But when I awoke this morning, alone in Remy’s bed, I shattered all over again.
So, the noise is a gift. Lively commotion isn’t only prevalent in the soul of the resort. It’s ever present in the penthouse. These men and their lifestyle are animated and boisterous. Enthralling.
After I’m dressed and ready for the day, I follow the ruckus and the scents of grilled sandwiches and wholesome deviance to catch a glimpse of the bustling late morning energy.
All the guys are here, except Jax. Ryker and Maddox are cooking lunch. Axel is at the table, glasses on, working on his laptop. And Cash is sprawled out on the adjacent family room floor, tossing items—pillows and fake boulders—in front of my giggling Remy, who is clutching his beloved stuffed bulldog while driving a rideable bulldozer. That seems like an outside toy, but I’ve learned that anything goes here.
Like the rest of the penthouse, the kitchen is stunning. But there’s something about this room that renders it a miraculous blend of grandeur and coziness. It’s always brimming with pastries and fruit and the warmth of conversation. Elaboratemeals cooked by them or their staff. Either way, the home-cooked comfort prevails.
The black-and-gold color scheme is dark and rich, but all the surfaces are reflective, ricocheting the light streaming in from the skylights all over the room. The appliances are vintage replicas with modern features, the floor is a creamy marble with gold-and-black veining, and the coffered ceiling carries out the cabinet design with glossy black molding and gold inlay.
Belonging and sin and forbidden yearnings, tied with an extravagant bow.
When I traipse into the mix, cheers erupt.
Remy chirps, “Mama,” as he jumps out of his riding toy to greet me with a zealous leg hug. I scoop him up, squeeze him tight, and shower him with pecks on his teeny face. In a single breath, he tells me all about his morning withhis dozerandhis Ryker-friendandthe brothers.
Seeing him so elated fills me up. I dust my nose over his. “I love you to pieces, sweet pea.”
“Love you to pieces,” he says before I set the squirmy bugger back down to return to his construction site.
Cash hops up, planting a kiss on my cheek and hollering, “Our bulldozing inspiration has arrived. Maybe we should nickname her Rock.”
Ryker cusses under his breath.
I’m guessing this is an inside joke, but they all bounce off each other so quickly that I don’t have a chance to inquire.
“She doesn’t like nicknames,” Ryker announces.
That’s not exactly true.
“Is that right?” Maddox chimes, making sandwiches on the island griddle. “No pet names for you, Mercy?”
“Maybe she doesn’t need one. I’m sure she was agood girl,” Cash says with a goading lilt.
“Keep it up, motherfucker—fudger,” Ryker stammers, his eyes shooting to Remy with remorse before flicking to me and mouthing,Sorry.
I think our climax contract has been exposed.
Axel pushes his chair back and rises, waving me into the kitchen. “Ignore them. Can I get you some coffee?” He plucks a mug out of the cupboard as I sidle up beside him. “Or maybe you’d prefer … milk?”
A laugh bursts out of me, even as my cheeks flush. That was impeccably timed. Even Ryker can’t stop from chuckling through his disgruntled disposition. But I really don’t want to delve into anything deeper about last night.
I flash a wry smile at Axel. “Does the Pope poop in the woods?”
That’s not right.
Quick as can be, Cash quips, “I sure as hell hope not.”
The room dissolves into howls and cackles, and I have a hard time keeping it together. I’m not even sure what my flustered brain was going for there. It’s not like I’m unaware that I screw up sayings. My parents and grandparents had a bottomless well of them, and for some reason, they all mesh together in my head. But once it’s out, I find it’s more entertaining to frustrate people—people mainly being Ryker—with my insistence that I’m right.
You’d think, after all these years, he’d know I employ themisuseas a diversion tactic since I have never once uttered an unintelligible saying in the courtroom. Maybe he does. Either way, it’s kind of our thing.
“Is the Pope Catholic?” Ryker corrects.
“Of course.” I wave a dismissive hand. “That’s the number one prerequisite for the position.”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Maddox pipes up with another attempt.
