25. Mary #3
“I love her,” I said, surprising myself with the speed of it. “I can see why Maeve loves her. She’s just... Presley. Perfect.”
“Good,” Lincoln said.
“She gave Sienna security scones.”
Hudson looked toward the hall.
Sienna appeared with a scone in one hand, a bite taken out of it. “They’re surprisingly good, but would have been useless as a weapon.” Then she vanished again.
I pointed after her. “I like her too.”
“You’re building a London network,” Hudson said.
“That sounds official.”
“It can be informal.”
“Presley said she is organizing dinner over the next week.”
Hudson took something slim and black from his coat pocket and placed it on the counter. I stared at it. “Don’t freak out, but it’s your card.”
I looked at him. “Is this about to become a rich person moment? Because I’ve already had one of those today, and it involved a cottage built at the bottom of a garden.”
Lincoln leaned against the counter beside me. “We don’t have the garden to build you a cottage. But this is for you so you never have to worry about money.”
“I have money.”
“We know.”
“Artem gave me money.”
“We know that too.”
“Then why are you giving me this?”
Lincoln’s voice gentled. “Because you’re living here. Because you’re carrying our children. Because if you need paint, clothes, food, books, taxis, pillows, or something ridiculous at three in the morning, you shouldn’t have to consider whether asking makes you a burden.”
That was unfair.
I looked back at the card.
“What if I buy a horse?”
“We’ll discuss stabling,” Hudson said.
“A yacht?”
“Poor investment.”
“A small Welsh castle?”
Lincoln considered. “Heating costs.”
“You’re both alarmingly calm.”
“Mary,” Hudson said quietly, “it isn’t a test. Spend it. Don’t spend it. Put it in a drawer and glare at it if that feels better. We want you to have access.”
Access, not permission. Not an allowance. Access.
I picked up the card. “Fine,” I said. “But if I become insufferable, that’s on you.”
Lincoln smiled. “Love, you were never suffering from lack of confidence.”
“Rude.”
“Accurate.”
Hudson kissed my temple.
For a while, there was only the soft machinery of domestic life.
Lincoln cooking. Hudson reading emails at the island but looking up every few minutes as if making sure I hadn’t vanished.
Me sitting with my feet on a stool, nibbling a piece of sourdough and telling them about Fritz’s mother, the cottage, Mr. Cheddar, and the turkey baster until Hudson and Lincoln leaned against the counter laughing.
“Maeve gave her what?” Hudson asked again, checking his older guy hearing was working.
“A turkey baster.”
Lincoln closed his eyes. “Of course she did.”
“Apparently she thought the men were gay because they wanted a baby but not the omega.”
Hudson looked pained. “That’s a significant assumption.”
“And inaccurate.”
“Clearly.”
I grinned. “Presley said they were never going to use it.”
Lincoln’s laugh was deep enough to settle in my bones. The evening might have stayed easy but Hudson’s phone buzzed.
He looked at the caller. “Damien.”
The kitchen seemed to cool by several degrees.
I put the bread down. “What does he want?”
Hudson read the message. His expression didn’t change, which meant whatever he felt had gone somewhere private and locked. “He asked if he can stay here when he arrives.”
My stomach dropped. Lincoln set the spoon down carefully. “He said he was staying with a friend,” he said.
Hudson glanced at him.
“No,” Lincoln repeated. “Not before he knows.”
“There’s the guest apartment on the lower floor,” Hudson said. “We can book that.”
I gripped the edge of the stool. “I could stay with Maeve while he’s here.”
Both men looked at me. Not angrily. Worse, hurt.
“Mary,” Hudson said.
“It would make things easier.”
“For whom?” Lincoln asked.
“For all of you.”
“No.” The word came from both of them.
I swallowed. “Are you sure?”
Hudson crossed the kitchen and stopped in front of me. “Never more so.”
Lincoln came behind me, his warmth at my back, his hands settling on my shoulders.
Hudson cupped my face. “He needs to know the truth soon but you’re staying,” Hudson said.
“He’ll be hurt and angry.”
“Probably.”
“He’ll think I’m awful.”
Lincoln bent and kissed the side of my head. “Then he’ll be wrong.”
My eyes stung.
Hudson’s thumbs moved over my cheeks. “You’re not leaving your home so Damien can be spared reality.”
My home.
The words slipped under my ribs.
“This is my home?”
Hudson looked at me as if the answer had been obvious for longer than I’d been brave enough to ask. “Yes.”
Lincoln’s arms wrapped around me from behind, gentle around my stomach, firm everywhere else.
Hudson’s mouth found mine. Lincoln kissed my neck, careful and warm, his beard brushing my skin. Hudson’s hands slid from my face to my waist, then over my stomach, where the babies were quiet and apparently satisfied with the evening’s level of drama.
“You’re staying here,” Hudson said against my mouth.
“Bossy.”
“Certain.”
“Fine distinction.”
Lincoln’s voice warmed my ear. “Useful one.”
I turned my head enough to kiss him too while Damien’s message stayed on the phone screen, unanswered.