“Mom!”
“It is. You want to be the president, baby. Not because you’ll be one of the most powerful men in the world, but because you want to make changes for the good of all. That says a lot about you, but mostly that you need someone to watch your back.”
It had taken some time for me to understand the relationship Shay and Victoria, Inessa and Camille’s baby sister, shared.
I’d caught them kissing once—not that they’d seen me snooping. But I’d heard their conversation. It was nothing like Dec and I shared after a make-out session. Be it now or twenty years ago. It had been like a lecture. Shay asking her if he should curl his tongue or if he’d been too eager. Her asking if it’d always be sowet.
Kissing lessons aside, I knew there was nothing sexual about their relationship. They were just friends. The best kind.
Honestly, their closeness relieved me.
Now that Victoria was married to Maxim Lyanov, that friendship would provide extra padding that’d ensure Shay’s safety.
Victoria wouldneverlet anyone hurt Shay.
I had faith in that even if I had no faith in a man who thought decapitated heads were appropriate holiday gifts.
Shay’s cheeks puffed out when Dec asked, “What’s the problem? Why are we talking about Victoria anyway?”
“She’s finished her term papers and is sliding into Christmas break withnohomework.”
Declan pulled a face. “I thought you had too.”
“No,” Shay mourned. “I’ve never been behind in my life. This sucks. I don’t think anything could be worse?—”
“Worse than spiders, Shay Shay?” Cameron mumbled sleepily from his position on his dad’s lap after the very exciting playdate with the kidsanda visit to Aunt Eef’s bakery for brownies.
“Worse than spiders, little man.”
“Atomic ones?”
“Yeah, buddy.” Shay gave him a gentle noogie. “Ten times worse.”
Cameron yawned. “Daddy’s good at killing spiders. Maybe he can help.”
“Notatomicones.”
A little hand patted Dec’s chest. “Can’t be good at everything, Daddy.”
With my heart in a meltdown at the overload of cuteness, I murmured, “Want Daddy to read you a bedtime story, Cam?”
He nodded. “Long one.”
“Think I can manage that.” Declan ambled to his feet but clapped Shay on the shoulder. “You got this, son. And if Oakwood doesn’t drool over every word you deign to write in these damn term papers, then it’s not the right college for you.”
Our son grimaced, but I caught his eye before he could back-talk, so he just muttered, “Thanks, Dad.”
Once Dec was out of the kitchen, I soothed, “He means well.”
Shay’s expression tightened but he nodded. “I know.”
“And he isn’t dismissing your goals?—”
“Mom. Iknow.”
“Good.” I released a relieved breath. Shay and his dad got along great, but we’d gone through several scholastic arguments that cropped up from time to time. Declan was no academic, and Shay, for all his dreams and current issues with the workload, loved his studies. “Don’t sit here too long psyching yourself out, Shay. It won’t help you get the work done.”
“Why did he have to change the deadline? That should be against the law.”
