Series Epilogue #4
“Dad, can we get some sweeties from the shop before we go home?” Maddox asked, already tugging me toward the car.
I nodded, my heart feeling like it might burst as every second word out of his mouth was Dad.
“Dad, we should get Mum a chocolate bar too,” he prattled from the back seat.
“She says they stick to her hips—whatever that means—but that you like that they stick to her hips, so we should definitely get Mum chocolate if we’re getting chocolate. It’s only polite.”
My grin almost cracked my cheeks as I laughed, driving slowly out of the car park. “Aye, buddy, we’ll get your mum chocolate. What about a chocolate cake to celebrate me being home?”
“Oh, oh, aye, let’s go to Aunt Callie’s bakery! She does the best chocolate. Dad, Dad”—he was speaking so fast, he had to catch his breath—“did you see Aunt Callie and Uncle Lewis had a baby?”
“I did, Mad. I saw that.”
“Did they have chocolate where you were? I bet it wasn’t as good as Aunt Callie and Aunt Sloane’s chocolate cake? It’s good that you’re staying for a while.” He nodded sagely.
Laughing softly, I agreed wholeheartedly. “Aye, son. It’s definitely good that I’m staying home for a long while.”
THEO
A few days later
To my utter delight (note the sarcasm), the school called to ask me to come speak to Rose’s teacher when I picked her up at day’s end.
Sarah was worried. I was irritated because there was no way Rose could have done anything untoward while in class.
My six-year-old was, to everyone’s relief, her mother’s child.
“I’ll see to this.” I’d kissed Sarah thoroughly before departing to pick up Rose.
Filming would start on the new season of my current show in just over a month.
Eilidh and I were co-showrunners. Co-writers and producers.
We filmed it forty minutes south of Ardnoch, just outside Inverness, on an estate similar enough to Ardnoch to make it authentic.
It meant I could stay at home, but it also meant I didn’t get to spend as much time with Sarah and Rose.
So, while I was home, I took Rose to and from school whenever the opportunity presented itself.
Attempting to curb my irritation at being called into school for Rose’s sake, I was a mask of cool politeness when I entered the reception area.
The truth of the matter was I had never wanted or planned for children.
One of the reasons Sarah was so perfect for me was because she shared the same vision for our future.
Just the two of us. Writing, traveling, bantering daily, and gloriously fucking in any room of the house we wanted because there were no small people around to be considerate of.
However, it turned out my super sperm were as attracted to Sarah’s eggs as my cock was to her vagina, and no matter she was on the pill, Sarah fell pregnant.
It wasn’t in the plan.
Sarah was afraid to tell me, which was rather humbling and distressing.
I loved her.
And she didn’t bloody well get pregnant on her own.
Thank you, super sperm and your obsessive fertilization abilities. Just couldn’t go for a bloody swim like all the others, could you?
Something changed during Sarah’s pregnancy. My possessiveness for her expanded alongside her waistline. That little bump became mine too. Then as soon as the doctor put Rose in my arms, I was unequivocally ruined. I was claimed.
Now two females owned me heart and soul, and there was not a bloody thing I could do about it.
There was not a bloody thing I wanted to do about it.
The bell rang for the end of school, and the receptionist gestured for me to go ahead. I was already arguing with Rose’s teacher in my head and I had no idea why I’d been called in.
Children filed past me excitedly as I strolled down the corridor to the primary two classroom where Rose was educated each day.
There were silly drawings of iconic Scottish things on the walls outside, and I caught sight of Rose’s unicorn (the national “animal”), by far the best among all the drawings.
It had her name written under it in very tidy writing too. My genius child.
Yes. I thought it. And I’d say it out loud too.
I knocked on the classroom door as I stepped in, my eyes moving from the teacher behind her desk to Rose sitting at a little one in the corner.
The classroom was set up for the play-to-learn style the Scots favored.
Much of the classroom had different play areas for learning and just a few desks in one corner for more concentrated work.
My daughter’s eyes lit up at the sight of me. “Daddy.”
Daddy.
It got me every time.
Sarah was forever reminding me that we’d ruin Rose if we let her have her way all the time. I agreed. However, it was tiresome to constantly remind myself every time she said Daddy because the urge to do as she wished was very, very real.
“Hullo, turtle dove.” I’d nicknamed her after the pretty little bird because she pecked at her food (we often had to coax her to eat more because she had such a wee appetite) and, like the turtle dove, she was rare. To me, she was a rare, precious little being who had to be protected at all costs.
