A horrible scent hits my nose at the exact moment our beautiful little daughter passes gas, which of course, makes her laugh again.
“I can smell that,” Crew says as he cracks eggs into a bowl.
“I should probably go change her.” Rising to my feet, I hold Willow closer and shuffle out of the kitchen, heading to her bedroom.
The moment I walk into her room, I’m calm, a smile curling my lips for no reason other than I love it in here. The walls and drapes are cream. The crib is the palest pink, and there’s a giant stuffed pink bear sitting in the rocking chair, his face covered in lipstick kisses.
Crew found that for me. Just like he found the art hanging on the wall of our daughter’s bedroom. When I first asked to move the piece into her room, Crew appeared concerned.
“Are you sure you want it in there?”
My nod was firm. No way could he convince me it was a bad idea. “I’ll be in that room a lot. I want to stare at the piece every chance I get.”
Crew made sure to hang my favorite work of art on the wall that’s opposite of where I sit in the rocking chair with our daughter. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I’ll crack open the curtains and let the streetlight shine into her room. It casts the piece in a beam of golden light, letting me stare at it almost dreamily while I rock and nurse Willow.
Anytime I look at A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime, my head is filled with the romantic moments Crew and I have shared. All of the things he’s done for me. All of the lipsticks that still take up most of the drawers in my vanity table. The pink Chanel bag I still carry to this day, though he’s purchased me others since then.
My husband is very generous. And handsome. And sexy. While I’m not feeling particularly sexy lately, he still makes me feel wanted. Cherished. I still get butterflies when I first see him, even just now when he was cooking in the kitchen, I couldn’t help but admire the smooth expanse of his back. The perfect swell of his butt beneath those pajama bottoms.
I’ve got Willow changed and back into her jammies when Crew appears in her bedroom doorway, a spatula still clutched in his hand.
“Breakfast is ready.” He grins, his gaze on our daughter and not me.
I fight the disappointment that threatens. While I know my husband loves me, I still struggle just the tiniest bit with not getting all of his attention. Which makes me sound like a spoiled brat, especially because I dote on Willow just as much as Crew does.
But it’s almost Christmas. And my birthday. I’d like my husband to focus on me.
And no one else.
“Okay,” I say as I approach him, plucking the spatula out of his hand before I hand Willow over to him. “Thanks.”
He chuckles as I walk away and I hear him talk to our daughter.
“What’s gotten into Mommy today, huh?”
I’ll tell you what hasn’t gotten into Mommy lately.
That would be Daddy.
2
CREW
Three days until Wren’s birthday
My wife has been in a mood lately.
I get a thrill out of calling Wren that. My wife. I probably sound like a possessive asshole, but I can’t help it. The day I made her mine and gave her my last name, I wanted to shout to anyone who would pay attention that she belonged to me. That giant diamond always glittering on her finger proves it.
God, I love her. I love her when she’s happy or sad. I love her when she’s pushing an eight-pound baby out of her body with all of her might. I especially loved her that night, the pride that filled me while she remained calm and strong. So strong. I was worried about her too—it’s fucking stressful, watching the person you love more than life itself go into labor. It was a lot. I thought I had to be there for her, but it was like she didn’t even need me. She had her shit that much together.
I was in awe of her. I still am.
Now we’ve got this adorable little human being in our lives and I can’t get enough of our daughter. We spend a lot of time at home, the three of us. And while I know Wren loves our apartment—she fell in love with the place on sight after Aunt Gertrude died and for whatever reason left it to us—I also think Wren is restless.
She wants to do something.
I just don’t know what.
When I’m not at home, I’m in the office. I work for my brothers’ real estate company, and while they’re selling flashy homes in new buildings with every modern convenience, I’m the one who’s selling brownstones on the Upper West Side. Many of them in my own neighborhood. Both Grant and Finn think I’m ridiculous for focusing on the old stuff, so they leave it all up to me.
And I’m making a shit ton of money in commissions, thanks to those brownstones being in high demand. Not that I need it. The Lancaster wealth is vast and feels never-ending, but I could never just not work. I’d get bored.
I’m at work right now, sitting in my office when my brother Grant strolls in like he owns the place—he does—settling into the chair directly across from where I’m sitting with a shrewd gleam in his gaze.
“What do you want?”
Grant’s brows lift. “Is that how you want to greet your oldest brother?”
“You want something from me. I can tell.” I lean back in my chair, contemplating him. “It’s three days before Christmas, Grant. I shouldn’t even be here.”
“You’d rather be at home with the wifey and baby, I get it. That’s why I’m here. Alyssa and I got to talking last night and she made me realize something.” He clears his throat and sits up straighter, like he might be uncomfortable. “We’d like to give your wife a birthday present.”
I frown at him. “Okay.”
“A special one.”
“That’s…great.” I have no idea what he’s trying to say.
“You’re going to benefit from it too.”
“Amazing.”
Grant lets out an exasperated growl. “I’m trying to offer our services to you both, Crew.”
“Services?” I’m more confused than ever.
“Alyssa would like you or Wren to drop off the baby with us and we’ll take care of her. Overnight.” Grant grimaces, like he can’t stand the idea.
But he has three children already, all under the age of five. Which tells me without actually saying the words that he loves his children and his family with everything he’s got. Despite his grumpy demeanor and the scowl he wears pretty much twenty-four/seven, deep down he’s a complete softy for his wife and children.
“You’d do that for us?”
He nods, the grimace still firmly in place. “Alyssa mentioned Wren’s mother isn’t in the country at the moment, so we know you two are pretty much on your own right now.” I start to say something in my defense, but he holds up his hand to stop me. “And while I appreciate you trying to defend yourself and saying how much you love your child and she’s the absolute light of your life, you and Wren most likely need some…alone time.”
“We get alone time.” I frown, thinking of the last couple of times when we tried to have sex. One night, things were becoming especially heated between us when we heard Willow whimper from her room thanks to the camera—and my wife’s breasts started to leak milk.