“Right.” I dropped into an armchair across from her. “Four months of... this. Then you’re free to go back to your life, and I can?—”
“Figure out how to parent on your own?” Violet arched a brow. She threw a towel over her shoulder and settled Hazel against her chest, patting her on the back.
I scowled. “I’ll have it handled by then.”
She didn’t bother responding to that, which was somehow worse than an actual argument. Instead, her gaze swept theroom, lingering on the half-unpacked baby supplies and the sheer lack of preparation.
“Where’s the bassinet?”
“The what?”
“The bassinet. Where is Hazel sleeping?”
I gestured vaguely toward the sofa. “She’s been in the car seat.”
Violet’s eyes widened. “You’ve been letting her sleep in a car seat?”
“Is that... bad?”
Never mind that I’d only had her for a couple of hours and the kid hadn’t done much sleeping.
“Yes, it’s bad. Babies can suffocate in car seats if they’re not positioned correctly.” She stood, bouncing Hazel gently.
“How was I supposed to know that?”
“You weren’t,” she said, softer now. “That’s why I’m here.”
The doorbell rang. I pushed myself up, half expecting Julian to have returned with more rules, but it was the driver with a sleek black suitcase.
“For Miss Carter,” he said, deadpan.
I took it without a word, setting it by the stairs before turning back to find Violet watching me with a peculiar look in her eyes.
“We need a proper bassinet. And about a dozen other things Liam missed.”
Irritation prickled under my skin. “I’ve had her for less than a day. I’m figuring it out.”
“Well, figure it out faster.”
Hazel squirmed against her chest, tiny fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt like she already knew who she could count on. Violet smoothed a hand down her back, effortlessly soothing her.
“Where am I sleeping?”
I hesitated for half a second too long. Long enough for the reality to sink in that she’d be here, in my space, for four months. In my house. Eating my food. Judging my every move. Probably rearranging my furniture and reporting my sleep schedule back to Julian.
Christ.
“I didn’t exactly prepare a guest room for you, Princess.”
Her eyes flashed. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? It fits.”
“Because my name is Violet. Not ‘Julian’s Daughter,’ not ‘Princess.’ Just Violet.” She shifted Hazel in her arms. “So unless you want me to start calling you ‘Playboy,’ I suggest you stick with Violet.”
I raised my hands, surprised by the venom in her voice. “Fine. Violet it is.”
She nodded once, her expression cooling. “Where’s the guest room?”
