personalities the twins will have.
They’re both quiet babies, always content to watch the world around them.
Then again, they’re only six months old.
Once they start crawling and getting into things they shouldn’t, we’re going to have our hands full.
The kitchen is dark when I enter, illuminated only by a spear of moonlight coming in from the French doors that lead out onto the back deck.
Humming the song from the radio I heard today, I shimmy my ass to the refrigerator and reach for the gallon of milk, only to stop short when I sense I’m not alone.
Happiness detonates inside my chest when arms band around me. Pirouetting around, I climb his massive body like a freaking jungle gym and hook my legs around his waist.
“When did you get ba—”
The rest of my question morphs into a moan when I’m pushed against the industrial-size fridge and passionately kissed.
“Miss me, pevchaya ptitsa?”
Aleksander had been in Dubai on business and wasn’t supposed to get back until Monday.
I pepper enthusiastic kisses all over his face, so happy that he’s here. “You know damn well I did. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back early?”
He cups my face between his large, inked hands, and I get lost in his gunmetal gray eyes.
“Wanted to surprise you.”
My smile is effulgent. “Best surprise.”
He brushes a soft kiss over my lips. “You know what time it is?”
The brilliance of my smile increases. “After midnight, which means…”
“The two-year anniversary of the first time I kissed you,” he finishes for me.
“As I recall, kissing wasn’t the only thing we did,” I remind him.
The long and winding road of our relationship is an interesting one.
Enemy turned friend turned something more.
Aleksander earned his fucking place in this family and in my heart.
With Tristan as the ringleader, it was actually the guys who played Emma and encouraged Aleksander and me to explore the feelings that had been building between us for years.
He’s a good man, a great brother to Tristan and Alana, a fantastic father to my kids, and he loves me with his whole heart.
I love him back just the same. It’s different from the love I have for the guys but just as powerful.
I may not have the history with Aleksander that I do with Tristan, Constantine, and Hendrix, but that’s what’s special about sharing a lifetime together.
We have the rest of our lives to make new memories that belong to only us.
Aleksander sets me down on the counter island, but I keep my arms and legs locked around him. I kiss up his neck, inhaling his spicy aftershave, and nip a love bite to his chin.
“Kids are asleep. House is quiet. Want to fuck your wife hello?”
Technically, we’re not married, but I never ripped up the contract. In my heart, I’m as much his wife as I am the guys’.
He curves a hand around the back of my neck, and my legs turn to jelly when his grin turns wicked.
“I’d very much like to fuck my wife.”
“Hey, man,” Hendrix says, shuffling into the kitchen. “Thought I heard voices. Welcome back.”
He and Aleksander tap fists.
Their friendship took a while to solidify, but once it did, they’ve been thick as thieves. Aleksander’s calm demeanor helps ground Hendrix, much in the same way as I do.
Grabbing a chilled bottle of water from the fridge, Hendrix rests a hip to the counter. “By all means, please carry on with what you were doing.”
Tristan enters the kitchen with Constantine. Guess all the adults are up. Our sleep schedules are screwier than the kids.
“Welcome home,” Tristan says, slapping Aleksander on the back in the way men hug each other without actually hugging each other.
“What were they doing?” Constantine asks. He leans around Aleksander to kiss me.
Hendrix puts his water down, the glint in his baby blues as wicked as Aleksander’s smile was moments ago. “About to fuck. I was going to watch, but since we’re all here. Grab the whipped cream.”
I dissolve into a fit of giggles when I’m laid out on the countertop.
Best thing about my husbands? All the fucking fantastic orgasms.