“Hey, hey,” Alex rushes closer, always the first in such moments. “Hey, you’re going to be even more beautiful than you are now.”
I’m trying very hard not to panic. I’m on the verge of tears and close to hyperventilating, but the guys have a way ofsandwiching me between their big, hard bodies. They work better than breathing into a paper bag, for sure, because as their arms snake around me and I feel their sculpted muscles fitting perfectly against my curves, all the chaos dies out.
The sun is up and shining brightly. Spring announces itself in every nippy breeze, in every blossoming tree lining the streets of Portland. I smell coffee from a café down the road. Freshly baked pastries with vanilla cream and apricot compote. I smell the subtle gas fumes of cars driving by. The hint of disinfectant wafting out of the clinic when someone opens the front door.
I feel my heart beating steadily now as I rest my head on Alex’s chiseled shoulder.
“Is that what you’re worried about?” Alex asks, pulling me out of my whirlwind of multicolored thoughts. “Gaining weight?”
“Well, it kind of comes with the territory,” I replay with a deep sigh.
“And it’s completely natural. It’s the mark of a woman bringing two children into the world. Our children,” he says.
“Whatever you need, we’ve got you,” Max says, kissing my cheek softly. “Whatever it takes to keep you and the babies safe, happy… we’re here.”
“We’ll always be here,” Vincent adds.
“Always,” Max says and kisses me on the lips. “As for the babies, I say it’s a good thing. We start out with two, and we have a big family to work with right off the bat. It’ll be easier down the road.”
“Easier?” I laugh.
Vincent chuckles. “Yes. We’ll take turns, Raina. If you ever need a break from the kids, and I know you’ll need a break from the kids, one of us will always be there to pick up the slack.”
“If you need pampering on top of that, one of us will always be there for that, too,” Alex adds with a casual shrug. “And if all three of us are needed for anything pertaining to your or our children’s happiness, we’ve got Kaleb and Vivian ready and willing to help, too.”
I can’t help but smile, seeing how they’ve already thought this out in detail. They didn’t leave a single stone unturned, a single possibility ignored. My men certainly have their share covered in more ways than one, which makes my mini panic attack seem a tad irrelevant.
“So you’ve got everything covered then,” I say to Alex.
“Almost,” he replies. “But something’s still missing.”
I tilt my head as I ask, “And what is that, exactly?”
For the first time since they claimed me at Haus of Sin, I see that fiery spark in his eyes. The promise of delicious danger, of sweet darkness and bottomless pleasure rippling out from his gaze like an unstoppable heatwave.
“You’ll see,” he says, “when the time is right.”
The sun sets beautifullyover the city. It’s mid-spring, so the scent of blooming flowers lingers when I open a window. It brings a smile to my lips, along with the fresh air.
A breeze swoops through The Black Swan’s dinner salon as I gaze out into the high street. We’re nowhere near ready toopen yet. I’ve spent the past week trying out dishes for the first menu, and it’s been one hell of a ride.
“How’s the food coming along?” Carla, my personal assistant, asks as she walks into the kitchen. “We’re getting so many calls from all over about this place, but I honestly don’t know what to tell them about our cuisine.”
“Let me guess, gag order from the guys?” I laugh lightly and turn around to face her.
“Pretty much.”
Figures. They’re keeping a tight lid on everything to maximize the mystery around our upcoming grand opening.
“The more curious they are, the better,” I say, glancing down at my chef’s tunic, which features a mighty swab of soy sauce and mango reduction arching across my chest. “Let’s call it… fusion.”
“Fusion of what, exactly?” Carla asks with a wry smile.
“International fusion. We’re very experimental. We bring bits and pieces from all over the world and work hard to find the perfect way to blend them into every dish,” I say while she takes copious notes. “Every plate, every bowl, every cocktail we plan to serve will be a journey, because that’s what matters in life, the journey, not the destination.”
Carla seems more than satisfied with what I’ve given her.
“Oh, I got the private salon ready for your friends, by the way. They’re coming in tomorrow, right?” Carla asks, going over our text conversation on her phone. “Your brother and Vivian?”
