Chapter 57
Nika
Five Months Later
I think I loved my belly because he did.
He mentioned building a shrine for it—which was one step too far even for me.
He took photographs. Videoed every time the babies moved.
The constant pillow stuffing was its own particular brand of suffocating love, and when I asked whether it would simply be easier to duct tape pillows directly onto my body, he’d genuinely considered it as a viable solution.
Weirdly enough I’d found an ally in Cuán.
His strange commentary about becoming an uncle-dad was infinitely preferable to Conrí spiralling out over the wrong type of cheese.
My CEO Alpha wolf having an existential crisis over dairy safety was only one item on an exhausting list of ridiculous precautions.
The revised employment handbook suddenly had a remote working policy slipped into section 5.1. The company had also developed an urgent and previously unmentioned concern for parents’ work-life balance and other carer responsibilities.
“Knock knock,” Cuán said cheerfully, respectfully remaining behind the door.
Good. My spy was here.
“Come in. What do you think I’m going to be doing in my bedroom in this state?”
He was still spiritually repulsive to Bad Girl but we’d accepted him emotionally as kin.
He stuck his head through the door before entering.
“It’s short. He’s on his way home and he won’t be going back into work until waaaaay after the pups are born.”
My jaw fell open.
Shifter pregnancy was shorter than human—I knew that. But this was unacceptable. Weeks of him wandering the two-storey penthouse. Hovering. Pillow stuffing. Dairy surveillance.
Toss him off the terrace if it gets too much, Bad Girl said.
“I’ve also decided to work from home,” Cuán announced, with the gallantry of a man delivering wonderful news. “To support both of you. These are my future babies too.”
My head flopped back onto the pillows.
Cuán settled into the chair beside the bed and began to recount the many benefits of having a dedicated uncle-dad on the premises.
The duck egg ceiling was mocking me.
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“You,” I said, stabbing my finger vehemently toward him. “Keep away from my cheese.”
I cradled the bowl—cold crisp grapes and small cubes of smoked cheddar that Charles had prepared with full understanding of the current political climate in this penthouse.
I could see the suspicion forming before he took his first step toward the bed.
Fuck him.
I stuck the bowl under the covers.
“Cheddar is safe. There are only two ingredients. Pasteurised milk and smoke flavouring.”
Less suspicious.
He raised his phone to investigate my claim.
While he was occupied I snuck several pieces of salty cheese into my mouth, then reached for a grape to chase the salt with sugar.
“Hm,” he hummed.
“When are you going back to work?” I asked, slipping another grape in. “Kilcullen Tech needs its CEO.”
The bond was a blessing and a curse. He knew I didn’t mean a word of it.
His frown melted away. He smiled—those green eyes catching the early afternoon light—and said four words that hit me square in the chest like a physical thing.
“How can I be away from my heart?”
I swallowed the grape.
He crossed the room, handed me a tissue, and climbed onto the bed—not to steal my food but to pull me into him. I moved the bowl to safety and leaned in.
Nothing said I love you like kissing your mate’s cheesy mouth.
When I lay on his chest I stroked his neck, and every so often ran my thumb along the dark stubble at his jaw. His scent and the rasp of his whiskers always had a soothing effect on me.
“Cuán said he’d come over to work in your office,” I murmured. “Something about saving energy costs.”
You should take his blood pressure reading after you tell him, Bad Girl muttered.
“Absolutely not. No way. He has his own home office,” Conrí snapped.
Then a heavy sigh.
His hand settled over the twins.
One son. One daughter.
“Fine.”
I patted his cheek. Such a good boy.
Cuán would keep him occupied. That was the plan.
Even I’m sensing the irony, Bad Girl snickered.
I smiled.
“He’ll make a fine uncle-dad.”
“I suppose so,” he muttered.
I thought of Cuán and wondered where his mate was. I wanted my children to grow up with the same bond around them that Lorcán and Croía had built. That steady, certain thing between all of them.
Sara was still distant—even after learning the family was expanding. That quiet loneliness I’d carried since eighteen hadn’t fully gone. Just changed shape.
My parents on the other hand were completely delighted with Conrí. After Finley, the bar had been on the floor. Anyone who didn’t bring a pocket knife to a first meeting was an improvement. I could argue that we hadn't begun our relationship like that, but so could millions of other women.
No. I couldn’t blame my parents for their enthusiasm.
I reached for some more cheddar.