“Baby in the room,” she says, cradling her newborn with one arm and holding an empty bottle with the other. Her hair is damp like she just took a shower and didn’t have time to blow it dry.
“When you have eight children, are you going to announce each of their entrances too?” I banter.
Rose gives me a long glare as she makes her way to the refrigerator to grab another bottle.
“I’m just trying to prepare myself,” I say.
“You won’t have to prepare for eight kids. It’s not happening,” she retorts. Connor opens his mouth, and she raises the hand with the bottle to silence him.
“That would be more effective if you actually covered my mouth, darling.”
“Don’t make me hurt you,” she snaps, and Jane lets out a noise close to a giggle. Rose is smiling from ear to ear, a smile that I’ve pretty much never seen from her.
“Ugh, stop,” I say, shielding my eyes. “It’s creepy.”
“I love my daughter,” she says adamantly. Jane does bring out something in Rose, a lighter side of her that’s hard to spot sometimes. But she’s still the same, so I wait for it. “She may mutter inarticulately, vomit on me, and look clueless until a certain stage of her life, but she’s my unintelligible thing.”
I bow. “I’m sorry, your highness.”
Rose rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile in them.
“I’ll swap you,” Connor tells his wife. “Baby for bags.”
Her eyes pierce him, even if she’s not on the offensive. “What bags?”
I just now notice the Chanel and Dior shopping bags beside Connor’s feet. Of course he went to the stores this morning. Rose’s demeanor shifts, her back no longer arched, and I worry she might chuck the baby in Connor’s arms.
Jane lets out another squeal of delight, kicking her legs that are clothed in a green onesie. Orange tabby cats printed along the arms. And we all smile. She’s ridiculously cute, even if she’s spawned from Rose’s womb.
“Looks like she’s already inherited Rose’s love of fancy things,” I say.
“She’s a baby,” Rose tells me. Instead of hatred, the word “baby” is filled with mild disdain. “She doesn’t know what we’re even talking about.”
I feign surprise. “So you’re admitting that you don’t have a genius child?” I turn to Ryke. “Did hell freeze over this morning?”
Before Ryke even reacts, Rose speaks. “I’m admitting that my child isn’t superhuman.” Rose hands Jane off to Connor and then goes for the shopping bags.
“With Rose and my genes, she’s still very likely a genius,” Connor adds.
Yeah. I know.
Rose unwraps her bags at the bar, the first item: a black silk blouse, one that Rose delicately folds into its original paper after examining it.
I nudge Ryke. “What’s Daisy doing this weekend?” I genuinely care about other people’s everyday lives—it’s bizarre. Something I never saw four years ago, addicted and selfish.
Ryke just casually shrugs. “I don’t know.” He takes a swig of his orange juice from the carton. Rose is too busy fawning over her gifts to notice my brother’s bad habits.
“What do you mean?” I ask him. “You’re dating her.”
“We like our fucking space.”
Rose straightens at the sound of the f-bomb, and I punch Ryke’s arm with force. He winces, since that spot is tender for him now.
“I forgot,” he tells Rose, not even bothering to rub his bicep.
“I don’t care if she swears when she’s older,” Rose tells him. “I just don’t want her first word to be fuck.”
“My sentiments align with Rose’s,” Connor adds, his daughter falling asleep in his arms as he rocks her.
We have a system in place: punch Ryke every time he curses in front of the baby. It’s fun for all of us but him, and so far it’s not really working that well. His arm was bruised the entire first week Jane was home, and he still has trouble training himself to keep it clean.
“I’m trying my best,” he says.
Rose nods. “I appreciate it.” She returns to her clothes, and I backtrack to my initial conversation with Ryke.
“You like your space?” My brows furrow. “I don’t get it. Are you taking a break or something?”
“What?” Lily’s voice echoes from the doorway, and she enters the kitchen with eyes like saucers. It doesn’t help that she wears her Wampa cap, dinosaur slippers, black cotton pajamas and a fur coat. “You’re on-on a…” Her green eyes somehow grow wider. “…a break?” Shit.