“Deal.” I pulled her close. “You’re my family.”
ARABIAN NIGHTS
Vera
Iwoke up in a thick haze of anesthesia, my body heavy and senses dulled, yet aware. Disinfectant and artificial lemon flooded my nose, sharp and chemical. My tongue felt like dry chalk, stuck to the roof of my mouth. A heart monitor ticked out a steady rhythm beside me, each beep syncing with the dull throb in my abdomen. With every pulse, the truth pressed in harder: Saint John’s Hospital. Post-surgery. Reality coming into sharper focus.
I swallowed hard, recalling my tubal ligation reversal: the cold operating room, glaring lights, and the whisper of hope. A chance to have children—nothing promised, but still a chance. Blinking away from the sunlit window, I scanned the room, my gaze drifting to two familiar faces waiting at my bedside.
Emerald eyes.
Two pairs, nearly identical, yet set apart by age and experience. Alistair’s expression softened, warmth and relief written across his handsome face, framed by soft curls that gleamed golden brown in the clinical brightness. Damian stoodbeside him, his young face showing a mix of awkwardness and quiet concern. His sandy hair was messy, stubborn strands refusing to behave.
“I, um...got these for you,” Damian mumbled, stepping forward with a shy smile. He held out a bouquet of tiger lilies, stems slightly bent from his nervous grip. “Dad said they’re your favorite.”
I smiled, gratitude filling my heart. “Your dad’s right. They’re perfect,” I replied, shooting Alistair a knowing look.
Alistair came closer, taking my hand. His thumb traced slow, comforting circles against my skin. “Doctor Cohen said everything went smoothly. You need to rest. I’ve already notified your HR rep that you’ll get time off. Your recovery is non-negotiable.”
I fidgeted with the plastic band around my wrist. My hospital gown did nothing to ward off the frigid air. “It's freezing in here.”
“Wait a sec,” Damian responded, moving toward the wardrobe. He rummaged through and took out a knitted cardigan, handing it to his father.
“Can you sit up just a bit?” Alistair’s voice was gentle, coaxing.
I nodded and pushed myself upright, wincing at the sharp sting of stitches pulling tight. Warmth enveloped me as Alistair draped the cardigan around my shoulders, his strong hands lingering to rub reassuringly. “Better?”
“Mmm,” I murmured. “Much better.”
Damian shifted in the seat beside me, blowing stray hair from his eyes. He wore a look I recognized instantly. The quiet intensity meant he had something important he needed to get off his chest.
Catching Alistair’s eye, I asked, “Sweetie, could you grab me a mocha and one of those chocolate croissants from the café downstairs?”
“Of course.” Alistair turned toward Damian. “Anything for you. Son?”
Damian shook his head, mouthing, “No.”
Alistair slipped out, leaving me and the kid to talk. The air thickened with silence, anticipation swirling between us.
“All right,” I said, giving Damian a playful, conspiratorial look. “Spill. What’s on your mind?”
He showed off his dimpled smile. “Now that you’re living with Dad, are you officially my stepmom now?”
A gentle warmth settled around my heart. “Yeah. I like the sound of that. Don't you?”
Damian nodded, his fingers interlaced as he pondered deeply.
My thoughts drifted to how Alistair had insisted I move in with him, and how he'd made his luxurious penthouse my home. It had been a few months now, but it wasn't the infinity pool, butler service, or walk-in wardrobe of branded clothing that mattered. It was this. Moments like now, building something real and meaningful with Damian, becoming family in all the ways that mattered most. It was this boy in front of me, looking as if he carried a burden too heavy for his age.
His brows knitted together, his young face drawn into solemn lines. “I don’t want to live with Mother. Can you help me?”
Alarm bells rang in my mind. I took Damian’s hand, stroking his warm palm. “Hey, of course. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
Damian’s voice lowered to a whisper, vulnerability creeping into every word. “I don’t feel safe with her. The things she does disgust me.”
My breath snagged in my throat, dread pooling in my stomach. “Damian, is Saira touching you, or making others?—”
“No.” He cut me off, shaking his head. “It’s not me. I can defend myself. But the girls and boys Mother brings to her parties. Things happen to them. And then they disappear.”