On that note, I turned my attention to her teacher.
Ms. Carson was young and extremely nervous around me. It didn’t stop me from glowering at her.
She stood from her desk and twisted her hands together, giving me a strained smile. “Mr. Cavendish, thank you for coming in.”
“What’s it all about?”
She winced at my cool tone. “Well, while Rose is usually very well-behaved, lately we’ve had some issues with her making up words.”
“Excuse me?”
“Rose is speaking gibberish in class, and when asked to stop, she insists she’s not making up gibberish.
I had to send her to see Mr. Adams this morning because she got very frustrated and angry.
” The teacher’s tone was gentle and placating.
“So I thought we should all have a wee chat and see if we can sort this out.”
“Daddy, I’m not making up words.”
“I know, turtle dove.”
Ms. Carson’s expression tightened. “Mr. Cavendish, I know it can be difficult to—”
“What words do you think she was making up?” I interrupted impatiently.
“We were talking about doggies and cats,” Rose spoke up. “I said I was a canophile.”
I nodded and turned back to the teacher. “And?”
The teacher frowned. “It’s a made-up word and it sounds like … well, it doesn’t sound very nice.”
“It is not a made-up word,” I gritted out. “It means a person who loves dogs.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes. Google it if you don’t believe me.”
The woman pulled out her phone and bloody googled it. “Oh.”
“What other words do you believe my daughter is making up?”
“Mathesis,” Rose grumbled, uncharacteristically put out. “Ms. Carson says it’s maths, but I’m not saying maths.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I muttered under my breath. “Mathesis is not a made-up word. It means learning the sciences, especially mathematics.”
“Oh.”
Hearing my wife’s voice in my head, pleading with me to be nice to the young teacher, I gritted my teeth around the word Apologies and cleared my throat, aiming for politeness, “For any confusion. You see, my wife and I play a word game that we now play with Rose. Who can come up with the most unusual word. We’ve taught Rose some words that most adults are unaware of, let alone six-year-olds. ”
“Well, oh. Right.” Ms. Carson nodded, visibly embarrassed. “Rose does have a remarkable vocabulary for her age and is very articulate. I’m sorry, Rose.”
Rose nodded and sweetly forgave, just like her mother (not like her father). “Apology accepted.”
Theo, you know what to say. Sarah Cavendish. My bloody conscience as well as my wife. “If Rose was a tad unruly in her frustration, she would like to apologize also. Wouldn’t you, turtle dove?”
She flushed a little, a blusher like her mother. “I’m sorry if I was rude, Ms. Carson.”
“Apology accepted, Rose.” She turned to me. “Perhaps it would be best if the word games stayed at home and not in the classroom. Some of the words … they sound like other less innocent words.”
My lips twitched, but I fought back my amusement. “Very well. Come on, turtle dove.”
Rose skipped into the house ahead of me, already explaining to Sarah exactly what had happened.
“Oh dear. Well, let’s just keep our big words at home for now until you get a wee bit older,” Sarah suggested to our daughter as I strolled into the kitchen.
“And give into the fascists?” I grumbled under my breath as I pulled a mug out of the cupboard.
“Rose, go change, sweetheart. I’ll make you a snack.”
Our daughter left the room and I braced.
“You better have been kind to Ms. Carson, Theodore Cavendish.”
I was the picture of absolute innocence. “Who me? I’m never anything else.”
“Theo.”
Switching on the coffee machine, I huffed, “I was very polite, even though they sent our daughter to the principal because they have the vocabulary of Neanderthals.”
“Don’t be a pretentious prick,” Sarah said, but the words were gentle and she soothed a hand over my back as she passed me to reach for the fridge.
I halted her before she could get to it, hauling her into my arms.
“I was very nice, little darling,” I murmured against her pretty mouth as I slid my hands down over her pert arse. “Even though I very much desired to be otherwise.”
She wound her arms around my neck. “What inspired the angel to kick the devil off your shoulder?”
“You.” I kissed her nose. “Don’t you know you’re my conscience?”
Sarah considered this. “I’m relieved you were kind. Not everyone speaks like a Shakespearean villain, Mr. Cavendish.”
“Our daughter will. She’ll be the finest Shakespearean villain in all the land.”
Her soft body pressed deliciously against the hard lines of mine as she laughed. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Let’s start with contrectation,” I murmured huskily. “This evening. Ten o’clock. Our bed.”
Sarah’s cheeks flushed with arousal. “I think that can be arranged.”