ROMAN
Five years later
Jasmine's shriek cuts through the open window, followed by Patty's giggle and Jessica's answering squeal. Their voices blend with the nanny's patient corrections as they chase each other through the garden below.
I lean against the window frame, watching the chaos unfold. Reed joins me, arms crossed over his chest, that satisfied smirk pulling at his mouth.
"They're running circles around her," I observe.
"Good."
Jasmine leads the charge, black hair flying as she darts past the nanny's outstretched hand. Patty follows, stumbling over her own feet but recovering with practiced ease. Jessica brings up the rear, chubby legs pumping.
The nanny—young, eager, came with stellar references—looks ready to cry.
"Should we help?" I ask.
Reed's smirk widens. "Absolutely not."
"They're perfect."
"They're ours."
We step back from the window, and dad calls down to the nanny.
"Keep them in the garden. We need an hour."
"Yes, Mr. Carson!"
His tone shifts as we turn toward the hallway. Still holds that edge of satisfaction, but deeper now. Weighted.
We climb the stairs, boots heavy on the hardwood. Rue's in our bedroom, standing before the full-length mirror.
"So the Vancouver property closed this morning," Dad says, leaning against the dresser with his arms crossed.
Silver threads his temples now, deeper lines bracket his mouth, but he's still every inch the intimidating bastard who terrifies competitors.
"That puts us at seventeen commercial holdings in the Pacific Northwest alone. "
"Nice." I roll my shoulders, working out the tension from this morning's site inspection. "The convention center expansion broke ground yesterday. We're ahead of schedule, under budget. If this keeps up, we'll be bidding on the hospital renovation next quarter."
Rue stands at the mirror in nothing but cream lace, phone pressed to her ear. Her publicist's excited chatter leaks through the speaker—something about pre-orders, bestseller lists, a book tour.
"That's wonderful, Michelle. Really. Can we talk tomorrow? Yes. Thank you."
She ends the call but doesn't turn around. Just stares at her reflection, one hand drifting to the soft swell of her belly. Four months along. Our fourth baby.
The frown on her face makes my chest tighten.
"Little girl?" Dad straightens, his voice dropping into that protective register. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." She reaches for her robe draped over the chair, forces brightness into her tone. "Just tired."
I cross the room in three strides, catching her wrist before she can cover herself. "Try again."
Her throat works. Those amber eyes shine too bright when she finally meets my gaze in the mirror.
"Really, it's?—"
"Rue." Dad moves to her other side, his palm settling on her hip. "Tell us."
She sighs, shoulders sagging. Her free hand trails over the curve of her stomach, then higher to breasts that are already fuller, heavier. "I just... look at me. Three babies in five years, and now another one. Everything's different. Softer. Rounder." Her voice cracks. "Stretched."
Rage and tenderness war in my chest. "You're serious right now?"
"You don't see what I see." She blinks hard. "All these marks, and my stomach won't?—"
"Stop." Dad turns her to face us both, his thumbs brushing the silver lines that trace her hips. "You gave us Jasmine. Patty. Jessica. You're growing our fourth child right now." His voice roughens. "This body made our family possible. Made us possible."
I frame her face, forcing her to hold my stare. "We love you more now than the night we met. Every change, every mark—it's proof of what we've built together."
"You mean it?" The question comes out small, uncertain.
"We'll prove it." Dad's hands slide up her sides, deliberate and claiming. "Right now."
I take the robe from her grip, toss it aside. "You think we don't want you? That we don't crave every inch?"
Her breath hitches when I lower my mouth to the sensitive spot below her ear. Dad's lips find her shoulder, the curve of her neck.
"Every. Single. Inch," I murmur against her skin.
She melts between us, head falling back against Dad's chest as my hands map the changes she's so worried about—the fuller curves, the softer belly, the breasts that will soon feed our newest baby.
"Dungeon," Dad growls. "Now."
I lift her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist as she kisses me with sudden hunger. Dad follows, already working his belt free.
The door clicks shut behind us.